Impossible
Chapter 1
She can't get it out of her head, no matter how many times she tries.
Those ice blue eyes, leveling her in a steady gaze, full of secrets. Secrets about her. About them. Their future together that he has already had and she doesn't think ever could be.
Remembering the way he touched her face made her throat constrict painfully. Her skin was starved for contact, and that impossibly gentle touch with that impossibly secretive gaze and his impossibly sexy smirk had all overwhelmed her, because that's exactly what he was: impossible.
And now that he was nothing but a memory, blackened and charred on the floor of a warehouse where her world imploded, she didn't think it was possible that he had been real. He must've been a hallucination her pathetically horny, lonely mind had invented as her escape.
But God, what an escape. A few tears slipped down her nose as she closed her eyes, remembering the few magical nights she got to spend tangled up in sheets with him, surrounded by his smell and his warm, impossibly pale skin, listening to his breaths and his whispered words. Even future him was so sparing with words; the few times he uttered her name during intimate moments had felt like an exultation of devotion so deep she found herself believing in this love he shared with her, suddenly saw that possibility that both the present and future him would see her so completely and love her so dearly that he had to come back and save her life. But when she looked at present him, in his garish orange jumpsuit buttoned up to his Adam's apple and his hair combed to the side without a strand out of place and his guarded stare, all she feels then is the immense, crushing weight of impossibility.
And so she sits outside the community center, bag of litter next to the bench where she sits with her knees drawn up against her chest, remembering. Barely aware of the present when her thoughts are so consumed with the devastating past and the unimaginable future.
"Ehm –" A small noise to her left. Her head jerks in that direction, and disappointment and distress hit her like a bus when she sees him.
"A-are you okay?" he stutters. She knows she should feel warmed by his concern, but she just feels cold.
"Fine."
He takes a few hesitant steps closer, wide-eyed as a deer.
"You look sad." No stutter this time. She can't think of a thing to say.
"For the last week or so, you've been quiet. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay." The careful attention he pays to everything is so disarming, she worries she'll never be able to keep the secret it is her burden alone to keep.
"I'm worried, yeah? About what will happen to us when we're done this shit community service. Whether I like it or not, you fucks are my friends now, and at least these past few weeks I knew where I had to be everyday and who I was to be with. Now, what are we going to do? Once we're back in the real world?" she blurts out quite a convincing, and in fact quite true, explanation without realizing where she was going with it.
He seems to consider it carefully, not saying anything at first.
"We fucks will still be your friends." He finally says.
She doesn't look at him; it takes her a moment to understand he's teasing her. When she looks up his eyes are mirthful and his mouth twitches. She actually smiles, and while its by no means a grin or even a worthy response to his jest it still makes her feel just a bit lighter.
Two nights later their little band of delinquents is holed up in the corner of a crowded pub, on their second round of drinks. She had joined the outing reluctantly, but thought any way to occupy her time was probably healthier than standing in his former lair, staring at his collection of snapshots, running her hands over his weights and his very few sets of clothes, eventually crushing one of his shirts to her face and breathing in his scent deeply, weeping and finally passing out on the bed in which he had made love to her. Anything would be better for her emotional state than that, right? Except that her new favorite hobby was watching his present self while he wasn't looking, torturing herself as she attempted to catch him doing something she would associate with his future version, thinking about that girl Jessica and wondering perversely if he had realized yet all of the dangerous, wonderful things he could do with that mouth and those long-fingered hands. She shuddered and attempted to return her attention to the group conversation.
"So honestly tell us, you beautiful little boy, when you were finished giving that psycho daddy's girl the best 15 seconds of her existence, did you sneak yourself just a teensy little whiff at her knickers?" Nathan wheedled. Oh for fuck's sake, she thought to herself.
Simon fixed Nathan with a dark look. "For about the 800th time, I do not sniff girls' panties."
She knew it would do nothing but hurt her, but she allowed her thoughts to stray to the memories she tried to keep locked away in the back of her mind.
The reverence in his eyes as he slipped her shirt over her head and memorized the curves of her body…
"Are you still seeing Jessica?" Curtis asked. Simon seemed pleasantly surprised at being the center of attention. She wanted more than anything to change the subject, but realized she almost as strongly wanted Simon to bathe in his moment of silly pride and camaraderie with his friends. He deserved it.
His fingers smoothly, deftly, confidently slid her panties down her thighs. His eyes never left hers. She was nervous, he was sure…
"And what he really means is, are you two crazy kids still fucking like jackrabbits? Humping like horny toads? Shaggin' like –" Kelly cut Nathan off abruptly with a smack upside the head.
He gently urged her knees apart, pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. His fingers grazed her hips and suddenly she could feel his warm breath tantalizing an incredibly sensitive area…
"Actually, she finished with me. Said it was too complicated, with her dad being put away." She heard the disappointment in his voice, the collective regretful grumble from the group in his defense.
She remembered with a sudden, intense clarity how it felt when he slipped inside her, how he absorbed her soft moans by caressing her mouth with his, how she wrapped her legs around his waist and he controlled her hips with one hand, his other arm flexed as he used it to hold himself over her, his hair no longer neat but his whole body caught in the throes of complete abandon…
She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat that she hoped no one else at the table could hear as she abruptly pushed the thoughts away. I'm going to lose my mind like this. She jumped up suddenly under the pretense of getting another round of drinks, practically sprinting away from the table and Simon and his damnably piercing blue eyes.
When she made it to the bar she ordered a round of lagers and two shots of tequila to calm her forceful nerves. She slammed down the first tequila shot without a second thought, wincing as it burned her throat, thankful as it burned away the sob she was holding in.
The second tequila shot made her feel less like her molecules were bursting apart, and more like they were pleasantly melting away so she could feel nothing. She attempted to grab the four pints the bartender had set in front of her and nearly jumped out of her skin again when she turned to see Simon standing right behind her. One of the pints slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor.
"Fuck!" she cried, setting the other glasses down to pick up the broken one.
"I'm s-sorry, I thought I'd help you carry them back – It's my fault, don't touch the-" She cut off his hesitant rambling when she bent down to collect the glass and immediately slashed her palm on a jagged shard, again cursing, "Shit!" Suddenly she was bleeding everywhere and the sight mixed with the tequila and lagers were making her light-headed and she turned pale. Simon grabbed the bartender's rag from the bar and quickly wrapped it around her hand, carefully avoiding any contact with bare skin. "Come with me." He said softly, taking her wrapped hand gently to lead her to the bathroom.
He waffled for a second when they reached the bathroom, but quickly decided to lead her into the ladies' loo rather than have to apologize for the smell of urine that always accompanied his own gender's water closet. Very, very gently, he unwrapped her hand and turned on the cold tap. "Run your hand under the water while I go get you a plaster."
She could only nod at him, confused and grateful in equal measure.
When he disappeared she caught sight of herself in the mirror, a bit green around the mouth, eyes wide and uncomprehending, beads of sweat on her hairline. I look disgusting. She used her uncut hand to splash a bit of water on her face, closed her eyes for a second to try to regain some kind of composure. She was so nervous to be around him. The alcohol in her system made her feel loose and unconnected and like she needed to hold on to something to keep from being swept away by a rushing tide; she settled for grabbing the sink as firmly as her drunken limbs could as Simon returned with the bandage.
He turned off the tap and gestured for her to put her hand palm up on the edge of the sink. She obliged and he pressed the bandage down against her hand, again so impossibly careful not to touch her skin, though in this second she wished more than anything that he would. His fingers lingered gently on the plaster, she could feel the warmth of his hand through it. Their eyes met.
"I don't think you'll bleed to death." He said, mostly to break the silence.
"Thanks."
Simon, unused to someone else being the quiet party, gestured toward the door.
"Ready to go back in?"
She nodded, smiling just a bit. "Lead the way."
Emboldened by liquor, she grabbed his forearm over his shirt to keep with him through the crowd as he led the way back to their table. Nathan had slid in the booth next to Kelly with a new round of drinks and Curtis held court at the head of the table with Nicki in his lap, leaving the other side of the booth open for Simon and Alisha. Fucking perfect, she thought as she slid in next to him.
Without really meaning to, her bare thigh pressed against his pant-protected leg in the booth under the table. Nathan and Kelly traded loud, malicious barbs at each other for a while; Curtis and Nicki joined in when they weren't busy caressing each other's fingers or smooching shamelessly. She watched them with a resigned longing, which she hoped no one interpreted as ill-harbored feelings left over for Curtis. She envied their ability to communicate through touch, to possess each other with more than just words and looks. She hated them because it seemed they never stopped touching.
It was getting later, and the music in the pub got louder as a bit of dancing broke out on the main floor. Curtis and Nicki hopped up immediately, pounded down their drinks, and beckoned the others to join them for a dance. A now thoroughly drunk Alisha needed no more encouragement – she grabbed Simon by the forearm again to drag him out onto the floor with the group. He followed amicably, though she couldn't tell if it was to be included or to make sure she didn't stab herself with anything sharp again.
Still, in the close quarters of the crowded pub Alisha was in a whole different kind of danger. She threw her arms over her head and shook her body with a desperate sort of abandon, twirling and gyrating to the pounding beat. Her hand accidentally grazed a stranger's arm, and he whirled around to grab both her wrists as his eyes locked on her cleavage. "I want to fuck your tits and cum on that pretty mouth!" he hissed. She whimpered, "Fuck off," and struggled to push him away, but he only squeezed tighter, bruising flesh barely ever touched.
Panic rose like bile in her throat, but before she had time to form an acceptable plan, her would-be attacker was body-checked from the right. Pale hands ripped his off her wrists and she was once again staring, wide-eyed and terrified, into Simon's face.
"Are you all right?" he asked, hands hovering around her bare arms as if to protect her from any other unwanted advances, obviously searching for a way to comfort that didn't involve contact. "No," she choked out, and she ran past him to go outside.
The minute cold air hit her face in the alley alongside the pub, she lost all control. A horrible retching sound ripped from her throat as she vomited up the past two hours' mistakes, mixed with a sob she could no longer hold back. She nearly fell against the side of the building, weakly holding herself up as she leaned over.
In the middle of a second spell of retching, she felt a hand smooth her hair away from her face as another put a soothing hand on her back. She didn't have to look up to know who it was.
She threw her hands up abruptly and Simon had to jump back to avoid her skin. "Get away from me! I don't want you to see me like this!" she rasped, choking and slurring on tears and bile and shame.
"Alisha, just let me make sure you get home safely. You can barely walk." He said, his voice low and reasonable.
"Fuck you, Simon! Stop being so nice to me. I can take care of myself, and I don't fucking want to go home, so piss off!" She straightened, using the wall for support, and attempted to storm away from this boy she loved and hated in equal measure, unbeknownst to him, on wobbly, drunken legs.
The heels she wore proved to be too much for her lacking coordination and suddenly she saw the railing in front of the pub's main entrance rushing up toward her face before she blacked out completely.