{Chloe}
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Trace dramatically exclaims, carelessly dropping his pizza slice back onto his plate.
My eyes roll on their own accord, and just as I’m about to open up my mouth with a smartass reply, Chris appears in the room. He heads towards the fridge and the table suddenly grows quiet; an awkward tension is now circulating throughout our kitchen.
As Chris hunches over and rummages through the fridge, Justin is the first to speak up, “Hey, do you want a slice?” he offers, friendly.
Chris finally grabs a can of coke, shutting the refrigerator door and looking into our general direction, a bored expression adorning his face. “No thanks,” he replies, coldly.
Without another word, he scatters out of the room, once again leaving the three of us alone. In my peripheral vision, I take notice of my boyfriend’s disappointment, as his shoulders slightly slump and he frowns in defeat. I quickly reach out, placing my hand on top of his. Giving him a gentle squeeze, I softly assure, “He’s not gonna stay mad at us forever, baby.”
Justin directs his gaze on me. The sadness in his eyes almost about breaks my heart right here and now. “I know,” he nods at me, solemnly.
Trace suddenly clears his throat, confirming his remained presence at the table. “I don’t even know why you two even care anymore,” he comments, apparently ready to open up with some of his own emotions towards the matter, “I mean, I don’t have anything against the guy, but personally, I just don’t see what his deal is. He needs to get over y’all being together already.”
Not to imply that he didn’t just make a good point or anything, I decide that it’s time for a change of subject for now. I can barely get Justin to open up on the issue with me when we’re alone as it is. So I let out a sigh and move the conversation right along, as I smartly remark, “Let’s not loose sight of the real problems here, Trace.”
He raises an eyebrow at my words. I grin sarcastically. “As I was telling you boys earlier,” I start out with them authoritatively, “You two are absolutely not allowed to throw me a birthday party tomorrow! I hate celebrating my birthday’s period, and I’m not going to get trashed just because it’s my prerogative to do so now that I’m turning of age.”
Trace blinks and Justin belches once I’ve finally finished with my sentence, causing my eyes to roll for yet another time tonight. I swear talking to a man is like talking to a fuckin’ wall sometimes. And right now, I’m talking to two walls. (Lucky me—please insert the sarcasm). “I hate alcohol,” I stubbornly point out in addition, absentmindedly picking at the pepperoni on my pizza slice.
“Chloe,” Trace cuts into the conversation again.
He’s using that tone that guys use when they think you’re being a foolish little girl who needs a big strong man like themselves to simply guide you along into the right direction. Yes, I know—idiot, right?
“You can’t just refuse to get drunk on your 21st birthday,” he continues, matter-of-factly. “Think about how lame your kids are going to think you are when they ask what you did to celebrate your 21st and you have to answer with…”
“Shut up and eat your damn pizza, Trace,” I interrupt him, flashing a sweet grin after I do so.
He holds his hands up innocently. “Touché.”
I slowly chew on another bite of my food, watching the two of them scarf down their own bites rather quickly in comparison. In an afterthought, I indignantly add, “And my kids would never think I’m lame, by the way. They are going to be smart, well-rounded, and highly educated—just like their mommy is.“
I notice the snorts that are just waiting to escape from their mouths. Jackasses; I’m still not going to shut up yet. “Who, mind you guys, thinks getting trashed just for the sole purpose of celebrating a stupid birthday, is a rather reprehensible thing to do.” I snap my finger and sardonically finish off, “Oh yes, and of course, just completely retarded all together.”
Okay, I’m done. I’m stepping off of my soapbox.
And this time, Trace isn’t the only one with a blinking problem. Justin is doing the same damn thing that his friend is doing right now, appearing just as easily as dense to everything I uttered in the last sixty seconds or so.
But hey—who am I to be complaining about such minor details, anyways? In fact, I suppose I should feel somewhat pleased with their reactions. I mean, at least there was no belching involved this time around, right?
****
“Whatcha readin’?”
Placing the magazine down on my nightstand, I divert my attention to the inquiry; which just came from a freshly showered Justin, who just hopped into bed besides me while voicing his curiosity. At last, I start to respond, “Some article about this lady who was having irregular periods and then—“
Justin immediately scrunches up his nose. He distastefully interrupts me, “Whoa…sounds really disgusting already.”
I giggle at him. Lightly kicking one of my legs against his from sideways, I comment, “Oh gosh, that was so unoriginal of you—I mean you’re such a typical boy, J.”
“No,” he disagrees, at once. His arms reach out, pulling me down and against his body, so that I’m snuggled against his side, face-to-face. Our foreheads connect and our eyes become directly focused on one another in the intimate proximity that we’ve now created with each other. “I’m not a typical boy, Chloe—I’m a man—a very sexy one,” finally comes his correction of my comment.
“Right,” I laugh at him again. “My bad…my bad.”
Justin lays his hand on my waist, playfully dipping down to tug at my bottom lip with his teeth for a second or two or so. Then he pulls a few centimeters away, an offended pout gracing his features, “So you don’t think so, huh?” he asks me, sadly.
I briefly kiss his lips, reaching out to smooth my thumb against his forehead afterwards. I stroke my finger back and forth across his skin, scoffing at his question, “Yeah right, stupid. You know I think you’re sexy—sexy beyond all words that is.”
His pout turns into a smile and then his lips keep tugging upward until at last, his smile turns into a cocky grin of satisfaction. His hand suddenly slides down my waist, as he mischievously pinches my bottom from out of nowhere. “Mmm, yeah—but you’re more sexy though, baby girl,” he huskily whispers, trying to sound all seductive-like and shit in the process.
I laugh, stealing my fingers away from where they’d been caressing at his face and hair. Pulling his hand from behind me, I place it back onto its appropriate position, where it gently lies atop my right hip once again. “Stop trying to make me horny, Justin. It’s not going to work; I’m too tired for all that shit.”
It’s his turn to laugh this time. “Who said anything about getting you horny?” he asks me, smugly. Teasingly and in an annoying sing-song-type-of-way, he dramatically reveals, “Well, well, well—ooh—my, my, ooh my. I do think somebody is trying way too hard here to suppress her underlying…and quite frankly…madly burning desires to take advantage of my body 24/7 in naughty, kinky and oh so very nasty kind of ways. What do you think about that though, huh sexy mama? Hmmm?”
“Wow,” I say, more and more giggles spilling out of me by the second. I return my hand to his face, resting my palm against his forehead with concern. “Baby, are you feeling okay tonight? Because you’re sort of starting to sound like a Kellogg’s Froot Loop…or something crazy like that. You know what I mean, hone—“
His lips gently graze against my own, and he gives me one of those slow but thorough and really, really perfect Justin-kinds of kisses, only he knows how to give me. We share a few more short pecks in between some other more lingering ones—and shit-okay, yes-dammit—he has successfully halted me from completing whatever the hell it was I had been trying to say before all this kissing mess began occurring between us in the first place. Oh well—fuck it. I think I’d rather just stay kissing his perfect mouth instead, anyways…
He suddenly pulls away from my lips though. A reprimanding kind of tone is now laced throughout his voice, as he brings our previous conversation back into progress, “Little girl, I know you weren’t tryin’ to call me crazy before I kissed you just now. I mean, damn—don’t make me hafta to spank that little, fine ass before it’s even your birthday yet, cupcake,” he teasingly warns me. “I know you like it like that, but you’ll be getting twenty-one of those babies tomorrow, so you just must be patient for them, aright?”
“Ha—you wish I liked it like that, J. You’ll give me birthday spankings over my dead body,” I reply definitely. Justin lazily grunts in response to my response. I take this as my cue to pull away from our embrace. Sliding over to my nightstand, I cut off the light from my reading lamp, which had been emitting annoyance on my eyes by now for a while anyhow. Then I crawl back over to Justin’s side and scoot down a bit, resting my head on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck. My leg wraps around him from the side, and I hug my arm against his lower stomach. “I’m sort of sleepy, but sort of not sleepy,” I whisper out loud.
His lips softly caress my forehead and then they pull away, his fingers begin sliding through some of my loose locks with ease. “Mmm,” is the only reply that eventually comes out of those pretty lips of his.
We lay there in silence for a while, and I let out a sigh of contentment. For the most part, I’m extremely happy with the way my life is going right now—and overall, I’m way happier than I have been in a very, very long time. Tonight was a good night and I had fun hanging out with Justin and Trace (even though they are mildly annoying in certain moments of time together).
These past few weeks have been really nice though; being with Justin and in love with him, him being in love with me, too. We’ve managed to balance each other out pretty well lately; he’s been making me loosen up about…well, just everything I always seem to stress out about in general. And of course, I’ve continued to stay on his ass when it comes to his academics and such. But yeah—it’s been really amazing with us these last few weeks—it really has. And I’ve even started to become closer friends with his friends. Which is pretty cool. I mean, it hasn’t even been a whole year since the only true friend I really had here in Chicago was my best buddy Chris. And now, all of the sudden, I feel like I’ve actually found other people to care about and share friendships with.
Speaking of Chris though, ironically enough, he’s one of the few things that have been bringing me down lately. I know what Justin and I did and how we did it was wrong. I mean, going behind Chris’ back and stuff—it wasn’t right of us to sneak around and betray his trust like that. I really do believe that I’ve learned my lesson in all of this. I don’t even blame him for being upset the way he is; but at the same time, I guess I just thought that my old best friend would already have come back to me by now.
I knew he wasn’t going to stay at Marissa’s forever, allowing Justin and I to just inhabit his apartment all alone. I knew that. We’re all roommates for God’s sake—we can’t quite change that, not in any easy sort of way at least. So Chris came back and we’ve all been living under the same roof again, just like before. Only now, Chris barely acknowledges our existence; he acts as if the mere sight of either one of us disgusts him in really horrible, terrible ways.
At first, I’ll admit I was really pissed about this. I had figured by the time he came back from Marissa’s, he’d be ready to forgive Justin and I—thought he would be willing to accept the fact that we really are serious about each other. But it turns out that I was wrong—very, very wrong. And even though this still makes me mad sometimes, it mostly just hurts anymore.
Especially because it’s not only hurting me; it’s also hurting Justin, too. It’s not as though he’s actually claimed it does, but I just know it does. The thing is I see how Justin’s entire demeanor changes whenever Chris shuts him out or treats him like he’s still angry at him. And I can just tell by the way he acts, how bad it hurts him—even if he won’t admit it to me or anybody else out loud. I can’t imagine having your best friend punch you in the face and still feeling like you deserved it somehow, but that’s what Justin feels like is the truth. It’s about the only thing he’s said when it comes to conversations involving Chris these days…
“Justin?” I suddenly murmur into the darkened silence.
“Yeah?” he whispers back.
“Do you think Chris will say happy birthday to me tomorrow?”
“I don’t know,” Justin answers me, softly. He pauses and lets out a heavy sigh, kissing the top of my head and tightening his arms around me. “I hope so.”
I gulp; my throat is unexpectedly tightening with emotion, my eyes are starting to burn with unshed tears. “What if he never forgives us though?” I worriedly ask him next, the thought painfully crossing through my mind like a ton of bricks falling onto the top of my head at once.
“I- I don’t know, baby.”
It’s not what I’d wished to hear from him.
What else could he have honestly said though?
Our breathing goes back to being the only sound again. I just lay in Justin’s strong arms, troubled with all these abrupt worries. For the first time in a while, I allow myself to remember my whole job/deal with Elise. I’ve been trying to pretend like it’s all just going to somehow magically go away or something; like I’m not avoiding her because I don’t want to deal with things, because I don’t have to worry when magic’s involved, right?
Deep down though, I always realize its only wishful thinking. And there’s always this part of me, this part of me that feels so, so guilty inside. I mean, what if Chris really doesn’t forgive us ever again, and what if it ends up that I’ve cost Justin his best friend? All for falling in love with someone who was paid to make him fall in the first place?
Sometimes I really wish I could just tell Justin and everything would still somehow turn out all okay for us—I honestly wish for that more than anything else in this whole entire world right now. A nagging fear always reminds me that things can never truly be that simple for me though. I know he would never forgive me if he found out about everything; and then he’d go back to hating me again—only forever this time.
The thought of that happening is almost unbearably too painful for my heart to handle. And I guess that’s why I’ve been trying so hard, to run away from all these terrible thoughts in the first place. Because maybe—maybe when it truly comes down to it—living with guilt is better than living with loss.
A few minutes pass before I find myself softly asking him yet another question tonight. “Do—do you ever—like...maybe…do you wish things could go back to how they were before?”
It takes a while for him to answer me, and I almost think he isn’t going to—until finally, I hear his low reply, “I’ll never regret falling in love with you, if that’s what you mean.”
You don’t mean that, Justin.
You really don’t.
And I know maybe you truly think you do, but if you only knew everything, maybe you would realize how wrong you were when you said that.
“That—yeah, that’s what I meant,” I answer him, weakly.
As much as I try to fight it, a tear slips out of the corner of my eye, trailing a jagged path down my cheek. It’s completely lame of me to be crying like this right now, but I can’t help it when the sniffles start to pore out from within.
“Its 11:48, you know,” Justin tells me, at last. His thumb brushes away my tears and he shakily says, “You’re not allowed to…you can’t be crying when I’m the first one to tell you happy birthday in 12 minutes…you promise me?”
Nodding my head against him, I whisper, “Okay.” I carefully sneak my hand up from around Justin’s stomach, resting my trembling palm against his heart. I feel it rhythmically beating beneath my skin and smile through my tears. “I really do love you, Justin.”
“I know.”
When twelve more minutes finally pass us by, Justin still keeps his promise. At 12:00 am, I hear him say my name, wondering whether or not I already fell asleep. I keep my eyes shut and I try not to forget to keep myself from crying; I have to keep concentrating on the feel and sound of his each and every heartbeat instead.
“Well, I guess you fell asleep already,” he continues into the dark when I still haven’t answered him. “But umm…anyways. Happy birthday, beautiful,” Justin softly breathes out, finishing at last.
And then he falls asleep—for real.
****
{Justin}
This isn’t supposed to be happening again. I slam the front door shut and step inside our empty apartment, going back to the kitchen and taking in the scene with anxiety.
All of the food probably grew cold long before I ever returned back here again…
It’s my girlfriend’s 21st birthday—and I don’t know why she’s not here right now.
She could be hurting and there’s no way for me to know, no way for me to help her. Jesus Christ, it’s nearly 10:00 fucking pm right now, and I have no fucking clue where my girlfriend is at. She’s supposed to be here. She was supposed to come home from work, and I was supposed to finally pull off that whole cooking her a romantic dinner thing I tried back when. It didn’t exactly go down how I had planned for it to last time…and this time…it was supposed to be perfect for her, on her perfect birthday.
And it would have been; only she’s not here with me, and she hasn’t been since she last left this morning. She should be though...she belongs here with me, where I know she’s safe and I can protect her. I don’t want to believe or even think about things like her being in some kind of horrible accident—to wonder if she’s laying dead somewhere, on some cold pavement in the city of Chicago, Illinois.
My collar begins to feel tight, and I quickly start to unbutton my shirt, loosening my tie and yanking it above my head. I throw it down and the knots that have been forming in my stomach since the first fucking full hour she was late start turning way too intense for me to handle anymore.
I just got back from the coffee house. She wasn’t there—she left a long time ago. I’ve called her cell phone a million times; I’ve left her a thousand messages on her voicemail. She always answers her phone when I call—she always calls me back if she doesn’t.
“I don’t understand,” I cry out loud, stupidly punching my fist into the table.
My hand begins to throb and I don’t even fucking care about the pain. I begin to wonder if there’s a reason why she would do this to me. Did I do something wrong before she left for work? Did I forget to say happy birthday to her again this morning? Did I forget to tell her I loved her when she was about to leave?
No. I told her. I told her everything.
And she told me she loved me too—that she couldn’t wait to see me tonight when she got off of work.
I keep racking and racking my brain for answers, for some kind of fucking clues. But there’s none that aren’t obvious. None. And if she’s not hurt and she’s not at work, then why wouldn’t she have already come home to me—or at least called me to tell me that she’s safe and where she is? She knows I would worry about her if I expected her to be home, and it’s already been hours past that time she was supposed to be here. She knows I love her…she has to know. And there’s no way she could be angry at me…she couldn’t be. So why doesn’t she care if I’m worried about her or not?
The only possible explanation that I can think of is that somehow, she suddenly began to hate me within the last 12 hours of the day.
But that’s impossible, right?
I mean…unless.
Unless...no.
I...there’s no way.
She couldn’t have…
“Fuck,” I whisper.
I gulp down the lump in my throat, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket. My fingers numbly dial her number and I wait in pure agony for an answer. My heart sinks to the depths of my insides when I hear her finally say, “Hello?”
I try to keep my voice as calm as I possibly can in this very moment of time, but it’s nearly fucking impossible to do when I’m feeling how I’m feeling right now. “Is she with you?” I choke out, not even bothering with the basics.
I just need to know. I need to know…
“Justin, is that you?” she asks me through the phone. “What the hell are you even talking about right now?”
My voice comes out weak. I force myself to repeat it again, “Is she—is she with you?”
“What? Who is ‘she’ supposed to be? You’re talking about Chloe?”
“You know who I’m fucking talking about,” I suddenly snap, angrily screaming into the phone. My nerves are going haywire. I can’t take her fucking mind games on top of everything else right now. I just need to know where Chloe is at, so I can try and repair the damage that’s most likely already been done by now. “Where the fuck is she at, Elise! Tell me!”
“You know, even if I did know, I wouldn’t tell your pathetic ass the answer to that one, Justin,” Elise answers me, dryly.
I grit my jaw in despair.
Her voice is cold as ice, as she continues on, “But I haven’t seen her even once today—and you’re an asshole— but I’m sure you knew that one already. So do me a huge favor Justin…don’t ever fucking yell at me…or ever fucking call me again for that matter. I have nothing more left to say to you, so goodbye, you fucking jackass.”
The line goes dead and I drop my phone on top of the table, burying my head into my hands with defeat. I don’t know where the hell Chloe is right now—but I do know that no matter what, I’ll just hug her and hug and hug her until she can’t breathe anymore—if and whenever I get the chance to hold her again, that is.
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