by Johi Jenkins
I notice Fiona and Dean step off to the side, to another balcony, and start making out. The other guys take the lead and suddenly everyone’s making out by the balconies.
My self-appointed beaux Trent tries to go for me too but I politely decline. He makes fun of my slow beer drinking, and when I complain the beer tastes terrible he says he’ll get me a “girly” drink, which is apparently any sugary drink with alcohol. I follow him to the bar, and hang out by a tall table near the stairs, sort of hidden from the bartender, just in case he tries to give Trent a hard time about buying alcohol for minors, although I have the feeling that no one cares. I finish my beer while he gets the drink.
When he comes back he hands me the drink, but I set it down. Finishing the third beer made my head swim. Trent tries to put his arms around my hips, maybe to help me regain my balance. I decline his help and shake him off, but he just grabs me more forcefully.
“Trent, I’m fine. Let go,” I say. I try to pull away from him, but he’s still got his hands on me.
“C’mon girl, don’t be shy,” he says, trying to make his voice sound appealing. “Let’s dance again.”
“No, I need to stop for a sec,” I say, still fighting him.
“Stop squirming, then. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says, “But you’re just so damn hot.”
“Trent, let go of me.”
He grabs the hem of my shirt and tries to force it up.
“Come on,” he says, ignoring me. “Let me see ’em. You were doing it a second ago.”
“I was not. Fuck you,” I say, and slap his hand away. I push him back with all the force I can muster, which is not much, but at least he gets the message that I’m pissed off.
He’s pissed off too.
“Listen, you bitch—” he begins, but he’s interrupted in a blur of movement, and he suddenly falls to my left. I follow his trail and see him on the floor, his nose starting to bleed profusely.
“Call any woman that word again, and I’ll punch your sorry face until you’re unrecognizable,” a cold voice says above me. It sounds so dangerous that it would make me shit my pants, if I thought it was directed at me. I look up, dazed, and see… him.
Thierry.
12. Angst
Thierry looks savage, like he wants to kill the guy but is not doing it only because it’s illegal. I can’t move.
“Dude….” Trent moans from the floor, holding his nose.
“But,” Thierry continues in that stony voice, “call Tori anything that remotely sounds close to an insult again, and I will break every fucking bone in your body.”
I still can’t move, but I’m beginning to comprehend, to process what my eyes are seeing. Thierry is here. He’s back.
“Thierry? What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Tori, not now.”
I look around. A few dudes came over following the crashing sound of Trent hitting the floor, but apparently nobody saw the scuffle; they just looked over and Trent was on the floor. They’re asking Trent repeatedly to explain, but he just shakes his head, one hand over his face trying to hide or simply contain the bleeding, I don’t know which, and with the other he’s trying to point at Thierry, but his eyes can’t focus.
Meanwhile Thierry’s trying to move me back towards the stairs, but I’m staying put, because there’s something I need to do here and I don’t know what it is. By now people are shouting, and a couple of guys are looking at Thierry like they figured out he’s the reason Trent’s on the floor. They’re rounding on us—or rather, on Thierry.
Kerin, who was near the balcony making out with one of the guys, approaches the fray and it clicks in my brain that she’s the reason I’m not leaving.
“Kerin, let’s get out of here,” I say urgently.
“What! Why, Tori? What’s happening here?” she says, while the guy that she was making out with yells over our heads, rushing to Trent on the floor.
Fiona’s guy, Dean, comes out from whatever corner he was with her. He asks, “What the fuck?”
“Tori, we’re going,” Thierry says, and he’s still clearly very angry, when two guys rush at him, one of them Kerin’s guy. I think this is going to be bad, and they’re going to beat the shit out of Thierry, but in a second they’re both on the floor. I didn’t even see it happen. I just see the aftermath.
Some girls scream, some dudes shout.
I can’t leave Kerin alone, or Fiona for that matter, but Thierry really should leave now.
“Kerin!” I yell at her to get moving.
“Tori, what the hell?” She sounds upset that her guy stopped making out with her, he’s now on the floor moaning, and I’m yelling at her.
“Just go downstairs to Aiden, please!” I yell.
Things are getting out of control. Four big guys are about to attack Thierry. I hear him say under his breath, “Fuck,” and suddenly his arms go around me. He presses me against his body, and whisks me away against his chest like I’m a child, as though I weighed nothing. Stairs, people whir by as I’m carried swiftly through a very crowded space, and then outside, yet I don’t bump into anyone. But I do hear complaints of people being bumped and shoved to make way for me. Like Thierry’s Moses and he’s parting a Red Sea of people.
He keeps going for a couple of blocks, and then reaches a street that has no people, but it’s still close enough that I can hear the action of the festival and the people nearby. He sets me down and against some house’s concrete fence with railing, which I need because I’m dizzy from the alcohol and the motion. He stands in front of me holding my hand tightly, almost painfully, trying to catch his breath.
No—his breath is perfectly fine. His eyes are unfocused, and he looks angry. He moves his head with fast, jerky movements, left to right, like a predator assessing danger. His hair is the most disheveled I’ve ever seen him with, and he looks almost feral. Over my lingering anxiety I feel a sudden urge to pet him.
His hand starts to cut circulation to my fingers, and I make a little noise without really meaning to.
This gets his attention. “Tori. Oh God. Sorry.” He reduces the pressure but doesn’t let go of my hand.
“Nah, ’s okay. Thank you. That guy….”
He closes his eyes, but not before I think I see a quiet rage flash through them. Then a pained expression contorts his features, like something hurts, or like he’s torn between some tough decisions I can’t see.
He pulls me towards him without a warning, and embraces me. Oh. Pleasure ripples through me. I melt against him, leaning against his chest, feeling every excuse I made, every wall that I put up crumble. My inhibitions are low at the moment, and I feel like sharing my feelings with him. I don’t do it, though. I fear he might not like it, and that keeps me from spilling my drunken confessions.
We stay like that for a while, not saying anything. I could stay here all night, enjoying the comfort of his strong arms. Of his company.
I missed him so much.
Stupidly, I feel my nose burn and my eyes fill with tears. Ah, so I’m a sad drunk. I try not to make a sound.
He still feels it, somehow. He pulls me back and stares into my face. I keep my gaze down so as to hide the moisture in my eyes.
“Tori? Are you hurt?”
“No, Thierry….” I am, but not in the way he’s thinking.
“Then what’s wrong?” He asks, worried about my tears.
I laugh drunkenly, wiping my eyes. “I just…. I can’t believe what just happened.”
“I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“No, you were pretty badass,” I say, unable to contain my fascination from showing. “You’re like, super strong.”
“Nah. Those guys were just drunk; easy to bring down.”
“Not easy for me,” I say, embarrassed. “I couldn’t get away from him.”
“Tori, you’ve been drinking too,” he reminds me, and I think it sounds a little disapproving. “You shouldn’t have been there alone. Drinking with random dud
es you don’t know.”
That he disapproves of my wild outing is a little endearing, because it translates that he cares about me. Then I remember him not caring about me. I get defensive, and take a step back. “I was with friends, and Kerin’s brother was downstairs. Everything was supposed to be okay,” I say in my defense.
“Well, it wasn’t okay. That guy was going to drug you. And rape you, Tori.”
I cringe. Was he?
“How do you figure? Have you seen that guy before?” It occurs to me that they were probably Thierry’s age and he might know them from college.
“I saw him slip something in your drink,” he says. “That’s what those guys do.”
I’m suddenly afraid for the others. “Oh God…. What about Kerin, Fiona, and the rest of the girls?”
“They’re fine,” he says. “They’re all going to get kicked out. That always happens when there are bar fights.”
“But Kerin’s going to be by herself! I have to go get her. Or tell Aiden.”
“The brother knows. He’s up there getting his sister out.”
“He is? Did you see him?” I ask him, and then I realize something. “You don’t even know what he looks like!”
“Tori,” he says, and embraces me again. My emotions are getting out of control. “It’s okay. They’re all okay. I happen to know Aiden Mercer, and I know he heard the brawl. I saw him on his way up as we left.”
Oh. That didn’t occur to me, that Thierry might know him. And I didn’t see him on our way down. But then, I’d been pressed against Thierry’s chest through our whole escape.
“I’m so sorry, Tor.” I look into his eyes, and they’re pained. Embarrassed, even.
And then I understand. He’s apologizing for not being around the last month. For staying away. For hurting me. For almost allowing me to get drugged by Trent.
No, that wasn’t his fault. “It’s okay, Thierry. It’s not your job to take care of me,” I say, because I don’t want to see him suffering.
“It is. We’re friends,” he says.
I step away from him again.
“No,” I say. “No, we’re not. When Corben came here”—he actually flinches when I say his brother’s name—“you stopped hanging out with me. You may have wanted to remain friends, but you didn’t. It’s okay,” I add quickly, as he looks like my words bother him. “I don’t mind. You’re a great guy, and I loved hanging out with you. But it is what it is, what can you do.” I even throw in a little shrug.
“No, it’s not what it is. Who knows what is there for sure? What anything really means…?” I’ve no idea what he means. He sounds a little angry, but it’s not directed at me, I can tell. It’s as if he’s arguing with someone else…. Hopefully Corben.
“He hates me,” I say.
Thierry looks into my eyes and smiles ruefully. He knows exactly who I’m talking about. “Corben can be a dick,” he says. “But he doesn’t hate you.”
“He doesn’t like me very much, either. He wants someone better for you,” I take a guess as the problem here.
“No, not that. He doesn’t care who I go out with. Usually.”
“Oh, so this is the exception. I think he cares this time.” Life without Thierry sucks, and Corben is to blame. That’s all I know. “You can’t deny he’s against me being with you.”
“But not because of what you think, Tor,” he insists. “It’s just that you… you remind him of someone.”
Oh. That’s not what I expected. For a second I’m speechless, while a thousand new thoughts go through my head.
But what the hell? I didn’t do anything.
“I look like someone he hates, or what?” I ask.
Thierry laughs shortly, and says, “No. The opposite. A person he loved… very much.”
Oh, again. I’m surprised. “So what, it’s weird for him to see his brother with his ex’s doppelgänger?”
He sighs and looks away. He probably regrets that he said too much. I feel bad for making him talk about his brother. The topic is clearly sensitive.
But still, he answers me. “You’re not her doppelgänger. I mean, you don’t look exactly like her; I’ve seen a painting of her that he always carries with him. It’s more like, you have similar….” He looks up, searching for a word in his head. “Disposition. Or attitude.”
“You’ve never met her, then?” I ask, because something doesn’t make sense.
“No.”
“Then how do you know we have the same disposition?”
He falters for a second. “He’s told me about her.”
“But….” It’s like he answers each question, but it still doesn’t explain anything. “But he doesn’t know about me. How can he compare me with her enough to feel weird or whatever it is he feels around me?”
Again, there’s a very short pause. Like he’s thinking of lies to tell me, but coming up with them pretty quickly. “I told him about you.”
That sounds like a lie, but he’s quick to reply to me—so I’m thrown. Because how can he reply so fast if it wasn’t true? But it doesn’t sound true.
I’m not giving up.
“Thierry, still. Say that I make him feel weird because I remind him of his ex. Why should that influence your relationship with me?”
He runs a hand through his hair. He looks like he’s getting nervous about where this conversation is headed. “It’s complicated. First, she’s not his ex. I mean, they didn’t break up; she died.”
“Oh,” I say, making a horrified face.
“And second, I’m not just his brother. I’m….” He pauses, as if looking for the appropriate word again. “We’re family. We’re all we’ve got.”
It could be the orphan thing. Of course Thierry would dump me if his only brother felt uncomfortable with me around. But how bad can it be? I don’t even look like the dead chick! Wait—
“Did you say painting?” I ask.
“Yeah…?”
I sigh. Everything’s so weird, and I’m tired of playing Twenty Questions with him. “Okay, I guess,” is all I say.
We don’t say anything for a little while. I just stare anywhere but at him, thinking about everything that he said. Then I think about something he hasn’t said.
“Thierry?”
“Yes?” He sounds guarded, like he’s afraid of what I’ll ask now.
Well, he’d better be, because it’s a good question.
“How did you find me?”
He closes his eyes and looks away. “Torii,” he complains, like a little kid would do, and it actually sounds cute.
“What? I’d like to know, very much, how did you happen to be in the same bar that I was.”
“I… happened to be there,” he says, not bothering to conceal his sarcasm.
“You were,” I repeat, my words full of cynicism.
“I was. And then I saw you dancing with that guy, and saw him go get you another drink, and slip something in it.”
“And then you saw him grabbing me, of course.”
“I did.”
“And you didn’t intervene until I’d made a weak, pathetic fool out of myself.”
“What? No,” he says, changing his tone right away. “I wasn’t going to let him hurt you. But I wanted to hurt him, and while he was just grabbing you I had no excuse.”
“You say he drugged my drink before he grabbed me!” I cry.
“Yeah, but you didn’t know that. I wouldn’t have let you drink it!”
That’s it. I’m tired of his answers that don’t really explain anything. The alcohol in my system is certainly not helping. “What were you doing in the bar, Thierry?” I almost yell, impatiently.
“I followed you!” He finally admits, stepping forward, and grabs my face with both his hands.
I freeze when he touches me. His smooth hands are cool and gentle on my neck, and his thumbs caress my cheeks. “I’m supposed to stay away from you. There; I said it. It’s true,” he says quietly, and I blink, stunned. “But I can
’t anymore. It drains me.” His lips are only a few inches away from mine.
My mind is a mess. My body’s running a sudden, spontaneous fever. I stare at his lips, and while I can’t think or act properly, I do know that I want him to kiss me. I want to feel his lips on mine again. I look up to his eyes, and they’re almost pleading.
“Say you love me. Please,” Thierry says unexpectedly, his voice full of emotion. Like he’s about to cry.
Holy shit.
Please? I couldn’t say no, even if this is only the fourth time that I see him. Even if I don’t know anything about him. It feels like I know him; like I’ve known him all my life.
“I love you, Thierry,” I say, and it hurts to admit it. Something in my chest burns, and it wants to cave in, embarrassed; but what was I supposed to do? If this man asked me to admit I killed JFK, I would. And he said please. “I do,” I repeat, closing my eyes; it really does hurt. I want to disappear.
I feel his lips on mine.
Ahh. Every worry, every doubt, every heartache I felt, it all dissolves away as his lips fuse with mine. He presses me harder against his body. I return the kiss greedily, rejoicing in the feeling and the way my body responds, as though it recognizes him. And I suddenly don’t care that he knows how I feel; I’m ridiculously happy for the first time in almost four weeks. I throw back my head in abandon, feeling an honest grin on my face as I come up for air.
Thierry’s lips trace my cheek, my jaw, and land on my neck. I feel his tongue on my skin, and I suddenly want him to… to kiss me? No, I had the distinct impression that I wanted him to give me a hickey. To suck on my neck. As if we were in junior high.
He pulls back, and his gray eyes are full of wonder. He presses his forehead against mine. “I love you, Tori. You’ve no idea,” he whispers, and I shiver in his arms. He loves me. He says he loves me.
***
“They’re okay,” Thierry says, trying to comfort me as we walk to his apartment, a short time later. I’ve been constantly looking over my shoulder in the direction of the bar in which I abandoned my friend. Kerin hasn’t answered my texts. I’m still tipsy.