a.n. A concept that relentlessly made its presence known in my brain and somehow worked its way into a story.
Must Run
Adam Torres is not like his brother.
His brother means well and doesn't really think things through all the time but it doesn't make it any better.
He's disgusted by his brother's history with girls.
It's no secret the things his brother's done. Hell, the entire school knows about the secret hookups and his brother's fondness for cheating after the second date. His brother has a longer record for hearts broken than touchdowns and he can't go a single place around town without seeing at least one girl whose heart was tragically mangled by his love-clumsy brother.
It's sad, really, especially when he knows a good majority of the girls his brother romantically screwed over are nice girls. Well meaning girls. Beautiful girls. Girls who deserve better. Like Becky.
He loves her, loves everything about her. She's gorgeous inside and out and although she's a little naïve and awkward, she's got a smile that makes him feel like he's watching the sun and he can't be sad around her. She's loving and forgiving and she makes the best cupcakes in Degrassi and sometimes, when he's lucky, she'll be awake long enough to sing him a song to sleep. The way she smiles with her whole face makes his own lips slip into a comfortable grin and he thinks that if there's to be a remedy for a bad day, it would be her. He loves the quiet moments, when they're embracing and enjoying the silence and he loves the lively moments, when they're laughing and kissing and making each other feel so damn important.
There's something between them that's real and he's had so many years of observing his brother that he knows how not to treat a lady. She's a real diamond and he feels like the luckiest guy on earth. That means something to him; he doesn't see the world as an ocean with plenty of fish to grab and rip apart and throw back in like his brother does.
Adam Torres is not like his brother.
So why does he find himself behind The Dot, pressing another girl up against the brick wall? He tastes bubblegum lip gloss on the edge of his tongue and he wrestles hers for clarity, but he can't find any. Everything is hazy and there are sirens and lights passing by the small alley and a small part of him wishes he could stop. Still, the girl's soft moans and labored breathing makes him press harder and his fingers find their way down her skirt and over thinly laced underwear. He thinks maybe he can stop but the louder she gets, the faster he goes and he finds himself trailing kisses down her neck like he's in love.
Imogen Moreno is not like her mother.
Her mother had to leave and make a new life for herself, she knows that but it doesn't make her feel any better about it.
She's disgusted by her mother's decision to move on.
Her mother left and that's all that matters, because even though she knew her parents would fight, (she was always duck under her covers when their voices started rising) her father still loved her. Damn it, the man had an illness and her mother dumped them behind like she didn't give a shit and made a whole new life with somebody that she didn't even love half as much as she did her dad.
She knows her mom loves her dad. They have history. It's a long one with a lot of twists and turns but at the end of it all, her father still held on and believed. It was her mother that walked away and cut the strings that were supposed to be taut, the strings that were supposed to be fate and now Imogen doesn't know if she believes.
And when her father succumbs to his episodes, she knows for sure that she will never be like her mother. He begs for her, his wife, his love, and he begs Imogen to let him go but she won't because she's not like her. Not like her mother.
She loves Fiona. It was for the best. Fuck the parallels; they broke up but they're not broken up. She refuses to move on because why should she, when she loves Fiona and she knows Fiona loves her too? There are fights and there are separations but she refuses to move on when clearly, neither of them should. She loves Fiona so much that it literally hurts her and she spends most of the day thinking about almost anything else because the moment Fiona's face enters her mind, it haunts her for the rest of the day. The only thing that makes it feel slightly better is the knowledge that Fiona feels the same. She won't betray her love.
But her mother did. Her mother threw her heart at another man and started a new family. She left the man she loved, the man who still loved her, and started a new family. Imogen doesn't know what to call it until she thinks a little harder. Unforgivable, that's what. Disgusting, that's what. Betrayal, that's what. It's tragic how quickly her mother tossed away years of history and her own daughter, and she knows she promised herself never to make that same mistake.
Imogen Moreno is not like her mother.
So why does she find herself pushed up against a hard wall, arching her back when cold fingers make contact with her skin, moaning the name of a man who isn't Fiona? She feels the lips that are rougher than she's used to trailing down her neck and she feels alive. It kills her to feel so alive and her hands reach out and she wonders if she'll push him away but she's wrong. Her arms wrap around his back and pull him closer. It's a shock to her system how easy it is to feel like she belongs there, between the wall and the boy. She opens her mouth to protest, maybe, but she finds herself screaming his name like she's in love.
Maybe they are.
The ride home is quiet and Imogen has her legs pulled up against her chest. She stares out the window of his car at the falling rain and she whimpers a little and he pretends he doesn't hear. He frowns and turns to her and disgust flashes across his face but she can't complain because she knows the feeling. It's quiet when he pulls up in front of her house and for a moment, neither of them moves.
"I won't tell Becky." She whispers.
He nods almost blindly, like a lost animal, and she feels guilt prodding her at the sides.
"I won't tell Fiona." He replies.
She crosses her arms and pretends not to care, but he can read her trembling lips.
"Never again."
It's a false promise because a few minutes later, he's got her on his lap, lips locked and hands wandering. The rain is hitting the car harder but neither of them cares, and they contest the pitter-patter of the rain with the angry moans and guilty screams of pleasure overtaking them. She feels bruises on her thighs that'll take days to heal and makes marks on his neck that'll take weeks of hiding. Somewhere along the way, a window must have rolled down because she feels water running down her cheeks and on his too, but she pulls away when she realizes it's not the rain.
"Damn it." He whispers, broken, leaning forward and resting his head on her.
She holds him and wonders if this is what they've become, two hearts playing a game neither is fit to play. The rain slows down to a steady drizzle and she sits back down in the seat next to him and debates her next move. She chooses to stay quiet.
"I thought I was better than that." He says, and he's breaking inside, "I'm with the girl of my fucking dreams. She's nothing but good to me. I thought I was better than this."
She's not offended because she feels the same sting.
"I thought I was better too." She answers, and the words burn her throat, "I'm still in love with somebody who loves me. I was never supposed to do this to her."
She closes her eyes and sees her mother with her hands on her hips and a smug look on her face, smirking and whispering, "See? You're just like me. You're just like me, you hypocrite." Her eyes fly open at the thought and she looks over to see Adam with the same scared look and she wonders who he sees. He opens his mouth.
"It must run in our blood."
It's something to imagine, poisonous traits running through an entire family; the blood of a heartbreaker and the blood of betrayal, but they glance one more time at each other and she leans in for a kiss that he carefully reciprocates. She's imagining it, but she thinks she tastes on his lips the blood that has stained the entirety of her mouth and she wonders if she'll ever lose the taste. She debates pulling away from the unsavory taste but she can't bring herself to.
The longer they kiss, the quicker the realization seeps in that when the kiss ends, she'll still taste it, feel it, pumping through her veins, running through her blood like it did her mother, like it did his brother.
Adam Torres is not like his brother.
Imogen Moreno is not like her mother.
They both know this; it's been established countless times. But despite the tears running down their faces, despite the tears they know are bound to come, despite the rain calling out their empty words, they find themselves hypocrites, and for the first time, they understand.
Blood runs deeper than water, and they can't stop what runs in their blood.