by Niki Hager
Once he swallows, he seems to change his mind and decides to elaborate. "It's the ones who start off nice and normal who scare the shit out of me." If only he knew.
If that's the case, then maybe I shouldn't hide my crazy after all. However, it would be worse if he were to treat me different once he knows. I decide to not say anything in response. Silence is better than bullshit.
A few quiet seconds go by, and I have an intense urge to break the silence. "Which box would you put me in?"
"Box?" he asks, his forehead creased.
"Fucked up crazy, or nice and normal?"
He doesn't even give time to think before he starts. "Not sure yet. I think you're trying pretty hard to be nice and normal but …"
"But?" I prompt.
"But, I can tell there is more to you."
"Can I ask you something then?"
"Anything."
"Why did you agree to do this with me?" He knows what I mean when I say "this".
"I could've continued to ignore you, true."
"Yeah! Speaking of —"
He interrupts me and puts a gentle hand in the air to calm me. "Breathe, feisty Bug. I can't really answer that right now, but I will someday, I promise."
I fold my arms impatiently and stare at him in a way to portray I'm not happy he's grazing over my question but he can go ahead and start talking.
"I had this gut-wrenching feeling, which admittedly I was desperately trying to ignore, a feeling you were going to be one of those inevitable collisions. The kind I couldn't avoid anymore, or shouldn't have avoided at all." Damn. This guy is unreal. "A head-on collision."
Instead of saying something equally deep and important, I reply, "Are you a New Found Glory fan?" Facepalm.
We get back to my apartment to talk about our speech. We decide on the topic of marijuana. He is going to debate the pros, while I have the cons. The speech will be easy for me considering my disagreement over my mom and brother's choices. Roman is going to think I am lame when he realizes I am on the cons side of our topic in real life, but I can't change who I am any more than I can change how I react to him.
Roman is in the bathroom, but I jump when my front door bursts open like a bat from hell and scares the bejesus out of me. Enzo throws himself backward against the door, slamming so hard I could actually hear the wood frame split. He continues to stand there with his head lightly banging backward against the hard surface. He's absolutely panicked and frantically chanting.
"Shit, fuck, shit, I am so screwed."
"Date not go well?" I heckle while I watch him race around the apartment rearranging stuff. My stuff. Hold up, not cool.
"What the hell is going on? Tell me now!" I demand and stomp my foot like the irritated toddler that I am.
"Get your ass in gear and help me," he shouts back. "We have to get rid of all of your girly shit. Candles, flowers, potpourri, all of it." He motions his hand in a huge circle-like fashion around the entire place. "And hurry," he adds desperately.
"What! Why would I get rid of all of my stuff, I like the girly shit!" I argue.
"She thinks I live with a dude. So move it. Your ass and your stuff. Hide the crap in your bedroom for a while."
He kicks my door open gently and sets an armful of my belongings on my bed. I give him my best ball-shriveling glare, the one on most days would bring him to his knees, and he knows I need an explanation now.
"I haven't brought her here yet because I told her my roommate was a guy. I always go to her place to avoid the subject. Well, today she's all like ‘It's not fair’ and ‘You always come to me so I will come to your place this time’. What was I supposed to do, huh? She was trying to be sweet. I can't tell her, ‘No, you can't come over’."
He is practically hyperventilating now. I don't think I have ever seen him so rattled.
Roman walks out of the bathroom and sees my crazy roommate running around in a frenzy, throwing all of my shit in my room.
"What the hell did I miss?" he asks, laughing but still confused.
"Roman!" Enzo yells. " Thank the muthafuckin’ Thor you're here!"
Roman stands there with a lifted eyebrow as he takes in the bizarre scene he's just walked into.
"See, today she asked what my roommate’s name was, because she was planning on coming over, and I froze. I sort of blurted 'Roman'."
"You did what now?" I bark.
"It was the first name that came to mind. The last guy name I'd heard, when you were talking about him. It just came out. And now she's on her way over, and, coincidentally, he happens to be here. Dude, you gotta work with me, I really like her. I don't want to fuck it up before it starts due to the fact I'm a dumbass and lied about the sex of my roommate."
Roman and I both lift our heads to look at him.
"The gender of my roommate," he loudly clarifies, annoyed at our unspoken accusation. "For fuck’s sake!"
Enzo's rabid purging comes to an end when most of my stuff is out of immediate sight. He starts to calm down, but I still see the subtle signs of defeat in his features.
"It's probably going to come out later anyway, you can't lie about who you live with forever," I say carefully.
"Let’s cross that bridge when we get there, shall we? She'll be here in ten."
We all pitch in and add some finishing touches to make the place appear more masculine, in record time, might I add. It's a good thing because she arrived right on time.
She is very pretty. Short and thin with long black hair. She's dressed in a vintage Star Wars t-shirt, the kind you can tell she's had since way before the newest film was even a thought, which makes me like her even more. I hate when girls dress all fancy and wear boatloads of make up to impress guys. I may be a tiny bit guilty of that with Roman, but some girls go way too far.
"Marty, meet my friend Rigbee and her boyfriend AKA, my roommate, Roman."
Mine and Roman's eyes meet, and I know we are both thinking the same thing. The boyfriend comment. We have not discussed our "situation" at all so far.
"And guys, this is Marty."
She gives us a shy but friendly wave and then looks back at Enzo. I can see in her face and gestures she adores him almost as much as I do.
"I think we should probably finish working on our speeches, we'll be in the bedroom," I tell them.
Roman follows me to my room with our text books and papers in hand.
"That was interesting," he muses.
"Always is."
"So, do you want to talk about it?" he asks, whispering almost.
"Talk about what?" I respond absently, even though I know exactly what he is referring to.
"The boyfriend comment. I saw your face when he said it. You freaked."
"Me? Freaked? No. I was more concerned about you. I didn't want you to think I told him you were my boyfriend, because I swear I didn't. I think he said it to explain his whole roommate dilemma."
"True. So it wasn't that word specifically you panicked about?"
What is he getting at? I really don't like how he used the word panic.
"No, of course not."
"Then … what do you say?" His voice cracks nervously. "You wanna do it?" He draws his lower lip between his teeth, and his eyes burn with intention and apprehension.
"Do it? Do what?"
Then it hits me smack in the face what he's asking.
"Like, be your girlfriend?" I shriek in a high pitch and almost unintelligible manner.
"It's too soon. Fuck. Isn't it? I'm sorry, I just … I was thinking maybe …" He's fidgeting all over the place now.
"No." I shake my head out. "Yes. I mean, yes. Okay, let’s do it. Why not?"
I have been dreaming about him, literally, since I saw him for the first time so I can't fully comprehend what is actually happening. It would be ridiculous for me to turn him down. We could get to know each other and learn as we go, right?
He exhales and looks to the ceiling. "Thank God. Wait, should I say thank Thor? What's all tha
t about?"
"Oh, I have this thing for Thor, like a really big thing. Enzo knows about my comic book crush and jokes with me about him being my god. Lately, he's been replacing the word god in his sentences with Thor as joke. It's become normal now, and I even find myself saying it. It gets catchy, you'll see."
"So, what you're saying is I already have another man in your life to compete with, huh?" He gently elbows me.
"A very ripped god of a man, with a magic hammer," I tease.
"'You know how to deplete a man’s ego quick," he quips.
"Oh, I'm sure your hammer is magic too."
We end our project for the night and decide to watch a movie. He's behind me on my bed, cuddling. My head's lying on his arm, with his other arm thrown across my middle. The whole thing feels good. No thinking about panic attacks, or worrying about Roman finding me too fragile and having to tip-toe around me. I feel comfortable around him, and as far as he knows, I'm just a regular girl. For now. It feels nice to feel normal, and normal is exactly how I feel in his arms.
I look over my shoulder to the guy who has completely stolen my heart, to find him already staring at me. Studying me, not the movie. He leans in and his lips part slightly. I feel my body move to meet him halfway out of pure reflex. My face and body heats from the core. My chest flutters like my heart did a line of cocaine, pounding so strong I can hear the rhythm in my ears. A sudden tingle spreads from my cheek bones to my toes when I feel his finger brush a piece of hair from my face. His hands now resting on each side of my face pull me forward to close the small gap and his lips finally meet mine. He kisses me slow, soft, and sensual. Lips move against lips, using less tongue. His finger traces down my jaw, taking hold of my chin. With my hands now resting on his chest, I can physically feel him when he breathes out a low groan.
I bust out laughing.
Fucking Gnarly
I Don't Wanna Know-New Found Glory
Roman
In some moments, the only appropriate thing to say is WTF. Now would be one of them.
Rigbee
Uh-oh, he doesn't look thrilled that I laughed, I was so nervous, and come on, everybody knows first kisses are awkward as hell.
"First kisses are funny," I say apologetically.
I still have the biggest smile on my face so he seems to relax a little bit. He rolls to his back, throws an arm over his face, and begins to laugh with me. As our relentless laughter dies down, he peeks over at me from under the arm still covering half of his face.
"I was thinking … Maybe I didn't …" He's having a hard time trying to figure out what to say. "You scared the shit outta me."
"No! No. Not at all. It's, you know, first kisses." As if he will automatically know what I mean.
"Now that you got that out of your system—" his eyes bore in to mine "—and now that the atrocious first kiss is over, I will show you how very not funny this will be." He grabs my face and pulls me back in. This time, I definitely do not laugh.
His mouth crashes down on my own. He's inhaling me, making it clear that I'm the air and he needs to breath it. He slides his hand up my neck and into my hair, scratching at my scalp slightly. I think I'm holding on to his arms, I can't tell you for sure. He glides his hand down from my hair, now wandering my body in slow search of my waist. Resting there, he caresses the exposed skin under my shirt.
My body turns heavy, and for the first time, not from panic. His other hand still on my cheek, moves to my chin.
Reluctantly, Roman slowly pulls away. He leans back so he can look down at me and places a gentle kiss on the top of my head. With that, the most perfect kiss I have ever received comes to an end.
"Movie?" he asks, snapping himself out of the intense moment we just shared.
"Huh?" I mutter in a daze.
"Do you think maybe we should finish the movie?" A grin
stretches across his face.
"Hmm? Yeah, sure. Absolutely. Of course."
It's his turn to laugh at me. But, I don't get a chance to overthink. Without warning, he flips me back over so I'm facing the television screen, and explicitly spoons me from behind.
I wake to the start of a brisk bright light gleaming through my still closed lids. I grudgingly prod my eyes open against the overwhelming illumination. The sunlight furiously radiates through my half-opened blinds. I'm groggy as hell, though I know I haven't slept so hard in a while. My nights are typically restless and interrupted with involuntary waking throughout.
I suddenly remember it's Saturday. I wasn't expecting my alarm to go off or anything, but something still feels off, and I've slept later than usual. I feel a wave of warmth fall over me on my left side. I turn halfway over and see him behind me.
Looking completely cute, Roman lies sleeping on top of my covers, still dressed in his clothes from yesterday. We must have both fallen asleep last night during the movie. Usually, I would be pretty freaked out if I woke up with someone else in my bed, but something about having him in my bed is more comfortable than uncomfortable.
"Are you staring at me? That's kind of creepy," he says with his eyes still closed.
Caught. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to waking up with somebody in my bed."
"I hope it was more of a pleasant surprise than not."
"Depends," I tell him with a wicked expression.
"On what?" he asks, faking a hesitance.
"On whether or not you're taking me to breakfast."
"Well, I hope not. Because I'm pretty sure at this time of day it's called lunch."
"Eh. Breakfast, lunch, second breakfast, elevensies, afternoon tea. Any food in general, I would be good with."
"Depends," he mimics me perfectly.
"On what?" I hesitate back.
"On whether or not my friend Lyle can join us. He's been wanting to meet yo—" He stops short. "I mean, I would like you to meet him." He winces.
Now his look of apprehension is real. He's not sure if meeting his friend is something I will go for. To be honest, under normal circumstances, I wouldn't. Now, though, I think I am actually excited he wants me to meet one of his friends. That means something.
Throughout the rest of the week, I have learned a few things. One, Lyle comes with Roman, as in they are a package deal. I knew he was his best friend and everything, but it's come to the point where Lyle has food and drinks in my cupboards and fridge neatly labeled with his name on them.
Roman and I will stay up and work on our speeches, and Lyle will hang out in the living room watching TV. Sometimes with Enzo and sometimes just by himself. I'm liking how comfortable I've become with our new routine.
My mom, my grandpa Joe, and Enz have made it insultingly clear how happy they are I finally have friends. What's more is, I haven't had a single panic attack since meeting Roman. Sometimes I forget I even have a problem. I'm hopeful that he may ultimately be my cure. I have never felt better. I am getting better.
We've started spending a lot of time at The Coney, a twenty-four-hour diner down the street. We go for coffee almost every day, whether it's before or after we work on our speech. Sometimes both. It's quite nice, and I'll be the first to admit I am happy.
The thought is put on hold when I hear Lyle loudly proclaim, "Keanu, I'm tellin’ ya. He's the tits."
"Absolutely not. No way. I won't get about that. Ever," Roman severely states in return.
"One word, Constantine."
"Several words, Dracula, 47 Ronin, Johnny Mnemonic. Shall I continue? Chain Re—" Roman counters.
"Matrix! Devil's Advocate. Fucking Speed," Lyle interjects, more enthusiastic with every title he names.
Roman rolls his eyes. "Still."
"Babes in muthafucking Toyland!" Lyle argues excitedly.
"It physically pains me you've even seen that movie."
"What?" Lyle puts his hands out to his side and shrugs. "I have a kid sister."
"Don't care. He's still possibly the worst actor on the planet."
"You're delusional. He's
brilliant."
"The way Kanye is a genius. I'll get on that. Seriously there are no excuses for Dracula."
"I firmly believe his acting and accent was for shit on purpose," Lyle maintains, with his chin up and firmly set.
"For what possible reason?"
"Media"
"Media?" Roman challenges.
"All press is good press," Lyle justifies.
Roman lets out an aggravated breath and then replies effortlessly, "You're a dipshit."
Just when I think their absurd argument has reached its end, I hear,
"All right then, Nicholas Cage."
Roman scoffs, "You've got to be kidding."
"Lord of War. And I stand by Constantine." Lyle points his finger at him in state of his case.
"One decent fucking movie each and you … you latch on to it like it's a goddamn tit, a literal breast of acceptable precedents on which to base an entire professional resume."
"Keanu."
"Shut up," Roman's comeback, though lacking in originality comes across firm.
"Nicholas Cage."
"Vin Diesel," a new voice chimes. A welcome development.
We all direct our attention to Enzo, who aimlessly walks back from the bathroom with his head down, pen in one hand and crossword puzzle in the other.
He looks up from the paper. "What? Did I do it wrong? I thought we were shouting names of bad actors. Is that not the game we're playing?" Enzo asks.
"No."
"Yes."
"Kinda."
Lyle, Roman and I reply in unison but with three different answers.
Enzo shrugs us off and continues his mad focus on the grid of squares.
"Vin Di—"
I cut off Lyle before he starts. "Enough! I'm so over listening to you two. I am no longer playing party to Lyle's strange symbiotic relationship with bad acting and your provoking of such behavior."
I get stares from all three men.
"Are you done? You good? Do you feel better?" Roman heckles me.
"I believe so," I rival, crossing my arms to show I mean business.
"Then drop the mic and step off," Roman demands, his voice light with amusement.