"The heart has reasons that reason cannot know."
—Pascal
I stood by the exit door of the hotel café
Guilty.
I know I should feel guilty. I kissed my boyfriend’s friend. I kissed him with thoughts of going farther. Much farther. I felt incredibly guilty and Richard wasn’t helping matters. If he’d done something wrong then I could justify this, find a way to turn it around and blame it all on him. But all he’d done was continue to be as sweet as he’d always been.
He was playing with his band
I've always been a sucker had a weakness for a boy with a guitar and a drink in his hand
Maybe that’s it? Maybe he’s just too nice. I mean, Justin’s a nice guy too. But he’s got a bit of an asshole edge to him, whereas Richard as far as I’ve seen is sugar and spice and everything nice. I like that about him though. So I can’t even fault him on that. I like that he’s a nice guy. Sure, nice guys finish last, so the infamous unknown they say, but I like Richard. Richard was the walking definition of nice guy. I wanted him to win.
His words were like heaven in my hurricane
My knees buckled under
He had that likeable personality that makes a person have to put in some serious effort to not like him. His smile made me smile. His laugh made me laugh. His upbeat energy was contagious.
Even me, the pessimistic pathological liar in need of a serious attitude adjustment, as Justin had once called me, couldn’t help but see the world a little rosy when I was around him.
I thought everyone was watching me
Watching you save my life with the song
So why did I always find my mind wandering when I was alone with him?
You were mine
In the back of my mind
And not just aimless wandering, but always purposefully striding in Justin’s direction. I wanted that to stop. Needed that to stop. I’ve been trying. Trying to get my heart, or whatever it was that was fool enough not to understand why Richard was the right choice, to see, to know that this is what I wanted. Richard was what I wanted. What I needed.
Oh just for one night
Just for a while
I needed a nice guy. I’d already been with assholes. I’d already been down that road of trying to change someone into what I wanted them to be. Richard was already that. If I had ever been organized enough to sit down and make a list of things I’d want in a man. He’d be that. All that. But something, not my heart, because this wasn’t love. Was it? No, no it wasn’t. This was something else. Some unnameable something else and whatever it was, it was dense as hell.
There's always one that gets away
The one that sneaks up on you that slips away
Richard and I had everything in common, attitudes aside. He was into art. Not just any art, but my art. If I painted something, no matter how mundane, he wanted to see it. If I took a picture, he wanted to see it. He even went out to parks with me just so I could snap random things that caught my eye. He was always encouraging me, pumping me up with wild tales of my one day getting my pieces in a gallery. Justin and I had nothing in common. And in the real world opposites don’t attract unless they’re magnets or odd couples on Maury.
I knew this. I understood this.
In a closed off corner of my heart yes
So tell me why when I glanced up and spied Justin just standing across the room with a stupid little lop-sided smirk on his face, why did my heart jump? Why did things low and deep inside me tighten? Why did insane thoughts about how he was so good looking affect me, if only for a blink of an eye? Why did ridiculous feelings, even if only on a small, very small, microbe small, itty bitty bit pass through me, inferring that I…missed him? Why did just seeing him make me want to be closer? Why did I want so badly to go over and say hi?
I'll always see your face
The one that got away
Why when he finally felt my gaze on him and made eye contact, his expression going from relaxed and warm to hardened and cold in a matter of seconds before he strode away without so much as a glance backwards—why did that hurt so much?
One that got away
Why when in the next blink, Richard had come up behind me, wrapping his arms around me pulling gently, tenderly into him—why did that unnameable something else want to replace Richard’s touch with Justin’s?
There was some new fangled club opening tonight called Skin or something, I'm not sure. Don't really care either. It might as well have been called Show Yo' Ass, because that seemed to be what just about every hoochie up in here was doing. Strutting around with their little floss of a thong hanging out of their patch of fabric, loosely called a skirt. I think they called 'em minis. I call 'em trashy.
I guess that just makes me hater though, right? Anybody who disagrees is a hater. Then so fucking be it, Fionna Mackenzie Houston is a hater.
This was Richard's idea to come here anyways. I would have rather been pretty much anywhere doing anything else. Richard was normally a museum, planetrium type of guy, but tonight there was no talking him out of coming here. For a minute while we were arguing over it, it felt like I was talking to Justin.
The one that got away
I haven't really talked to Justin much since the break-up. Not because I've been avoiding him, I'm just—okay, okay, I'm avoiding him. It's awkward between us. I don't need awkward from him. Fake couple break up or not, he was still my boss. My boss who now since that night of...confusion when we...almost...did...but didn't, but did kiss—ever since then the hobbit is the one coming over to drop Sadie off and pick her up. So there's no contact. Maybe he's the one really avoiding me. Maybe I'm the one who's really making things awkward. Maybe I should just call him up for lunch or something. Friends can have lunch. I haven't been to PF's in a while. Not that I can't go without him, it's just...it...was our thing.
I'm not a victim of clichés
I don't believe in soul mates
Happy endings only one
Awkward. Maybe it's not him, maybe it's me. There's no our...anything. It's just a stupid restaurant that we went to way too much. I don't miss it and I certainly don't miss being his fake girlfriend. I do miss his goofy ass every now and then though. Miss the way he used to stare at me, even though it could make me so damn uncomfortable. Miss the way he always used to wiggle his fingers before I stupidly give into yet another hug. Miss the way he couldn't help his hands off me.
Oh and I met you and all that changed
What the fuck am I thinking? I shake those frightening thoughts away, push them back to the far corners of mind, into the cobwebs, hoping they'll soon be forgotten, but when I look up and find my brown eyes locking with those sea-foam blues of Justin's...
I had a taste and you're still sitting on the tip of my tongue
Suddenly, my body goes very still, like a deer caught in headlights. Flight or fight. I'm thinking about running—nothing to fight, but my own idiotic feelings—but my legs aren't getting the message quick enough. He's still watching me, surrounded in his group of friends. I know I should be looking away, moving away, doing something other than standing there stupidly, wondering if he's going to come over and approach me.
You were mine
Somewhere in time
I want him to come over. Why isn't he coming over?
I'll look for you first
In my next life
I try for a smile, but it doesn't quite reach up high enough to be noticeable before suddenly there's a woman moving in. A huzzy with more skin than clothes to be seen. She leaned into his space, brushing her fake ass Dr. 90210-given titties against his chest as she whispered something in his ear. Her lips looked like she’d asked for the Angelina Jolie look and wound up with the My-man-just-busted-me-in-my-mouth-again-but-I'm-going-to-stay-with-him-anyways-because-it's-my-fault-for-zigging-when-I-should have-zagged look instead. A lot of But-I-Love-Him bitches seemed to like to rock that look.
The bitch was still pressed up close to him, her fake ass inflated titties and lips were matched up with her Ompa Lompa orange tan in a can skin and her perpetually shocked expression, which strongly indicated that the botox was still fresh as the dough-nuts at Krispee Kreme when they flipped on that glorious sign.
There's always one that gets away
The one that sneaks up on you that slips away
Justin whispered something back to the plastic whore, something that if the botox wasn't there probably would have caused her to frown. I watched with a grin as Dr. Frankenstein's slutty monster strolled away. When my eyes wandered back over to where Justin was, there was just an empty hole in his cluster of friends where his body had once been.
Slips away
I frowned. Then shook it off, when I realized why I was frowning. Turning my attention toward non-Justin things, I finally noticed that I'd lost Richard since I'd made that immediate beeline to the bathroom, the frown was back. I didn't do well in social situations, especially when I was left to my own devices.
I started walking, wandering and when I stopped, I found myself at the bar. I was still too young to drink. Two years before I could legally get away with that one. But if the only thing standing in my way was a beer...or four from me being able to relax enough and find myself in any other state than annoyed or bored, then that was a risk I was most definitely willing to take.
I had just been handed over my drink, when a hand came out of nowhere and snatched it away. "Aren't you underage?"
I rolled my eyes, fully prepared to tell Justin to kiss my black ass, when I turned around and all those lovely words died in my throat. Narrowing my eyes at the man standing before me, I said, "Shouldn't you be out somewhere pretending to be a nice guy, just to lure some unsuspecting teen back to your place for the night?"
A slow grin caught the edges of Martin’s full lips. He licked them, just as slowly, knowing I was watching, knowing I was wondering just where that nasty ass tongue had touched me while I'd laid defenseless and unconscious in his apartment. He handed me back the glass and said, "On second thought, maybe you should drink this. I remember how...nice...and...free...you were after you'd had a few drinks."
Suddenly, I wished I had a bottle to break over his trifling ass head. I trembled with the effort it took not to try to reach out and choke his ass to death in such a public place. That's when I remembered my purse. Being that it was just a little hand bag, it wasn't big enough to put a brick in, but ever since my first run-in with Martin, I'd kept a small razor on me at all times. Naturally the razor wouldn't do much good if I allowed myself to be passed out like last time, but it just felt comforting knowing that I always had something on me to protect myself.
He must have seen the look in my eyes, in my stance, or simply noticed the way my hand was going for my purse, because he suddenly backed away—hands up with a condescending little smirk on his face. "Maybe I'll come back and talk to you, when you're feeling a little bit more…friendly." He said, before throwing a cheerful "drink up," over his shoulder as he sauntered away.
Watching him slink off into the crowd, I shuddered. Every now and then, I would get flashes. Flashes of that night. Him over me. Grunts and groans. Not sure whether they were from me or him, not caring, not wanting to know details. Not wanting to remember the little that I did remember. Waking up with a soreness and stickiness between my legs. My first time. Cherry popped.
I wouldn't call myself a romantic by any shot, but I had always pictured my first time as being special. I was supposed to be in love. That crazy in love, dangerously in love, love that Beyonce was always wailing about. That real love, love that Mary J. was always searching for. That always and forever love that had Luther crooning.
I wanted the kind of love that would make me feel like I was somewhere over the rainbow and able to blow on that song like Miss Patti Labelle did. The kind of love that would have me making some hot grits to toss at my Al Green of man if he ever wronged me. The kind of love that would have lighting up his shit on the front lawn, watching it burn while I smoked a cigarette like Angela Bassett in Waiting to Exhale. I wanted that through thick and thin, good and bad, ups and downs love.
After I'd gotten all that, then I wanted that sweat yo' hair out, break the headboard, screaming so loud that it'll have the jealous ass neighbors calling the cops because you were disturbing the peace sex. I wanted to call out to heaven, then curse my way down into hell. I wanted the butterflies, the fireworks, the tears, the laughter, the tenderness, the passion, the love...
I wanted it all.
But all I got was—darkness. A few scattered memories from when I'd been going in and out of consciousness. All I got was pain.
A pain that's still haunting me, following me into whatever kind of relationships I've been trying to have. That's why I haven't gone very far with either Justin or Richard. Yeah, sure, the feelings are there...or it feels like they might be, or at least are growing in the right direction, but I just can't help pushing them away whenever they got too close to me.
Even though I knew it was different, they were different—but the memories which were always triggered were always the same. Pain. So much pain. I didn't want to hurt again. Maybe that's why I went ahead and followed through with the deal, to give that final push to Justin. Who knows when I'll have to do the same to Richard. Maybe I won't have to. Maybe he'll be the one to push me away.
Arms were wrapping around me from behind, lips nuzzling into my hair which I hadn't bothered to straighten. I tensed instantly. Richard must have noticed this, because the first thing he said was, "What's wrong? You okay?"
He was staring at me with so much concern in his eyes that I had to look away otherwise I might find myself a bawling mess. I hated crying in front of people, especially a crowd of people. Pushing my emotions down, I focused on the comforting touch of his hands running lightly up and down my arms, as if he was trying to warm me up. It was damn near ninety degrees outside, inside maybe a nice seventy-five, plus the added warmth of all these bodies thrown together in one room. Things should have felt like it was heating up, but I was chilled, like a fucking drink on the rocks.
Taking his hands into mine, I tried to push my lips up into a smile. "Much better now that you're back." I sighed, pressing my body to his as I wrapped my arms around his neck to hide my face. I bit down on my bottom lip when I realized being in his arms did nothing but make me just want to cry on his shoulder more.
When he didn't say anything for awhile, I began to wonder if he was trying to figure out a way to get me to confess things I didn't feel like talking about now or ever. I know Justin would have never bought that shit, he probably would have just laughed and said, "Now I know something's wrong."
But Richard wasn't Justin, so he finally nodded, his arms holding me to him for a moment longer before he pulled away slowly, dropping a tender kiss to the top of my head. He glanced over at the swaying, grinding group of bodies out on the floor, before looking back at me. "Shall we dance?" He asked, holding his hand out to me.
I had opened my mouth, fully prepared to say no as nice as possible, when my eyes caught those damn sea-foam blue eyes again. He was watching me the way that Richard had been when he'd first come up to me. Concern was written in nice, neat little letters across his face. This time he wasn't giving me time to wonder if he would come over. He was moving this way at this very moment. Dodging and weaving through the crowd that separated us, like a professional.
In a closed off corner of my heart yeah yeah yeah yeah
Tearing my gaze away from Justin's movements, I looked back at Richard, staring into his kind eyes, glanced at his hand that was still held out for me to take.
I'll always see your face
Fight or flight, I could feel the sensation rising. I'd always taken to running. Stuck to what I was good at. Justin would have said following the same game plan every time made me boring and predictable. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was.
But if boring plus predictable came out to always equal safe and painless, then that’s all the problem solving I needed to know.
The one that got away
I took Richard’s hand.
The one that got away
Fionna had successfully avoided me for the last hour and a half. She was standing on the other side of the room now. Alone as far as I could tell. I don't know where Richard kept disappearing to and frankly I didn't give a damn either. For all I knew, they could have gotten into a fight and she was avoiding him too.
Only thing I knew for sure was that I wasn't just being paranoid, she was definitely avoiding me. Every time I got closer and she noticed, she'd suddenly see something interesting on the other side of the room and rush over there and away from me.
The one that got away
Well, I was done chasing behind her. Standing on the other side of the room, pretending to care about what the people around me were babbling on and on about, while sneaking quick glances at her out of the corner of my eye—but that I could do.
"The industry is so fickle nowadays." the short raven haired women in the group I was standing in, but not participating in the conversation, said.
A long-haired brunette co-signed on that thought. "Yeah, it's nothing like it used to be. Artists like U2 wouldn't even exist if the industry was the way it is now, when they started. It used to be about nurturing an artist, giving them time and room to grow. Nowadays it's all about the quick buck. If you aren't producing the right numbers then...you're fired." She said, doing a horrible impression of Donald Trump.
I glanced at the circle I was in. Looking around, realizing that I was the only non-record exec in this group, I knew if I didn't slide away now, they were probably going to ask my opinion, which normally wouldn't have bothered me. I would have given my opinion without waiting to be asked, but tonight...
I was distracted, to say the least. Some guy that looked vaguely familiar had strolled up to Fionna. She didn't appear pleased to see him. She frowned.
I frowned. Started moving in her direction, when I heard, "Well, Justin, you're the designated artist of the group, what do you think?"
There was a hand on my arm, not holding me, but prompting me to stop. I didn't want to stop. My eyes were still on Fionna. The man had moved more into her space. So close that his six foot-plus frame completely blocked her from my view.
"What?" I said, unable to hide some of my frustration as I turned towards the voice.
The long-haired brunette smiled at me, unfazed. She dealt with prima donnas all day, a little attitude wasn't impressive to her. Without batting a lash, she repeated herself.
"I, uh..."
People were standing in my way now. I couldn't even see the man anymore. I needed to figure out who the hell he was and why was he pushing up on her like that. Where the hell was Richard?!
"The thing about the industry is..." I started again, but this time the crowd parted. Just enough. Fionna was in view again. The look on her face made my insides go cold before the beginnings of rage began to warm me up again. She was biting down hard on her lip, looking very near tears. Fionna never cried. I didn't even think the woman had tear ducts. But right now she was very close to proving not only that she had them but that they were fully functioning.
"The thing about the industry is what?"
My frown deepened, I'd almost forgotten they were still here, waiting on an answer. An answer to what?
"Replaceable. Everything is becoming dispensable. Why commit when you can toss it aside for the next big thing? Everything's changing, so why should you stay the same?"
There were a few moments of silence, before a medium height, medium built, average looking, completely mediocre guy nodded and said, "He's right. You can't blame the industry without blaming society as a whole..."
That's all I heard before I completely stopped listening. The man was touching her now. I could only catch glimpses when the crowd parted enough. Only saw the wandering hand of the sleaze-bag connect with her body a couple of times. Stomach. Brush of the arms. Brush of a face. Cup of the chin.
She was squirming, swatting away his touch. Her fists balled, but not striking. Anger and a touch of something else, something not completely readable...something in between fear and sadness was written across her face. Whatever the expressions were none of them were close to happy, so I had to put a stop to that.
I was only a few feet away from her now. I guess the man had decided he had harassed her enough, because he was already gone. Like magic almost. Poof—and the bastard was gone.
Fionna was still standing in the same dark corner, rubbing her arms, looking shaken.
"Who was that asshole?" I said, now close enough to reach out and touch her shoulder.
She flinched at my touch, turning to face me. She stared at me for a long moment, as if she was seeing me but not seeing me at the same time. Finally, she just shook her head and moved to leave.
I followed her hurried steps, reaching out for her again, this time taking her hand into mine. "Who was he? What was he saying to you?" I asked, having stopped moving and forcing her to do the same with my grip on her hand.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?” She snapped, her voice loud and quivering with hostility. But she didn’t try once to take her hand from me. “Obviously the whole not answering and walking away shit was meant as a big ass clue for you to just leave me the hell alone!"
I knew she couldn’t really this angry at me, so I ignored her anger and said, "Okay, could you try that again without being on caps lock?"
"Listen carefully, jackass,” She said, her voice noticeably lower. “I'm not in the mood for your shit right now. Go find one of these hot pants wearing Ompa Lompas to bug." She started to walk away again, or rather tried, but my grip on her hand remained the same.
"Where was all this fire when you were talking to homeboy?"
It looked like the flames of hell were held in her gaze as she stared at me, my hand dropped from hers automatically. She was free, but she just continued to stare me down for a moment in silence. Then a bit of the heat eased and a bit of the sadness behind it peeked through and that little bit was good enough to make me feel like a big asshole. When I reached for her again, mouth set to apologize, she pushed me away from her and didn't hesitate to retreat this time.
I wanted to go after her, to find out what was wrong, was about to...
Then I saw him. He was strolling out in the opposite direction that Fionna's anger-powered stride had led. His stroll was slow and easy, like he didn't have a care in the world. Well, I was about to give that bastard a few.
The parking lot was packed. Congested was more like it. There was a maze of cars standing in between the muthafucka and me. I wove through them as quickly as possible, trying to make the least amount of noise so as not to alert him to my rapidly approaching presence. I didn't want him getting in his car and speeding away--not without us having a little chat first.
He was five cars ahead of me, standing at the driver's side of a red mustang. I called out to him, my voice ringing clear in the near silent air. The only other noise was the sound of some cars still out on the road at this two o' clock hour.
He turned at the sound of my voice, leisurely. He squinted at me for awhile, as if he was trying to figure out who I was. A slow smirk curled his lips, before he flipped me off and moved as if he was going to just unlock the door and leave me in his dust.
I sprinted up next to him. Close enough to reach out and grab him, but restraining myself from doing so. I could always hurt him later, but I needed him to talk now. "What did you do to her?"
He didn't respond, just stared at me for a moment. A cocky little smirk curling his lips.
That, of course, pissed me the fuck off.
"What the fuck did you do to her?" I yelled, this time punctuating my words with a hard shove.
He didn't say anything, didn't do anything. In fact he went eerily still. My body tensed ready for him to suddenly charge me at any moment.
But he didn't move. Everything about his demeanor had stayed relatively unchanged. His smirk was still in place, but there was malice to it now.
I took a step back, not a retreating move, just giving myself some room because I saw this all leading towards a fight that I wanted to be prepared for. Repeating myself in a low, steady voice, I said, "What the fuck did you do to her?"
He continued to just blink at me, watching me but saying nothing and doing nothing else but existing. Just when my patience had worn thin and I'd made a move towards him, he said it. Told it all. Details about the feel of her naked skin. Moans. Blood. Just a little. Virgin. Tight. So tight. Tried a few different positions, just for the hell of it. Just because he could. Woke up alone. Better that way. Few broken things, few stolen things. But all in all, it was nothing that would be greatly missed or couldn’t be easily replaced.
When he finally finished, I didn't say anything. He moved to get into his car, like that was really going to be the end of the conversation. He said his piece and then peaced out. He was half-way in the car, when I snapped.
Grabbing him, I threw his body forward before slamming his head against the hood of the car, over and over again. Watching the dents form, wanting more. After what he'd told me, there could never be enough dents in the car or in his head to make up for it.
I went to slam his head into the hood for the countless time, when he suddenly began to fight back. His leg sweeping back and kicking the first piece of me he could get to, which unfortunately for me wound up being the crown jewels.
I doubled over, my grip on him loosening enough that he could free himself. He stepped back as if he was surveying me, picking and choosing his next spot to hit. When he decided, a leg flew into my stomach and the air flew out of my lungs. Since I was already doubled over, I went to my knees. He didn't hesitate this time, moving in immediately, taking his forearm around my neck, holding me in a headlock, flexing muscles I didn't notice him having before as he began to cut off my air supply.
I pulled my elbow back and rammed it into his side over and over with as much force as I could muster. When he lost his grip, I slid away, clutching my throat and struggling to take in as many shallow breathes as I could get.
We were face to face again. He threw his punches wildly. I focused on bobbing and dodging his, waiting for the right moment to strike. Ducking down from a right hook he'd thrown at my chin, I came up with an uppercut to his stomach. My hands moved like liquid lightening, lighting his ass. Each groan, grunt as he went from being on the offensive to the defensive encouraging me to make the next hit, harder, faster.
Blood was everywhere. His face was half-masked in it. I knew my own couldn't have looked much better. I didn't even remember a hit to the eye, but I could feel it beginning to swell. But I couldn't worry about that, I just focused on the feeling of my hands pounding into his chest and face as I stood over him.
I only eased up when I was too tired to throw another punch. That's when I realized he'd stopped moving. As soon as I saw the slow rise and fall of his chest, I knew he was still alive.
Pulling my leg back, I kicked him harder than I'd ever kicked anyone or anything in my life, the impact shot pain through my own foot. I blocked out my own pain, listened to his cries. Yes, he was crying. The big bad bastard was laid out in the parking out, crying. And I kept kicking. Kicking and kicking and kicking. Straight into his ribs. Hoping each shot was dangerous, breaking something, anything other than my own toes.
Out of nowhere, there came another pair of arms wrapping around me, pulling me away. I shoved out of the grip, spinning on my heel, body tense and ready for the next fight. If he had friends coming to his aide, I was more than willing to show them to the same ass whooping. My rage had come over me so quick and so strong, that I couldn't think of anything else but hurting whatever was set in front of me. Needed to take that emotional pain from my heart out on a tangible, physical object.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" Richard exclaimed, still struggling to pull me away.
I stopped struggling when I realized who it was. Stop moving and just stood there, motionless. My breathing heavy, chest heaving, the adrenaline still pumping strong enough that most of my injuries were still a dull thud that I knew would all too soon turn into a roaring pain. I didn't say anything, didn't have anything to say, just stared down at where the man who'd raped Sugar Pie lay on the ground.
He was still breathing and watching him continue to breath, to live was fuel to my rage.
"Shit, man, fighting like that," Richard started, watching the man himself as he shook his head. "You could have killed him."
Still staring at man's body, I wiped the blood from my mouth. As I made eye contact with Richard, I noticed a still visibly shaken Fionna holding herself and rocking gently a few feet away in the light of the building. She was the only one not watching the fallen man struggle to re-learn how to breath.
I spit in the asshole's direction and said "That was the point."
"You know you didn't have to do that." Fionna said, cleaning my wounds by running a cool wash cloth across any bloodied area. Come to find out that most of the blood wasn't mine, but the swollen black eye, busted up lip and bruised abdomen was all mine.
The adrenaline was gone, leaving only pain in its wake. But no regret, I would do that shit all over again if I had to.
"It was nothing." I grunted, as she held the cloth on the side of my face, against the jaw. It felt almost like it was unhinged, but I wasn't going to complain. It could have all been a lot worse.
She laughed softly, shaking her head. "You know, you men are all the same. Always gotta fight. Always gotta pound your chest. Could come back with half of your body blown off and you’d still say 'Oh, this? That's nothing.' I thought the pretty boys were different. Guess not."
When she moved to wipe at another wound, I lifted my hand, trying very hard not to wince, holding her hand in mine, I stopped her movements. My dark blue eyes searched chocolate browns as I said, "No one does that to someone I love." I paused, wanting very much for those words to soak in, because that’s as close as I could get my tongue to the real thing. "Not without me having something to say about it."
I let go of her hand, slowly. She didn't say a word for a long awhile, just went back to gently wiping my face in silence. When she did go to say something, I cut her off. "No one." I watched her intently. I needed her to understand this. "Especially not you."
She watched me in a silence, before taking a shaky deep breath. She nodded.
"You could have gone to jail." She said, swiping at her eyes with a frown and then wiping my wounds a little angrily now, causing me to wince slightly. "If the police had been called, you'd be sitting in some jail cell right now. What will the little teenieboppers think of their precious Justin Timberlake then?"
Her bottom lip was quivering. She bit down on it hard enough to draw blood. I took the damp towel from her, scooting in closer. I didn’t have any words, all I had was the need to be closer. Closer. Closer. Slowly. Giving her every chance to back away. Then I leaned in, my lips capturing her bottom lip. When she gave another shaky sigh but didn't move away in the slightest, I moved in to deepen the kiss.
Pain surged through body parts not ready to move again just yet, but I ignored it to be closer to her. My hands getting lost in her curls, I smiled.
That's when Richard walked back into the room.
"Man, that was crazy." He said, looking back and forth between the two of us. His face read of excitement, but no suspicion. I'd managed to move a good enough distance away from Fionna. But the tension from being almost cold busted was thick in the air. We both just stared at him.
I could tell he didn't have even a beginning of a clue about anything that had gone on tonight and when I looked at Fionna, I knew that if she got her way Richard would probably never know.
"I still can't believe you did something like that. I've known you since elementary and I've never—not once—seen you get into a fight." He chuckled. "You look like shit."
I rolled my eyes, which really only wound up being my right one, the good one I had at the moment. I grinned and put a little bit more distance between Fionna and I. I needed to. Richard standing there or not, didn't stop the feelings from rumbling around inside of me. I said, "You shoulda seen the other guy."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "For real though, you do look pretty bad. Maybe I should call your mom."
I was glad that he wasn't asking any questions about why the fight had happened in the first place, but this was worse. As Richard was reaching for the phone, I leapt up as best I could, ignored the searing pain and snatched the phone away. With bugged out eyes, I cried, "Are you crazy?"
"What?" He frowned, completely failing to see the problem. "You look like hell and for all I know you might need real medical attention. It's not like that face of yours is used to getting pounded like that everyday. If it was your ass then there wouldn't be anything to worry about."
I narrowed my eyes at Richard. "Not a good time for the gay jokes." I said, holding my head and adding, "And I already have a big enough headache without you calling my mom and adding to it. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself."
I moved away from the couch in Fionna's house that I'd been sitting on for the last thirty minutes, letting her play doctor. I glanced at Fionna. Her eyes were watching my every move. She looked like she was wrestling with her mind to find a reason why I should stay. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part. When I got to the door and was just about to open it, I felt arms gently wrap around me from behind, a head resting on my back. Every touch hurt, but I didn't resist one.
I knew it was Fionna, not because there was only two options of who it could be, because Janice was out at who knows where, but because I could recognize her smell: cheap soap. She was wearing some kind of perfume, for Richard of course, but underneath that was the soap smell I'd grown so used to.
She sighed, taking a step back. She whispered, "Thank you."
I opened my mouth to say—what I don't know, but before I could even begin to try to figure it out, Richard called out to Fionna and she went trotting off like the good little girlfriend.
Alone—I was alone again. I should be getting used to this.
"You're welcome, Fi." I said, more to the air than to her, since I was standing alone.
You're. Welcome. Fi. The lamest three word combination I could have come up with to respond. But shit, what good would saying those other more well known three little words out-loud have done?
I was just about to walk out the door, when I heard, "Fi-on-na! My name's Fionna."
I turned around expecting to see her standing there, smirking. But when I did, there was just the air and me.
That girl had issues. And maybe I had issues too, because I couldn't help but love being around her.
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This chapter featured: Pink “The One That Got Away”
