by Bourne, Lena
We used to go shopping together. A watery sadness passes over her eyes, and I know she must be thinking the same thing. She smiles bravely, her bottom lip shaking. "Get something nice."
"Don't spend too much," my dad warns me like he always does.
"I'll try," I say, my voice too shrill. I bolt from the room, not wanting to cry in front of them. Today is dad's day, and I won't spoil it.
I call Kate to join me, but her phone goes straight to voicemail, so I'm on my own.
The mall is bustling, the back-to-school shoppers joined by all the rest who decided to spend this rainy Sunday shopping. After almost half an hour of circling, I finally manage to get a parking spot on the ground level near one of the entrances. Luckily, it's only drizzling, so I'm not completely soaked before I enter the building.
I'm stuffing my car keys into my purse, making sure I have my wallet in this bag, when I bump into someone, hard.
"Hey..." I start, ready to tell whoever it is off.
The rest of my sentence gets lost in his, "Pardon..."
And then I'm looking at his eyes, which are a dark brown in this light, golden really, and kind of like my own. Scott's already walking away, pointing at me like I should back the hell away. Then he turns and disappears in the crowd, and I finally exhale. Great, now he probably thinks I followed him here or something. I let it go. I've already decided to forget all about it, and pretend none of it even happened.
I spend the next hour or so browsing, making sure Scott's not anywhere each time I exit one store and enter another. I see nothing I like though, and the things I kind of like, I'd need someone's advice on. Only I'm alone.
A couple of hours later, I end up at the insanely expensive lingerie store next to the food court. It's not like I have anyone to see me in my underwear, but Scott's rejection still rankles somewhere way in the back of my mind.
I pick up a sheer black cami, with white silk thread worked in a braided pattern along the edge of the balconette bra and down the sides, ending in neat little bows. It's the perfect "good girl goes bad" look, and I could get it just for me. I love how whimsically the strands are woven together. My feet are aching, and the fitting rooms are likely packed, so I hold the cami against my chest and check my reflection in the shop window, just to see how it might look. It's my size, and I can always just exchange it later anyway.
I nearly drop it when I see him. Scott's eating a sandwich at a table right across from the shop window. He's got his black ball cap pulled low over his eyes, shrouding them in shadow. But his look pierces me anyway. It's like part hunger, part hatred, part desire and it turns my stomach to knots, sending tingles all over.
"You should totally get that." Brandon's whiny voice breaks the spell. My hand is shaking as I try to hang it back. I miss the hanger, dropping the cami on the ground. Where the fuck did he come from of all people?
"Shut up, Brandon," I manage, my voice low and unsteady.
"No, why are you putting it away?" Brandon says and picks up the cami. "I'd totally want to take this off you."
He holds it up against my chest, but I smack his hand away. "Give it up, Brandon."
If he says another thing to me, I will scream at him to leave me the fuck alone already. From the corner of my eye, I notice that Scott is gone. He just left his tray and disappeared. Or maybe he was never there in the first place, and I am really going insane.
"Let me get this for you," Brandon insists, licking his lips. He sounds like he's on something. "It would make me so happy just to know you own it."
Brandon has the same piercing green eyes as Kate, cat's eyes. The thought of him imagining me in my underwear makes me slightly nauseous.
"I'd seriously rather you didn't," I manage, struggling to keep my cool.
"Oh, come on, Gail, when are you gonna say yes?" Brandon insists. "You're driving me crazy."
My palms ache, I'm squeezing them into fists so hard. And I'm shaking like a twig. I know I am. But he's just smiling at me like all this is funny.
He takes a step closer, reaching out to put his arm around my shoulders, and I lose it. I smack his hand away. "Stop it! Just stop it!"
Tears burn in my throat. I shouldn't be out here. I should be at home, spending time with my mom.
Brandon laughs and reaches for me again. "Calm down, Gail. People are watching. I'm just playing."
I don't have the energy to fight him anymore, and if I say anything, I'll cry or scream, or both.
I'm staring at the floor, Brandon's arm heavy around my shoulders.
Someone clears his throat next to us. All I see is his shoes, black chucks that he probably should trade in for a new pair soon. "It's none of my business, but I don't think she wants you touching her," Scott says. There's an edge in his voice like it's not a suggestion, like he's telling Brandon to let me go. Even his voice is so much manlier than Brandon's whiny drone.
Brandon grips my shoulder. "You're right. It's none of your business."
"Maybe you should let her go." Again not a suggestion.
I push Brandon away and stand between them. I don't want Scott to lose his job over this, though Brandon hasn't recognized him yet, I don't think. I'm not planning it, it just happens, but I bury my face in Scott's shirt and start sobbing. He's doing it again, making the world disappear until it's just us, and I can't believe I'm messing it all up. Again.
"What the fuck, Gail?" Brandon breathes behind me. He sounds pissed, but I don't care.
"You should probably leave." Scott's voice rumbles in his chest. Brandon huffs and storms off.
I will myself to stop crying and step away from Scott. He lets me go, and picks up his shopping bags. "We should probably go too. People are staring."
"Yeah," I hiccup and rush out of the store, not looking at anyone.
I wipe away my tears outside, pressing hard to make sure I get all the mascara that must have run. Scott rummages in the pocket of his baggy jeans and hands me a crumpled, clean napkin. I nod thanks and take it. For all my resolve never to speak to him again, I can't help imagining him tearing that cami off me. But it's a fleeting thought. Though I do wish I was still leaning against his chest.
"What, you're not gonna ask me if I'm alright?" I say and chuckle, though it's more of a hiccup really. It should be harder for me to talk to him after all the times I made a total ass of myself in front of him but it's not.
"I thought about it, but it's probably safer if I don't," he says and smiles. His eyes are still in shadow, but they're soft now, not piercing me. I wish they would.
"I'm fine, just so you know," I venture.
"Whatever you say, Gail." He's still smiling, so I can't get mad, not really.
The silence stretches. He's clutching his bags tightly, the muscles in his forearm flexed.
"So..." he finally says, because we're just standing there.
"So," I echo. I like standing there with him. It's like we're alone.
He reaches into his back pocket. "So, I have these two movie tickets," he says and shows them to me. "Michael... my brother, was supposed to meet me but he stood me up—"
"That's too bad," I interject, because I don't know how to keep my mouth shut.
"So, you wanna come with me?"
Dating's not what I had in mind for Scott. I don't want love.
"What movie is it?" I ask anyway.
He names some racing thing I've already seen, adding, "I've really been looking forward to seeing it."
"It's been playing since June." I snort. I know because I saw it while I should have been studying for my finals. "Or is this the second time you're going to see it?"
The shadow in his eyes intensifies, darkens to hate, but it's not directed at me this time. He blows off my question. "So do you? It started five minutes ago."
"Sure," I say.
The theater is dark by the time we get there, and I use my phone to light the way. I lead us into the row of seats on which the armrests can be lifted up. It's a good choice, since he tota
lly takes up more than just his seat. Not that I mind, at least this way I have no choice but to rest my leg against his.
The movie's not as engrossing the second time around, and I keep checking my phone to see how much longer it will be. The rest of the time, I'm watching Scott from the corner of my eye. He's so into it, I have to smile, wishing that intensity was directed at me. And hour and a half in, I'm struggling to hide my yawns. I wiggle closer to him, but apart from a slight tensing of his leg, he doesn't seem to notice. I want to do more, want to rest my head on his shoulder, have him put his arm around me, but that would be too much of a date. And that's not what I want.
After what feels like the whole day, the credits start rolling, and the lights come on. I shoot up and walk out of the theater, hardly glancing back to see if he follows. I know he's right behind me, I can feel his warmth and smell his cologne.
I turn to him as soon as we're outside, making him stop and step back a little. I know what I want, that hasn't changed, and he's not saying no this time.
"How about we go to your house now?" I ask in my best imitation of Kate's purring voice.
He chuckles. "Here we go again."
"What do you mean?"
"How about we have some dinner first?" he asks and walks past me toward the food court.
"Oh, I see, so it's definitely dinner and a movie first with you," I joke, jogging a little to catch up to him.
"Something like that." He stops and is all serious now.
"You know, I don't think I've ever heard a guy say that before." I don't know why I'm saying these things, I sound maniacal.
A smile plays on his lips, doesn't quite touch his eyes. "Me neither, but it is what it is."
I hate those words; my dad uses the same phrase. And things shouldn't just be what they are. We should be able to fight through anything.
Scott must notice the annoyance in my face, because he adds, "Besides, I don't actually have any food at my house," and winks.
I watch him wolf down his hamburger, stirring the ketchup around with a fry on my plate.
"Eat," he urges between bites, so I take a bit of the fry. It's cold and tastes like paper, and I can't wait until he's done.
"You'll have to drive though," he says, wiping his mouth on a napkin and tossing it on the tray once he finally finishes eating. "I'm between cars at the moment. That is if you still want to come."
The nonchalant way in which he says it pisses me off. I can't believe he can be so flippant about it.
"I don't get you, I really don't," I say and pick up my tray of barely touched food and stuff it into the trash.
"What do you mean?" he asks.
I storm off toward the escalator, not caring if he follows. I didn't want a date, I wanted him to pin me against that fence and do me. I don't want to talk to him, don't want to get to know him. I just want the world to stay still through the night.
The wind is gusting outside, dark grey clouds roiling overhead. He stops by the entrance and adjusts his cap. "Alright, Gail, I'll see you later."
"No!" I actually stomp my foot down. "I know you are interested. And I did everything you wanted, so you owe me." I'm poking my finger into his chest with each word.
"What do you want from me?" he asks, but his voice is husky. Somewhere, deep down, my insanity turns him on. Or maybe I turn him on, and he's willing to look beyond my insanity. It comes to the same thing either way.
I grab his hand and pull him toward my car. "I'll show you."
The ride to his apartment takes about fifteen minutes. It's on Main Street of a small fishermen's village, above a bakery that is dark and shut down for the night, the sign in the window still announcing croissants and lattes.
"Maybe we should get some condoms," Scott says while I'm locking up my car. "Unless you already brought some."
"Why?" I ask. "I'm on the pill and don't have an STD. Do you?"
"No, I don't" he says, "But I could just be saying that."
"I don't care," I say. Fate can just slap me around some more; I'm done cowering.
The entrance to his house is a peeling grey door in a narrow alleyway that smells of piss and trash. Who lives above a bakery? The scene unnerves me a little, and flashes of getting raped and strangled enter my mind. My heart starts racing and blood rushes to my head, my cheeks burning. But the fear doesn't make me want to flee; no, it makes me want to stay.
The stairway smells like yeast and butter, and I imagine it must smell a whole lot better in the morning, once they start baking the bread.
I stop just inside the door, once we reach Scott's apartment. He has to brush up against me to close it, since the entry way is so narrow.
"Or should I leave it open? Do you want to go?" he asks.
I brush my hand down his arm, feeling his bicep. "No, I'm just waiting for you to offer me a drink and show me around, so we can finally get done with the niceties."
He slams the door shut, tosses off his hat, and has me pinned against the wall before I even finish gasping. "You really don't want to play nice, do you?"
I grasp his shoulder blades and dig my nails into his flesh. "Not with you I don't."
"You are so bizarre," he breathes into my hair and moves to release me. I clutch him harder, bumping into him. He's hard; I know he wants it.
"Fine, show me around your apartment and offer me a drink first," I yield and release him.
"No, that's alright," he says and takes my hand to pull me along. "I don't have anything to drink except water, and you can pretty much see the whole place from here."
He flips on the light as we pass from the narrow hallway into the main living area. It's just the one room, with a small kitchen, a table with two chairs, and his bed. A big screen TV dominates one wall, and his bed is really just two air mattresses stacked one atop another.
"You don't even have a real bed," I say. The apartment is littered with yawning cardboard boxes, and a suitcase in the corner looks like it's puked up his entire wardrobe.
"I just moved in like a week ago."
It's all such a sad mess really, so transient, and tears ball up in my throat. Why do I suddenly want to comfort him and tell him he can turn this place into a home, with just a little effort? Why can't he be the sexed-up, dumb gardener from my fantasy?
I grip his hand tighter and pull him toward me, wrapping my free arm around his waist. I crane my head up and lick his neck, tracing the hard edge of his collarbone. He tastes like summer, salty and warm. He places his hand on my lower back and pulls me toward him, his erection stabbing my stomach. I bite down on the cord in the side of his neck, making him gasp. I kiss the spot lightly. He grabs my butt, lifts me, and carries me to the bed. Finally.
I pull him down on top of me, making the air mattress wobble. He's staring at me with those deep eyes, dark blue now, and looks like he's going to say something. I jerk up, take his bottom lip between my teeth, and pull down. I don't want him to speak. I want him to fuck me.
He loses his balance, and for a moment, he's crushing me, the weight unbearable. I love it, and it's all I want. But he regains his balance quickly and lifts off. I bite his lip harder, making him wince. I want him angry.
"Stop biting, Gail," he mumbles.
"Make me," I mumble back and bite harder still. The hunger and shadow I saw in his eyes earlier returns.
He forces my legs apart with his knee and kisses me, hard and hungry. His tongue is in my mouth, and I wrestle it, wanting to see what else he's got.
His phone buzzes somewhere deeper in his pocket, tickling my thigh. He doesn't seem to notice, and I sure as hell don't want to be interrupted. The buzzing stops.
He pulls his tongue from my mouth and kisses my neck, right in the soft spot below my ear, where the jaw meets my neck. His lips are soft, like velvet, and his breath so hot.
His right hand is snaking up my shirt, across my belly, so softly it tickles. I sigh and arch my back. His phone is buzzing again, and his hand disappears from under my shirt as he
digs for it in his pocket and tosses it across the bed. He's suckling on my ear now, and I buck my hips up, wrapping my leg around his hips as his tongue enters it again. It makes me moan loudly, and I want more.
I reach down and grab his ass, pulling him toward me. He licks my neck again, tracing the line of my jaw up to my lips, his fingers kneading the soft skin on my side.
This is moving too slow. I don't want love. I move my hands between us and frantically try to unbuckle his belt, but it won't come loose. His phone buzzes to life by my ear a moment before someone kicks at the door.
"Scott!" a man yells on the other side of the door. "Pick up the fucking phone. I know you're home."
"Shit!" Scott reaches for the phone.
I yank him back by his belt. "Just leave it."
He pries my fingers from his belt and gets up, heading for the door. "This'll only take a moment."
I lean back on my elbows, the cold he left behind boring into me. There's a large, black stain of mold where the wall meets the ceiling, and I don't know what I'm doing here.
Scott cracks open the door and jerks back a little as whoever's on the other side tries to force it open all the way. Scott manages to stop him.
"What do you want, Michael?" Scott asks harshly. "I'm busy."
"It's time, let's go," the man on the other side of the door barks. "She can wait."
"What do you mean, time?" Scott asks. "It's Sunday."
"Shit got moved up some," Michael says. I don't like his voice, it sounds menacing and cold. "Do I really need to remind you again that you have no choice in this, little brother?"
I don't want this man to see me lying here, so I stand up to go to the kitchen, which is not in direct sight from the door.
Scott glances back at me, and I get the sudden urge to tell him it will all be alright. As if I know. He's still pushing the door closed with his leg, but he tucks his shirt into his pants.
"Fine," he says quietly.
"Be downstairs in two minutes," Michael says and Scott finally closes the door.
"I have to go," he tells me as he comes back into the room. He's looking past me at the unpacked boxes.