Jerk
You were prepared for that. You were bracing yourself for her usual snarkiness. But what you weren't ready for was a glimpse behind the cracked mask of bravado. She strutted into your turf confidently, her hair ironed and shiny, her lips glossy. But when she turned around and called you a jerk, her confident voice was let down by the slightly broken eyes. At that moment, the confident fashion queen was lost and there was a girl begging to be loved, to be let in by just one person, just one. How hard can that be?
I'll think about it.
Jerk.
As sultry and low as her voice sounded behind the door, you couldn't help but envision a curly haired brunette baby girl with moon sized dimples, you would spoil her rotten. You turn back towards the white door and smile. Yeah, you would.
She didn't come. She didn't call. She didn't email or even send a text. You rationalize and come to the hopeful conclusion that the bratty fifteen year old is probably keeping her busy. Too busy to even think of you. But bartending has been keeping your hands busy enough from compulsively checking for text messages in your cell phone. You curse yourself for screwing up the first time, but you couldn't find it in your heart to blame her for feeding you false hopes this time.
I won't go anywhere this time.
God. He looked so determined when he said that. His soft eyes were silently begging you to understand. He opened up to you, and showed you a sense of vulnerability. Which is something you can't really do just yet.
I never asked you to be the father.
I know. But if you did, I would't be any good at it.
The similarity in both of you was so strong it almost made you snigger. Sure there was the cliché status personality bullshit. But the main thing that glued you to him was that your fears are the same. Haley and Peyton wondered why you were day dreaming about having a grown teenage son who is all tough and protective, someone who would crumble if you're hurt and someone who would tease you about your lack of co-ordination. You ponder for a moment if his genes would make your son a giant, and as Peyton's smirk comes into full view, you shrug it off and sipped your diet soda.
It's haunting you at night. Her seductive, open and honest eyes. The way she raised an eyebrow when she made a sarcastic remark, and the way her eyes challenged you to enter when she uttered the four letter word you've been hearing a lot lately.
The ridiculousness of your situation is keeping you from fully enjoying your lack of work responsibilities. Who the hell would get this worked up over a guy she hasn't kissed yet?
God. You're one of those girls.
A good steady month has passed and neither of you have had the courage to crack. You know you're hiding an incentive when you orchestrate a stress free night at Tric, but everyone knows there's never stress free nights at Tric.
It was inching close to 2 am when you notice the tall figure retreat to the back room. Ignoring the questioning looks from your friends, you follow him.
You're not surprised when you see him hovering in between the liquer storage. He's clutching an unopened bottle of whisky and it surprises you how hurt you feel.
'You'll regret that.'
He looks up. His dull eyes not at all surprised to find you there.
'Not more than anything else.'
You scoff and grab the bottle away from his hand.
'Oh come on. The abandoned junkie story was enough hallmark for me. Not this too.'
And although you know you're being harsh, you're glad to get a reaction out of this dull, numb figure.
'You don't know anything. B Davis.' He says your name with a slight snarl, a mockery. 'Not everyone's life is so full of colour and runways and rainbows you know.'
The sound of your slap left the room in a cold, personal silence. The air suddenly became thick and it was created just for the two of you.
Before you could say anything, Haley's voice rose from the alleyway.
'Brooke, you okay?'
You turn to look at the full, numb fugure and replied that you're perfectly fine. She goes away and you slap him again.
'Oh yeah?' Your voice rose. ' My life is so full of fucking rainbows that i was beaten by a man in my own store a few weeks ago, did you know that it was my mother's plan to ruin me?' Your voice start to crack and you curse yourself for being so weak, so broken, so Peyton. When he didn't reply you kept going. ' Yeah, so now I signed everything over to her. To Victoria. I'm left with masses of money that I have no idea what to do with, and I've never felt worse. I'm so empty, I have nothing. And you sitting here getting wasted and feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to solve things.'
When he still doesn't say anything you roll your eyes, how did you trust people so easily? You should have known that heartfelt apologies rarely mean anything.
Suddenly he looks up at you with tear clouded eyes.
' I want to kill him.' And at that moment you're pretty sure he can.
You crouch down to his level and gently wipe away the tears on his cheek. It was a motherly, loving gesture but he didn't seem to budge. You then move closer to his face. You can smell cologne on his neck and he can smell your shampoo. You inch your face even closer that your lips are hovering above each other's.
' Do you know why I couldn't fully close the door on you?' Your whisper was so quiet, so soft and so near that he shivered.
Without waiting for a reply, you keep on going. ' When you came to apologize that night, it meant that you were fighting back. And I really value that. You didn't give me a flowery speech, but you were honest with me. And I love that about you.' Your lips are almost touching now, but you're not done yet.
' I want you to let me in. Cos I know I have that problem too. We're both afraid to be sensitive and vulnerable. But maybe I can help you, and you can help me. That night showed me that you were trying to let me in, and no one has really done that with me before.'
That did it. His lips were on yours, and you find yourself shuddering at how soft his lips are. It was a soft kiss at first, his lips protectively covering yours, they were dry kisses, pecks almost. You haven't had such intimate contact with a man for a few months now, the longest you've ever had. You suddenly feel the need to have more, even if it's wrong and selfish. You inch closer to him and run your hand through his spiky hair, your kiss is harder, longer and more aggressive, as if you're forcing him to let you in all the way. His hands are lost in your hair now but you can hardly think straight, suddenly your tongues are in a league of their own and neither of you care how it even began. As his kisses becomes wetter, you move your hands from his hair to his grey t shirt and attempt to pull it over his head. The next twenty minutes was a roller coaster of tongues, moans and skin. As he thrusts into you for the fifth time, you go limb against the wall and moan against his neck. It was over. Too soon, too rushed, too wrong.
You're one of those girls.
And as if he's some sort of magic mind reader, he looks into your eyes and tell you it's okay.
You don't know why, but that made you feel so much safer.
It was 3 am and you sit on the barstool in an empty TRIC. 7 missed calls from Peyton, 5 from Haley, and 3 other voice mails. You make a mental note to call them tomorrow. Tonight was about you, and it hasn't been in a long time. You just pray that Haley doesn't report your absence to the police.
'I hope your friends aren't too worried'.
He's good. His voice was soft and smooth and you relax into his embrace from behind. You're in one of his t shirts and it feels so weird to be here right now, at TRIC, especially with him.
'Can I ask you something?'
He nods and settles next to you.
You take a sip of coffee and turn to him.
'What I walked in on tonight. Please tell me it was the first time.'
He looks away and you know.
You tear up and he hates himself.
Your face scrunches up and You're silently sobbing and he's too scared to move.
'Brooke. I'm sorry.'
She looks up, and her eyes were so honest, so open, so broken.
'That word gets old after a while.'
Without saying anything, you take hold of her right hand and kiss her knuckles.
'I know, and I'm trying okay. This is new for me. But I meant what I said before, I'll fight for you.'
Suddenly she's transported back to high school and a conversation with a broody blonde comes to mind.
And as if by magic again, you whisper in her ear and tell her it'll be different this time.
She nods and stays quiet. You both sit like that for a while, with your bigger hand clutching her smaller one. Suddenly the air becomes cold and quiet and personal again, but her raspy voice cuts through you like glass.
' Let's fight together.'
And at that moment you understand what she means. She's not just talking about your relationship, but she means everything. It's a promise, an oath and a commitment.
And right now, as you're sitting next to each other, lost in a familiar, comfortable silence, with only the sound of her breathing and sips of coffee, you wonder if you've ever heard of a better idea.
At that moment, she turns to smile at you, with sparkling eyes and dimples. She places a soft, comforting hand on yours, the same hand that was arousing you only an hour or so before. Now her touch isn't as racy or exciting, but it was safe, it was comfortable and loving. As her slender fingers stroke yours softly, her eyes glued to yours, you realize that you've never heard of a better idea.
And if she wants to fight, you'll be right there to catch her.