Stronger

by Blue Ashcroft

  “My bad, I just thought I would warn you in advance.”

  “Thanks,” I say sarcastically. “But can you stop being two people?”

  His expression darkens. “I am two people, Dollface. I’m the Geoff before I lost Camille, and the Geoff who will never have her back. And you tend to bring them both out of me.”

  I swallow and nod, a lump forming in my throat. He’s right. He’s been through a lot. He should be complicated. “I shouldn’t have bought the swagger as real.”

  “Both sides of me are real, Dollface.”

  I nod. He’s too close. It’s warm again, and my face is heating up from his proximity. “Fine, I’ll go to your place.”

  He grins and finally pushes away from the counter. “Great. I’ll make sure all the hooligans are out.”

  “You’re the only hooligan here,” I mutter behind his back as he goes.

  “I heard that,” he says.

  Chapter 7

  I step off Geoff’s bike, eager to get the itchy helmet off my head. I don’t want to know who else has worn it. My first motorcycle ride was terrifying. I think I prefer cars. I set the helmet down and reach up to feel my hair, which is standing up everywhere. Great, here come the poodle analogies.

  But Geoff just looks me over and grins. “Cute,” he says, leading the way into the house.

  I follow him, taking in the neighborhood as we go. The house across the street has a tire out front on the lawn. The house over has a whole car parked on the lawn.

  “Do these people not know how to use driveways?”

  “Maybe they don’t care,” he says.

  “At least you can park on cement rather than grass,” I mutter.

  “Personal preference,” he says, winking at me.

  “I guess,” I admit.

  He kicks the door open and I follow him inside. The smell isn’t as bad as I was expecting, but it isn’t Summer Breeze either. Just the smell of an older, lived in house. One that’s relatively clean. I walk past the kitchen counters, which aren’t piled with messy dishes like I was expecting.

  I’m about to adjust my opinion of him as a slob when I notice the afore mentioned dishes piled high in the kitchen sink.

  “Gross,” I say.

  “Ha, some of us don’t live with our moms,” he says, turning into the living room and flopping on a worn leather couch. He waves a hand at the love seat and I sit tentatively. “Make yourself at home.”

  “Am I sleeping out here?”

  “Unless you want to sleep in my bed,” he says, smiling. “I wouldn’t complain.” He bounces an eyebrow.

  Ew. “No thanks. But don’t you have roommates?” I don’t know Geoff that well. Not well enough to sleep on his couch when there will be strange boys I don’t know passing through.

  “They’re good guys. You want me to stay out here with you?”

  I frown. So he wasn’t planning to from the start? “I’m fine.”

  His face falls. “Naw, I just wanted you to ask me to. I was planning on staying here anyway. Not an option.”

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll just watch TV.”

  “Nope,” he says, stretching out on his couch and reaching for the remote. “I’m staying. I’m taking responsibility for you.”

  “You’re not my father.”

  He wrinkles his nose. “I for damn sure hope not.”

  “Why?”

  “My feelings aren’t exactly fatherly.”

  “But you don’t want me to take a bite of the ‘Geoff burger’.”

  “Well, I do and I don’t,” he says, flipping through channels with a slight grin on his infuriatingly complacent face. “I mean, I was always planning to romance you a bit. Always thought that body would be awesome in bed. But honestly, aren’t we a little too different for anything serious or long term?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean, I see how you look at me. I get that you want me, but I’m not looking for anything serious, and on top of that, I know that I’m not the type you bring home to mama. I’m not in your class Dollface. I’m not your type period. Half the time you can’t even stand me.”

  I nod. It’s true.

  “But I thought, hey, you’re attracted, I’m attracted, a couple nice dinners, maybe some fun times, then go back to friends.”

  “We weren’t friends.”

  “Frenemies then. Whatever.” He clicks off the TV with a frustrated noise. “Nothing on.”

  “So I’m good enough to screw, but not good enough to date?”

  He’s just silent for a second, and it answers my question.

  I glare. “How dare you.”

  “No, that’s not it. More like, we probably shouldn’t do anything together. Because I’m not planning long term, and the closer I get to you, the more I think you’re a long term girl. You couldn’t do that stuff without getting feelings, and you’d get hurt. Because I’m not looking for that.”

  “Because I’m not your type.”

  He scratches his head. “Does this even matter? You said you didn’t want to date me.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Well anyway, all we got is attraction. You think I’m dumb, and I think you’re kind of a snob.”

  “I think you act dumb,” I say, feeling irritation build in me once again. “I think you are hiding who you really are behind that dumb facade.”

  “The dumb facade is who I am,” he mumbles, facing away from me and crossing his arms and legs as he rests on the couch. “Accept that, Dollface.”

  “Then why am I even here?”

  He sits up, softening a bit towards me. “Because you’re in trouble. And I’m a sucker for that.”

  “Aren’t there lots of chicks in trouble? If I’m so wrong for you, go find one of them.”

  “I told you, even if you were right for me, I wouldn’t necessarily be with you. It’s not in the cards.”

  “I think it’s your choice,” I say, not knowing why I’m still even pushing it.

  “That’s rich, coming from you,” he retorts.

  “Oh yeah? Why?”

  “Let’s see,” he says, bringing his hands up and counting on his fingers in an exaggerated way. “One, you won’t choose your orientation, because you’re afraid of displeasing your parents. Two, you won’t go into the job or school you want, because you’re afraid of displeasing your parents. Three, you wouldn’t confront Mike, because you were afraid he would do even worse.”

  “Yeah, so?” I say, my face flushing red even as we speak.

  “So it’s rich that you’d berate me for making a choice, when your whole life is screwed up because you won’t make one. Won’t make any of them.” He throws up his hands. “So you might be uncomfortable with the consequences of my decisions, Dollface, but I’m uncomfortable with your inability to take any consequences at all.”

  “That’s it,” I say, standing. “You’re out of line. I don’t have to stay here.” I move around the couch and am almost to the front door when he reaches me, blocking the way.

  “You think I don’t have consequences?” I shove him and he steps back, looking slightly abashed. “I have tons of consequences. All of the choices suck. It’s just about choosing which sucks the least.”

  “It’s about choosing which ‘suck’ you want most,” he said. “There are prices to be paid for choices, Amy. But you’re going to pay even more prices if you never make any because you’re trying to avoid bad things happening.”

  “That makes no sense. If I’m indecisive, it should just mean that the least amount of bad things happen.”

  “No, because you have no control. Right now you’re like a racecar careening down a track on two wheels. You didn’t want to pick the wrong thing, or make anyone mad, but look at life now. Not in school, not in a relationship, avoiding a seriously rapey stalker.”

  I swallow as frustrated tears come to my eyes. I swipe them away.

  “In fact Dollface, the only person you stand up to seems to be me.”

/>   I back away towards the door. He’s too right about me, and I hate it. I’m the one who reads other people. I’m the one who understands them and helps with their problems. I’m not the one that gets nailed to the wall with her own flaws by a Neanderthal that suddenly gets flashes of psychological brilliance.

  “Why is that?” he asks, coming closer.

  I look up into his eyes. I don’t know why it is either. But I do stand up to him, yell at him, push him around when he bugs me. And normally, I can’t make anyone mad, can’t do anything that would displease someone.

  I even went along with Mike, even after he was sort of creepy. And how I never confronted him or called the police. Why am I afraid of everyone but Geoff, when he’s standing here, looming over me, tall and threatening, looking over me like he could eat me.

  “Because…” I trail off, studying his eyes. “Because I feel safe with you. I don’t know why.”

  His eyes close for a moment and his lips press together. When his eyes open there’s a different look in them altogether. I study his nose, look down at his lips. Something about him draws me in, and for some reason, I trust him.

  And it’s not just wanting to trust him, like I often do with people. It feels like actual, real trust. I put a hand on his waist. “Maybe I do want a bite of the Geoff burger.”

  He bites his lip. I love how handsome his face looks when he does that. I love the combination of badass and smarts that I’m coming to see from him. “I sure as hell want a bite of the Amy burger,” he says, looking at my lips. He sighs and pushes away. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”

  I pull him back, try to kiss him, but he evades me easily, with a small smile. “Don’t get confused, Dollface. It’s just ‘cause I’m protecting you, probably. It’s also probably ‘cause you don’t have a dad, and you’ve never had a guy to rely on like that.”

  “Well, obviously I’ve done fine without one. And I don’t exactly see a long string of daddy issues in my past. Maybe I’m just interested in you after all.”

  “Me?” he scoffs, raising an eyebrow. “Someone like you, interested in me? Like, for real interested? Oh, come on.”

  “No, really, I mean, yes it’s confusing, but maybe I am. You’re right, I do stand up to you. I do make choices around you. Doesn’t that mean I’m maybe interested?”

  He folds his arms tightly and I look away from his firm chest. “Interested like a tourist might be in a monkey at the zoo.”

  I scowl, and then laugh at the image. “No, I don’t think so. Sometimes you are kind of a pig though.”

  “Thanks,” he says. “Now won’t you come back into the living room? I’ll get you blankets.”

  I consider going home and sleeping alone in my room. Wondering if Mike is outside somewhere. Who knows if he would actually try to break in? I don’t actually know his intentions or limits. That’s been the problem with him from the start. No, I’d rather stay here with Geoff.

  Geoff fits perfectly in my imperfect life right now. I’m in a world of in betweens. Between teen and adult, between high school and college, between gay and straight. Geoff is a nice streak of black in my world of grays. Maybe that’s why I feel safe with him.

  I could second guess a million things in my life right now, but I can’t second guess how much I hate him, or how much I like him alternatively.

  It’s all just out there on the table.

  “I want the long couch,” I say, flopping down on it.

  He folds his arms and sends me a mock glare. “I don’t think so. You’re half of me. You get the small one.”

  “No,” I say playfully. “I’m staying here.”

  “Like hell,” he says, pretending to roll up his sleeves as he comes towards me. He puts a knee up next to me and leans over to pick me up, accidentally tickling me instead. I squeak in surprise, and his eyes narrow as an evil grin spreads over his face. “You ticklish, princess?”

  “I thought it was Dollface,” I say, covering my side in pre-emptive defense.

  “Depends. If you’re trying to rule over my couches, I might call you princess.”

  “Oof, that’s worse than Dollface.”

  “Princess it is,” he says, getting a mischievous look on his face and leaning over me.

  “No, don’t!” I say, breaking into laugher as his hands grab my sides. I erupt into giggles and then shrieks. I can’t help it. I’m totally out of control when tickled. Normally I warn people that I’m likely to kick them on accident if they tickle me, but Geoff can take what he gets. He deserves it. I try to squirm away, try to get a hold of his sides, and he just laughs and pins my two hands together over my head with one hand. Then he waves the other in front of me while I wiggle helplessly.

  “Let’s see, now where should I attack? The defenses are down.”

  “No!” I’ve been laughing so hard that I’m tearing up, and I sniffle once and stifle another giggle. I don’t really mind being pinned by him though. I laugh, because I still feel like I’m being tickled even though he stopped. I’m just really sensitive I guess. He smirks and runs a finger along the underside of my arm, sending a shock shooting down into my hip, and I buck up to kick him in reflex, but he dodges easily.

  “Whoa, easy princess,” he says, letting my hands go. “No need to get violent.”

  I sit up, rubbing my wrists, though they don’t hurt, and trying to recover my pride and my composure. “Brute.”

  “Priss.”

  I smile. “Did you used to call Camille that?”

  His eyes go dark and stormy again, but the clouds pass quickly, and a soft smile come to his face. “Yeah, sometimes I guess. Called a lot of girls that growing up.”

  “Funny how that stuff comes back, huh?”

  “Yeah,” he says, sitting back with a sigh.

  The living room is dark, washed in gray, and outside it’s that odd mix of night and morning that happens around 2 or 3 am. “We should go to sleep.”

  “I guess so.”

  “This is my first time staying over at a guy’s house.”

  “Really?” he asks, putting an arm around me. “What a coincidence, this is my first time having a girl over.” He grins.

  “Like hell it is,” I mutter, shoving his arm off.

  “Okay, it’s not.” He laughs. “Worth a shot.” He jumps up and disappears down a back hall.

  “I just don’t get you,” I say, as he comes back with a blanket and puts it over me. Tucks me in gently. Where did he learn this gentleness? It must have been with Camille. Maybe he does mix me up with her sometimes, no matter how much he denies it.

  Then again, maybe she just taught him these habits, because she was a good woman. He does know how to treat women, in general. He’s as comfortable with girls as I am uncomfortable with men.

  I pull the blanket up around me. It smells like laundry detergent and mothballs, so hopefully it’s clean. He hands me a pillow, and I try not to think about where it’s been, even if it does have what appears to be a clean pillowcase.

  I settle back as Geoff flops on the couch with his own blanket and covers. He starts to snore pretty quickly after a short ‘goodnight, Dollface’ and I’m left alone with the darkness and the strangeness of the living room.

  I have a terrible nightmare, of snakes and dark hair, swirling around me, and a face, above me, attacking me, and I wake up sweating, with Geoff looking into my eyes.

  His hair is mussed from sleeping, and his eyes are puffy, like he was woken rudely. By me.

  “You okay? Come back to me, Amy.”

  I shake my head, then my body, trying to shake his hands away. “Get off me, don’t touch me.”

  He pulls back, looking at me warily. “Okay.” He puts his hands up to show he doesn’t mean any harm. “What’s going on?”

  I rub my head, feeling embarrassed as the dream wears off and I realize I’m in Geoff’s living room, and I’ve just made a fool of myself acting like this. I hate vivid dreams. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Like h
ell you are,” he says, putting a hand up to my forehead. “You okay? You sick or something? That was one hell of a dream if that’s what it was. You do feel a little feverish.”

  “Why does that matter?” I ask, brushing his hand, and his concern, away.

  “Well, they do call them fever dreams for a reason,” he says.

  “Sometimes you’re too damn smart,” I say, mumbling it into my knees as I draw them up so I can bury my face in them. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

  “You didn’t,” Geoff says, looking towards the kitchen. “Logan did. He woke me up, said you were screaming. Can’t believe I didn’t wake up first.”

  I look over at Logan, a little creeped out that he heard me when Geoff didn’t.

  He gives me a shy smile and brings two glasses of milk over from the fridge, handing one to me and one to Geoff. “Sorry, I work a graveyard shift, and was just passing through.”

  I take the milk but continue to glare at him, waiting for an introduction. He’s pale and thin, a couple inches taller than Geoff, but probably fifty pounds lighter. A soft face, gentle, with a long, hooked nose, and a small mouth and nice eyes. Short brown hair. Seems harmless enough. But for some reason, maybe just my own embarrassment, I keep watching him warily.

  “Logan’s been my friend as long as I can remember. We grew up together.”

  “Yeah, found him rooting in a dumpster,” Logan says, smiling at me. I smile back.

  “Digging for buried treasure,” Geoff says, pouting. “And you just wanted to steal my haul.”

  “Geoff does bring home good booty,” Logan says, sending me another shy smile. I blush. There’s something likable about him, something that makes you feel comfortable, even when what he’s saying is super weird.

  “Wait, no,” I say, shaking off the flattery long enough to protest. “I’m not his booty. Not anyone’s booty. Just staying over.”

  Logan raises a gentle eyebrow and tilts his head, like a very patient Doberman Pinscher.

  Geoff grins.

  Shit. “Wait, no, I know how that sounds. But I’m not. I’m not his booty,” I insist, waving my hands in a crossing motion for emphasis.

  “Okay,” Logan says. “No problem with that.” He stands and stretches. “Well, I’m heading to bed. Nice to meet you…”