Right, so, sorry this is way short, but next one will be longer. Oh ya, and James, I furthermore apologize if this part is too angsty for you. And on top of that, the usual clauses about this is complete fiction and don't read this if you shouldn't. If you enjoy this, please feel free to e- mail me at blue_steele82@hotmail.com. Thanks. Oh, ps - someone e-mailed me and I fucked up and erased it, so if that person is you and you don't get a response, sorry. _____________________________
"I'm kind of tired," I say. "Do you want to sleep here?" I hope he says yes.
He just nods his consent and follows me to my bedroom. I begin to pull back my sheets, and he says "actually, I'm just gonna go out for a smoke. I'll come back in a few minutes."
I fall asleep almost immediately, alone.
I wake up in his arms, however. It just feels right, having been held by him all night. This is what's been missing in my life. Even though I know it's inevitable that shit's going to be doing some massive fan hitting soon between us one way or another, things just seem uncomplicated right now. Like if we were to stay in this bed in this spot forever, everything would be fine.
I lay awake just being held by him for almost half an hour. I'm debating trying to unfold myself from him and slipping out to make him some breakfast in bed, but I just feel so good pressed up against him.
He is beginning to stir. He hugs me closer to himself and a soft, happy moaning sound escapes from his lips. He begins to nuzzle his face into the nape of my neck. Oh my God, I'm in heaven.
"Morning," I say sleepily, and I begin to rub his arm. He doesn't say anything. Instead, he withdraws his arms from me and gets out of bed.
"Uhh. where's the bathroom?" he asks quietly. He makes his way out of my room after I point him in the right direction. I slip out too, finally able to slink into the kitchen and begin breakfast. I'm not really a very good cook, but I make the world's best fucking bacon and some damn fine scrambled eggs, so cooking breakfast is something that I can do pretty well. I've got the bacon sizzling when he finally comes into the kitchen, fully clothed.
"Hey," I say, and I look at him and smile. He looks moderately troubled, and his face is slightly downcast. He looks at my briefly, and for a moment he looks happy, but it looks forced. Oh fuck, he's not happy about last night. I'm so fucking stupid. Of course he wouldn't be.
"Do you like eggs?" I ask him, hesitantly. It's more than just me asking if he likes unfertilized poultry offspring. I'm asking him if he'll stay. If he's not freaking out too much. If we can eat breakfast and deal with things together.
He scratches his head and looks down at the floor, obviously very nervous and uncomfortable.
"Umm. actually, I think I should probably just go home. I can't really believe that I spent the night. My parents might actually kill me." I know that's a lie. He told me last night they don't care. And he was so earnest last night in everything he said and did. He can't even say it at full volume - he's mumbling almost inaudibly. I know that's a lie.
"Umm. okay," I spew out. I walk him to the door and he speedily drives away without so much as a proper good-bye.
I go back inside and finish making breakfast for one. It's still pretty early not even 12:00 yet. I had less than five hours of sleep and yet I feel wide awake. Wide awake and miserable. I bring my food into the TV room and just begin to mindlessly watch cartoons.
Fucking bright, buzzing half-animals. I fucking hate them. Their happiness seems fake, forced, and exploitive to me. I eat in silence and wallow.
I haven't heard from him since Saturday. It's stupid really. I don't actually know what I was expecting to happen here. We obviously couldn't have been boyfriends or anything. And I knew that to begin with. For him it was quite clearly just a hook-up, like he would with any random girl at a party, except that it was with me and not some chick. I thought about calling him, but I shot that one down when I realized I didn't have his phone number, and even if I did, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't want to hear from me.
I'd expected at the very latest I'd see him at school on Monday, but it's already Wednesday and I haven't so much as seen him walking down the hall. I don't have any classes with him this year, but I normally see him around. I wonder if he's actively avoiding me. I wonder if he's skipping school just so he won't have to see me.
Each day I don't see or hear from him I feel worse about myself. Fuck, I'm such a whiny little bitch. I need to get over this shit.
I walk through school in daze. My friends notice I'm in a shitty mood, but they don't bother to try and find out what's wrong - they know me well enough to be aware that it wouldn't help.
To make things worse I fucking need to bus home today because my mom's back in town and the car is no longer mine. I hate the bus, and waiting at the stop - in the rain, no less - I feel miserable and dejected. I'm standing on the curb, trying to amuse myself by keeping my balance like I'm ten again, and a car comes by. It comes by and fucking splashes me. Serves me right for standing right beside a puddle. My day officially could not be any worse.
Oh wait - yes it can. I look up, and I see the car was none other than the one I got a ride home in on Saturday. I almost can't take it anymore. I almost cry. I haven't broken down and cried since my dog Rufus died when I was eleven.
And then I hear a car pull up and brake behind me. I look up, and it's him. It's Roman in the car that just fucking drove by and soaked me. I don't know what to expect. He reaches over and opens the door and tells me to get in.
I get in his car and put on my seatbelt without so much as looking at him. He pulls away from the curb and begins to drive.
I will not be the first to speak. I will make him aware of what an asshole he is. I will make him look at me - depressed and soaking and see what he's done to me. I will make him apologize.
But he doesn't say anything. Instead he just puts on some music and keeps driving. And not toward my house.
A few minutes later, we pull into the driveway of a fucking mansion. This gorgeous, old grey house with vines climbing up the sides. This can't be his house. He parks and gets out. I refuse to move. He can't just not say anything and just bring me to his house. It's not fair.
He comes around and opens my door for me. I still refuse to move, and he reaches across me and undoes my seatbelt. His hand brushes against my arm and it sends shivers down my spine.
"Come on," he says, "no one's home." I still feel like shit, but I follow him inside, up the stairs and into his bedroom.
"You probably want to get out of those clothes," he says, and he throws me a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. I peel of my wet clothes and put on the dry ones, and I still have no idea what I'm doing here. He scoops up my wet clothes and walks out of his room. I follow him - he's putting them in the drier. And then we go back to his room. I
sit next to him on his bed, and he begins to rub my leg. I can't deal with this shit anymore. "Why am I here?" I finally ask him.
"Because I wanted to see you," he says, and he strokes my cheek. I'm almost taken in. But he's had all week to see me. And then he kisses me, and I'm done for. I don't want to forget all my anger toward him, but he's making it so hard not to. He's touching me tenderly and lovingly, and making all the moves.
He takes my shirt off; he takes off my pants. I wonder why he even bothered to give me dry clothes. He jacks me off, and brings me softly to orgasm, and looks straight into my eyes the entire time.
Afterward, we just lie in each other's arms for a while. Then I get my clothes out of the drier, get dressed, and he drives me home. Once again, we don't talk in the car. I can't tell if it's a comfortable silence or not. The Man In Me by Bob Dylan comes on the radio, and it kind of captures the mood perfectly. Fuck, I wish I knew what was going on between us.
____________________________ So that's about it, for now. but more to come soon.