This is being posted (for the third time... let the record show) by the request of Dee and because I'm a weak sucker that so desperately seeks approval. I could never keep anything a secret. Anyway. Dee I put it up... how about a quick chapter from 20 Months. I can't wait any longer!! Ah!
For those that have read this chapter I may have a few more already written that you can expect, so don't be impatient.
I can't believe I'm doing this! Three stories at once! I'll go crazy... won't I? Oh wait I forgot I already am a bit off my rocker. Whew. Close one there. Ok. Love Andy, she's my Holly (Breakfast at Tiffany's, for my sadly ignorant friends that should read the book and definately watch the movie.). Love Alex (when you meet him) for he's my Darcy. (My favorite Darcy I've created.) This is a Holly/Lizzy meets a Darcy fic.
Love to the Tune of a Country Song
"At first she's gonna come on strong
Like She'll love you all night long
Like it's going out of style
Then she'll leave you with a smile
"Well you can't help but wonder
Why you can't help but love her
But you can't help love her
And all that hurtin' was more than worth it
It's written all over your face"
- George Strait; "She'll Leave You With a Smile"
"Promise me you'll never leave," he whispered against her bare skin pressing a kiss to her stomach and a soulful stare.
She closed her eyes and tried not to wince. She rolled over and wiggled out from under him. She curled into a ball on what little of his bed was allowed to her. It was only a double bed and not nearly big enough for the two of them to have any semblance of personal space. She considered making him sleep on the floor.
"Did I say something wrong?" he asked dolefully, rolling over as well to cup his body around the ball she had formed. He pressed delicate, needy kisses to her exposed shoulder almost aching for her to turn back to him.
She shook her head, and because of her position her entire body seemed to rock along with her head, as if her body was one great appendage.
"Andy," he almost whined. "What's wrong?"
Andy pulled out of her ball and faced him, trying to mask her exasperation. "Nothing, Dylan," she replied caustically. "I'm just tired. We haven't slept an entire night in the last week."
"Five days," he whispered correcting her, taking her movement to his advantage and nibbling her ear playfully. Andy took full advantage of his preoccupation to roll her eyes unnoticed. He was so… clingy. It'd been five days and already he was demanding promises and taking her to heart. Andy wasn't ready to be taken to heart; Andy was hardly ready to be taken in jest. Five days, or an eternity; it didn't matter, Andy was already sick of him.
"Don't you think that's a bit fast?" she asked softly, half expecting him to not hear her. Half hoping he hadn't.
"What're you saying?" he asked thickly, his head clouded with the feel of her body. His confusion caused the space between his eyebrows to crinkle and his bottom lip to protrude.
Andy didn't know what to say, so she did what any logical girl would do and pressed a kiss to his protruding lip. "I didn't mean nothin' by it," she replied pulling away, remnants of her southern roots rearing their ugly head near the close of her sentence. "Can't we just go to sleep?" Her accent was gone as fast as it came. With all this stress it wouldn't be long until her old twanging southern drawl would be impossible to suppress. Andy didn't like being stressed. Being stressed meant one thing to Andy: disaster.
With a bit more coaxing, Dylan drifted off to sleep leaving Andy to evaluate her options. Dylan was a nice guy. He dressed well, he had a job, he obviously liked her. Yet there it was again; that icky feeling. Dylan wasn't it. Dylan couldn't make her happy. He may have been wrapped around her finger, but that didn't mean she wanted him to be. He'd fallen, but she'd remained on solid ground, and now he was starting to bug the shit out of her. She couldn't take it anymore and she had no reason to; so Andy did what she always did when she felt that same icky feeling.
She grabbed her shoes, not bothering to waste seconds to put them on, and quietly raced out of a sleeping Dylan's apartment. She rushed to the curb and hopped into her '88 Honda, shifting into drive with practiced precision and burned rubber down the street.
She pit stopped at her rented space, grabbing her clothes and shoving them unceremoniously into her back seat without such formalities as suitcases or shoving socks into her sneakers to save space. She dumped the crate she'd been using to store her shoes into her trunk. She pushed her laptop under the front seat. She ripped the sheets off her bed and bundled them up beside her shoes in the trunk. Had anyone seen such a display they would have considered that this woman was robbing that apartment, but masked under the dark stillness of the pre-dawn morning Andy didn't need to worry about such a threat. She grabbed her final possession, her father's acoustic guitar, and delicately placed it in the passenger's seat. She scribbled a short note to her new roommates, telling them she wouldn't be coming back and hopped into the front seat of her Honda once again.
Five minutes. It had been record time, even for a pro like Andy.
"Three weeks," she muttered, tapping her steering wheel anxiously as she stopped at a red light and speaking to her car as if it had demanded an explanation of her. "What a disappointment Dallas turned out to be." She shook her head. "God, only three weeks!" Even she couldn't believe it. Three weeks was not a very long time to live in a new city, even for a girl like Andy.
The light changed to green and just like that Andy Holly left Dallas in her dust.
