by M Field
I want to open that door, but in a moment of weakness the voice of my dad intercepts,
“You’re a worthless piece of shit …” leaving me torn, in this whirlpool of self-loathing and insignificance. Fuck you, my thoughts whisper in return. After four years, his words feel like they are new again. Why are they here again? Biting my tongue to dispel any rage I feel about him, I open my eyes and focus on her door. Friends. I need to build on that. Who knew if what she felt for me even existed anymore, but I have to find out.
I roll back my shoulder blades and tilt my head from side to side, as if I am preparing for battle. I know that I don’t know her like I used to, and as much as my hormones are telling me to conquer her, I’m not sure how to approach this without a knee to the jewels. She deserves better than a quick romp. I need to—can’t believe I’m about to say this—win her over. An apology is the least she deserves, and she has every right to tell me to piss off. Jumping to conclusions while making a dick of myself in front of her friends just put me behind big time. If I open that door, I am sure she’ll tear me the new one that I deserve. Staring at it, I start rounding off all sorts of apologetic lines. “I’m an idiot … Yes, you can have a free kick to my nuts.” or “I didn’t know and you seemed all over that guy … who happens to prefer dicks to chicks.” Yeah, probably not the best way to fix this.
Trice is single. I am an idiot. How could I not know that? Oh yeah, that’s right, I blocked her out … fool. While staring at the door, I picture her lying angrily on her bed, and it does nothing to quench my hormones. Instead, my caveman instinct kicks in. The need to burst that door open and grab her has me clenching and unclenching my fists like some creeper by her door. How can you want someone so much when you haven’t seen them in a long time? All those years of making my mind shut her down, only for her to come back, be touched by someone else, and now my entire being wants to claim her. Each memory that I had locked away bursts out, filling my mind with everything that I miss about her. I need to fix this before I lose it. Time to get this apology over and done with.
I huff out a sigh of stupidity and knock. Fuck it. We have to make this work. Right now, she is probably on the phone to her friends looking for somewhere else to live. I can’t have that happen. Half a day she’s been here, and I remember what I’ve been missing. Her smile, her eyes, her hair … Those legs … Yeah, I’m fucked. Time to become her friend again—if she’ll let me.
Knocking again, I know it is probably annoying her, but I don’t care. I have to stop her from leaving me. I go to knock a third time and the door opens abruptly away from me. Trice is standing there red faced and eyes are narrowed, glaring daggers at me. It’s show time.
“Look, Trice I just wanted to apologise—”
Before I can deliver a heartfelt apology, she snaps, “Oh, really? What about? Being a dick? Or butting in where it’s not your business?”
“For all of it, really. I didn’t mean to jump to conclusions.”
“Conclusions? Like, insinuating I’m a cheater? Like some cheap whore? You’re the one who dates whores, Alex; I would have thought you should have known the difference,” she snarls. Seeing as she is not backing down, I raise both hands in defeat and step towards her. She is stunning in her anger. Her eyes are bright, her chest is heaving, and all I want to do is slam her into the nearest wall. I take a deep breath to calm the hormones, again.
“You are not a whore and you never were.” Stepping forward, I put my hands on her shoulders. “I don’t know you like I used to and that’s my fault. I want to get back to being friends again.”
For a moment, I think I see a flash of pain on her face, but she quickly hides it as she focuses back on me, licking her lips. She mutters, “We were great mates, and I want that back, too.”
I sigh in relief and pull her in for a hug. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and tip my chin down on top of her head. Yep. I have missed this. I give her a quick squeeze and I step back. I know I need to take this slowly, even though my limbs want to snake out and rip her clothes off.
“Well, friend, let’s just chill tonight, order pizza and watch a movie and tomorrow, I’m going to cook you a welcome home breakfast. We have brunch on the weekends, so it’s a tradition you need to become familiar with. But I’ll warn you, though, I am reigning Supreme Brunch Chef. You may try to beat me, but you won’t. Dishes go to the loser.” Winking, I turn and head out to the lounge to give myself distance. These bloody hormones are telling me to do things that I can’t even try … yet. The last thing I need is for her to look down at my junk and see what else is trying to reign supreme.
Much later over an empty box of pizza, a few beers, and a huge bowl of popcorn, we shift into normal conversation like we used to. I am sprawled out on the main couch trying to catch popcorn in my mouth and Trice is on her side lying down on the chaise lounge that is next to my feet. Both of us keep to neutral territory, asking about university experiences, her new friends, old ones, and the occasional shenanigans. What we don’t talk about is us. What a complete moron I had been by leaving her. It is on the tip of my tongue to tell her how sorry I am, but as much as the beer is loosening my tongue, when it comes to that subject, it stays firmly in place. While we chat about the time we weren’t in each other’s lives, it occurs to me that she is skittish about her dancing. Sitting up so I can see her better, I put my beer on the coffee table and ask, “So, are you still dancing? You used to be so passionate about it and you weren’t half bad.” Her beer stops mid-air as she visibly flinches. My brow furrows in confusion. Did something happen in the last four years?
“Um, well, you used to be, of course, but I know things change …” She flicks her legs over the chaise and faces me.
“Alex, I am still dancing. I attend an academy here that is prepping me for future theatre careers, or if I want, I can back-up dance in music videos …” she trails off. No shit? Interesting.
“Oh, okay. You happy?” I query, paying close attention to her face. She shrugs and sighs. “Yeah, I am. The director is a complete fuckwit. Though. I do love dancing.”
“Tell me about it. You used to dance for me when you were younger. That was cute.” I internally cringe at the memory. I remember perving on her the last time I saw her dance for me.
“Well, um...how about we ... ah ...” Avoiding my eyes, she leans forward and gestures to the TV. “Let’s just watch a movie. I think Taken is on TV tonight. We can watch that.”
She shuffles her legs back onto the chaise and faces the TV, effectively shutting me out. The fuck? Instantly, I’m on edge. Is something happening at dancing that she doesn’t want me to know about? Is that director causing problems? My instinct is to go straight to that studio and kick that guy’s ass. No way am I going to let it pass her by.
“Trice, what is going on? Is something happening at dance? Is that director bullying you?
Want me to go and kick his arse?”
She blinks and shakes her head. “Don’t worry, Alex. He’s a dick, and there are bitches in the class, but I can handle it. It’s fine. It’s not that.” Sighing, she twirls her hair between her fingers and lowers her eyes. “It’s not that,” she whispers. Taking a deep breath, she continues, “Look, I know you don’t really want to hear about my dancing—so I just tried to stop talking about it so you didn’t feel obliged. Sorry if you got the wrong idea.”
I am both relieved and annoyed. She still wasn’t making any sense. “What do you mean I don’t want to hear about it? Of course I do!”
“Ah, no, you don’t. But that’s fine. Guys tend not to give a shit, and that’s fair enough.”
“Don’t compare me to other guys, Bea. I want to hear about. I always have.” Her fingers stop twirling her hair as I call her by her old nickname. For a moment her face softens, but it’s quickly hidden after a few blinks. She clutches a strand of hair that she was twirling. She suddenly doesn’t look so distracted anymore.
“Actually, Alex,” she grizzles, “you don’t w
ant to hear it. In fact, when I was in year ten and coming out of class, I heard you say just how much you didn’t like it.”
“What?” Shocked, I shake my head. “What the hell did I say? I don’t remember that.”
“Well, your lips were preoccupied with Stacey the whore, so maybe you had a brain fart happening. To cut the story short, you said that my dancing ‘bored you to tears.’”
“Oh hell, Bea. I am so sorry.” Thinking about it, I could vaguely remember saying something, but it was never meant for her to hear. The truth was that I did like talking to her about it and I especially liked it when she danced for me. Her brother was there that day. I would’ve scored an elbow to the nose if I’d admitted it. There was no way I could tell her now.
“Bea, to be honest, I was probably being led by dick that day. A stupid, hormonal teenage boy who was being a smart arse. I am so sorry, and I never meant to hurt you. I actually do want to hear about your dancing. Please, just forget about me being a colossal dickhead.” I move closer to her so I can rub her shoulder. “Just add it to the pile of stupid shit I’ve done and please, please, please let’s forget about it? I want this friendship to work again.”
She leans her head towards my hand that’s on her shoulder. I don’t think she realises how much I want to touch her all over.
“Okay, sounds good.” Sitting up, a mischievous smirk comes across her face.
“Well, if you really want to hear about it, I can’t wait to fill you in on all the class drama that happens and discuss costumes, hair, and make-up. Oh and waxing appointments! The joys of avoiding ingrown hairs! I can’t wait!” Giggling, she flicks her hair and gives me that cheeky grin.
“Smart arse,” I murmur. Ingrown hairs? Yuck. “Please, for the love of God, do not talk about tutus or anything pink and we’re good.”
“Deal. Besides, I prefer lilac and frills.” Rolling my eyes, I straighten myself on the couch. It was good to have her making jokes with me again. For a moment, I could pretend that we had never been apart for those four years and that this was where we always were.
“Shut up, Twinkle Toes. I wanna watch Neeson kick some arse. Pass that popcorn back.”
“Only if you stop wasting it with your pathetic attempts at catching it.” As she finishes speaking, she throws a popcorn grain in the air and catches it. Smiling, she looks up at me with an expression that says, See? It wasn’t hard. Instead of responding, I just stare at her mouth. Consciously, I lick my lip while my eyes trail up to her hers. Her right eyebrow rises in confusion. I quickly turn and grab the remote. Damn, she does not realise how hot that was.
Memories of when I made love to her come back into my thoughts. Her damn mouth was something not easily forgotten. Clearing my throat, I flick through the channels until I find the film while I scold myself for being such a sleaze. Tonight is going to be a long night. I just have to try to not stare at her legs, or just simply stare at her. If I reach out now, I could easily touch her, and so I busy myself, keeping my hands on the remote or my phone. I finally find the station and get up to turn off the lights. The only illumination in the lounge room is the TV, and that is fine by me.
The next morning, I rise eagerly to make brunch. We usually did it on Sundays, but I was too keen to welcome her. I want to full-steam us into buddy-buddies and hope like hell she is glad for it, too. Plus, the more I keep myself busy, the less chance I have of crashing everything to the side and just jumping her. It has been a long time since I wanted something like I want her.
I go to the bathroom and wash my face and brush my teeth. I keep my PJ pants on, but throw a T-shirt over my head, too. Brunch is all about being casual and relaxed in our house, so PJs are a must. Brushing of the teeth is also a must. There is no way that I want to subject her to Satan’s arse breath first thing in the morning.
I open the fridge and reach for the eggs, bacon, and mushrooms. Placing them on the island bench, I turn the oven on to warm up for the hash browns. I can’t remember how she likes her eggs, so I decide I’ll go poached and try to impress her. Yeah, I am being a moron, but I want to wow her. Placing the continental-style bread on the grill, I retrieve the hash browns and line a tray with them. Once I have chopped up the mushrooms and sorted out the eggs and bacon, I look at my brunch that I’ve prepped and smile. Yeah, she is going to think I am awesome.
Whistling, I head towards her door to call her up. It is already 10am, so I figure she’ll be awake. Knocking, I wait for her to open it and after a while, I notice that there aren’t any noises.
Huh, I think. She’s probably asleep.
Turning the handle, I begin saying, “Good morning, roomie, it’s time for your welcome back to…” instead, I stand agape as I stare at Bea’s bed. I don’t see anything else but her. Sprawled between her covers, the tip of the doona lays across her midsection, while her right leg has curled out. Most of her body is exposed and draped in an emerald green and black laced silky bodice and fucking short nightie. It’s like Victoria’s Secret has decided to drop one of their angels in that bed. Her hair is draped all over the back of her pillow and her left arm is up and curled under her chin. It’s a scene from a wet dream, only hotter. Holy shit—if she opens her eyes and sees me here, I’m fucked.
I step from foot to foot trying to negotiate which way to turn so that I don’t wake her. I feel like a clumsy bear in a cave. Taking another look to check that she’s asleep, I turn while keeping my eyes on her, only to knock a photo frame from her bookshelf behind me with my elbow. It crashes down onto the floor and luckily doesn’t smash. Before I can grab it, I hear a startled gasp and inwardly cringe as I feel her eyes on me. Resigned to the inevitable, I bend over and pick up the frame, repositioning it on the shelf while mentally calling it a fucker and turn to face her. She is sitting up in bed, with her arm holding back her wavy hair from her face.
“I’m so sorry, Bea,” I stammer. “I tried knocking and didn’t hear anything, and by the time I realised you were asleep, I knocked over this frame.” I finish, pointing at the offending frame as though it is the one to blame. Not me, the pervy housemate.
She clears her throat and croaks, “S’okay. I should get up anyway. What did you need me for?”
Oh, you know … just wanted to strip you naked … Clearing my throat, I gesture to outside her door.
“It’s brunch time, so I wanted to get you. It’s all ready to go.”
I’m staring at her body. I know I shouldn’t, but fuck it I can’t stop.
“I have hash browns in the oven and I’ll have your legs, argh—” I stammer. “I mean, eggs ready soon.” I turn quickly and march out before I make an even bigger fool of myself. Legs? Could I be even more of a moron?
I arrive at the bench and begin to whisk the eggs in a bowl. Nope, I’m too frazzled to poach. This will do.
Bea soon arrives in the kitchen in a satin, yes, satin—kill me now—robe. The sleeves hang along her arms, but that’s not what I’m thinking about. It’s the fact that it clings to her torso, and I know what’s underneath. Only now, from the looks of her, it’s better. Back off, twitchy fingers. I quickly look up to the ceiling while she bends over in the fridge and ask for a moment of strength. It’s too soon to think what I’m thinking. Without delay, I grab my phone out of my pyjama pocket and text Ty.
Dude, we need to go out tonight.
After a few moments, it just vibrates and take a peek and see a response.
Hell yeah.
He doesn’t realise how grateful I am right now. I need a distraction until I can get my head together, or I will screw this up. Tonight, I’ll let loose and hopefully clear my thoughts a bit.
Turning back, Bea is seated at the table and has set it for us. Sipping her juice, she looks thoughtful. Before thinking, I stupidly blurt out, “So, no more band shirts?”
The words are no sooner out of my mouth than I want to wrench them back. This is the
closest we’ve come to discussing ‘that’ night.
She smirk
s and looks at me. “Alex, I’m a woman now, not a tomboy teenager. I’ve discovered a lot of things since then, including the enjoyment of silk.” Without falter, she picks up her juice and continues to drink it, never taking her eyes off me.
“Why?” she tugs at her robe, “Is this offensive?”
Before I can round my thoughts, I mutter, “I preferred the shirts. They were cooler.”
Her cool façade fades as she quickly looks down and draws her robe in closer.
“Oh,” is all that she says.
Before burning any food, I quickly slide each dish onto two plates to keep my mind and
hands busy. What in the hell did I just do? I place one in front of her and sit at the other place setting.
“Ty and I are going to go out tonight …” Because I need to get away from you before I do something stupid, “… so feel free to invite any of your girlfriends over so you’re not by yourself.”
I begin diving into my eggs while berating myself for not poaching them. Anything to distract myself, which isn’t hard, as these taste rubbery and shit. Bea puts down her fork and looks up to me with her brow furrowed.
“Is it a boys’ thing?”
“No, just Ty and I are hanging out at RTs,” I reply through chewing down my bacon.
“So, you won’t mind if I invite a few girlfriends and we come out too? Haven’t been out in ages.”
Now, my fork stops abruptly as I gaze back at her. Her eyes plead for me to give in.
“Yeah, of course. We usually eat there and shoot pool afterwards. Nothing classy.”
“Perfect,” she muses. “I’ll text Trinity now. Sounds just like what I need.”
That’d be right. The whole purpose of going out was to get lost in someone, but now she’s going to see me forgetting her …
I am truly fucked.
Chapter Seventeen
“And here my mind was so sunk in itself
That nothing coming to it from outside