I Thought That This Was Just a One-Night Stand-
Chapter One: Raining Tears
The rain came down in sheets, as the city of Seattle huddled beneath a downy comforter of dark, grey, foreboding clouds.
Footsteps echoed in the stairwell, steps sloshing with wetness. Outside, the sky was murky, and dreary, pouring down droplets of water. The drops hit the ground, breaking apart, shattering into minuscule pieces. They splashed on the side-walk, wetting everything in their path. The figure moving up the steps was soaked to the bone, having trudged through the dark, wet, Seattle cityscape. The older steps creaked, revealing their position. The figure made it up to the floor desired. Light, nigh inaudible, footsteps proceeded down the corridor. The door came into view. Trying to be as silent as humanly possible, a hand grasped a doorknob. Hesitation set in. The grip lessened, the hand sliding away, fingers tracing the metal knob. The soft steps of sneakers moved from one side of the hallway to the other. Wet, and tired, from walking halfway across the city and up eight flights of stairs, a hand slowly rose, to rap gently on a door. The rapping gained in strength, becoming more heavy-handed. Shuffling was heard towards the door, and the entrance opened. Scratching the back of their head, the drowsy person blinked a few times in the dim-lit corridor.
He watched the small droplets slide down her cheeks. He did not know as to whether they were due to the storm that was raging, or the crying that was occurring outside. Her usually bright, clear, brown eyes were clouded as she stared at him through his doorway. Her wet hair clung to her, framing her face. He realised, that, even when she was completely dishevelled, she was still beautiful. It was not the time for that, he decided. He could only let out a whisper.
"Carly."
"Freddie."
"Wha—" She didn't let him finish, throwing herself at him. Grasping onto his shirt, she buried her face into his chest. He could do nothing, save for wrapping his arms around her, letting her soak him in rain and tears.
She sobbed, and sobbed, into his chest. She found it comforting to let it out unto him in such a way. As his shirt became drenched in tears, he tried to console her as best he could. He slid his hand up and down her back, reassuringly, feeling the dampness beneath it.
He whispered into her ear, "Come on, inside. I'll take care of you."
She nodded into his chest as he led her through the threshold, closing the door gently behind them. As he ushered her through the living room to his bedroom, he tried to quiet her crying. As it would awaken his mother, who would only make things more complicated with her meddling. Once he was able to safely guide her to his room, she quickly grabbed him, sobbing again into him. He sat her down on the bed best he could, getting her to only release him with the promise of return.
He came back with a towel, draping it over her shoulders, and telling her that he was about to gather some dry clothes. She quickly grabbed onto his sleeve, tugging it, to let him know that she didn't want him to go anywhere. With the sudden jolt, soft fabric, gently placed, slid off of her shoulders. Reluctantly, he sat back down next to her. "I should really—"
"Don't go," she cried. "I need you, now."
Looking into her teary eyes, he couldn't help but hold her once again. "Okay, I'm not going anywhere. I promise."
He held her to him, his arms wrapped around her, his body in lieu of the towel. She continued to soak his shirt, but complain he did not. She was cold, shivering, in his embrace. She set herself up in the crook of his neck, and he could feel how wet her hair was. The smell of her wafted to his nose. It was utterly beautiful. It was the smell of flowers, and the summer rain; a smell solely hers. He loved it. Maybe it was from the rain that night, it was possible, after all. She had been caught in the storm. He looked down at her face, moving away the sparse strands of russet clinging to her cheek with his free hand. From that point on, the only things shadowing her face were the darkness of the night, and her own misery. He held her tight, hoping that she would soon speak. When she didn't, he knew that he had to say something. "Carly, what happened?"
She pulled away from him to look up into his eyes. "Griffin."
"Griffin?"
Her eyes began tearing up again, she huddled in his warmth. "Griffin."
A stern look reached Freddie's eyes. He had always been wary of Griffin. Especially with how Carly would fawn all over him. He was quite pleased when he had learnt about the bad boy's obsession with small, cuddly, stuffed animals. Unfortunately, Carly had grown to look past that supposed flaw that she saw in him, and chose to be with Griffin again, due to his being a bad boy in every other way possible. They quickly got together again, much to Freddie's chagrin. At first, he had assumed that it would be as every other relationship that she had. Short. The only problem was, that as time went on, he had become less and less confident in that fact. For several months, he had watched as Carly was swept off of her feet by Griffin, and the relationship became serious. Griffin kept up his rebellious ways, winning her heart. He would have sworn that she was already using his last name on homework. Jealousy was the best way to describe how he felt about them together. He didn't know what Griffin did, in keeping with his punk ways. Whatever it was that he did to her, he made her cry. Freddie would never forgive that, not as long as he lived.
"What did he do?" he asked darkly.
He held her in his arms, warm to the touch. She sniffled. "Griffin, he…"
"Tell me."
"He's… he's been cheating on me." She sniffled again.
"That jerk."
"I didn't even know."
He patted her shoulder. "That's okay."
"I should have known."
"There's no way that you could have known." He caressed her shoulder with his thumb. "Who is she?"
She looked up at him, fresh tears in her eyes. "There was more than one."
He closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "I'm so sorry."
Carly closed her eyes once more, mirroring him. "There were so many of them. He was with them the entire time that we were together."
"It's okay."
"No, it's not."
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not."
Freddie's eyes popped open wide. "What?"
She pushed away from him. Pushed him back. "I said, 'No, you're not.'."
"What do you mean by that?" he asked in astonishment.
"Oh, come on, Freddie." Her hands were still against his chest. He could feel her fingernails barely digging into him. "You never wanted Griffin and I to be together. I could tell."
"But, that doesn't mean that I wanted him to cheat on you."
"How do I know that, huh? I saw how much you hated it when he was with me. I could tell. You hated him."
"But, I never wanted you to have your heart broken." He took her face into his hands, looking her straight in the eyes. "I swear. You've got to believe me."
She looked away from him. "I do."
"You don't sound convinced." He tilted her head back up to face him. "Look, Carly, I didn't like the guy, okay? You're right about that. I just didn't like him with you. I didn't think that he was the right guy for you, that's all. He was a bad guy… and I know that you like bad boys and all, but there's a reason that they call them 'bad boys'. That's because they're no good."
When she didn't look away, he continued, "I just want what's best for you. I'm your friend."
"Do you?"
"Huh?"
"Do you want what's good for me?"
"Of course," he responded, getting up from the bed. He still had her face cupped in his soft hands. "That's why I'm getting you some dry clothes. We need to get you out of those wet ones, before you get pneumonia."
She watched as he walked over to his dresser, rummaging in the dark for some suitable clothes. She herself stood from her position on the bed. Sliding off her small shoes and socks, she padded lightly, and silently, behind Freddie. All the while, slipping her shirt over her head.
Freddie stooped down, digging into his bottom drawer for something small enough to fit Carly. He wondered aloud to himself, "Hmm, maybe, this'll fit."
He failed to sense that anything was amiss. He definitely failed to notice the long-haired brunette behind him, tugging her jeans down her slim legs. Standing back up, he held the nightclothes to the moonlight. Pyjama top and bottoms. Galaxy wars, of course. Naturally, they were the manliest ones he had. He turned around in time to see something fly at his face. He let out a startled yelp, his eyes covered in something. Grasping at the fabric, he felt it soft, velvety, and lacy. He pulled the temporary blindfold away, to see that it was a small bra. He jolted.
"Carly! This isn't what it looks like! It's not mine!" He looked up from the lingerie to find his best friend pushing tiny, matching panties down her legs. Letting them pool at her feet. He slapped the bra back onto his eyes. "Ah! Carly!"
"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.
"You're naked!" he almost screamed. Both, because she was nude in front of him, and due to the fact that one of his dreams had come true. The scream only stifled through fear that his mother would hear, coming over, and finding him in the current predicament.
"Shh," she quieted him, finger on his lips, "someone might hear you."
He wondered if she could read his mind.
"You can put my bra down, now." She watched him remove the silky garment from his face. "You can open your eyes, too."
Eyes shut tight, he shook his head vigorously. "Not until you put some clothes on."
"You said that I needed to get out of them."
His lids refused to budge. She rolled her eyes at him, smirking. Not that he could see.
"Freddie, look at me." She stepped back from him. "Please."
He slowly opened his eyes, inhaling deeply, as he cast his gaze upon her. She stood there, partially shaded in the darkness, the moonlight shining off of her bare skin. She was glowing. An angel in the shadows. To him, she was simply beautiful.
"Carly..."
"Yes?"
"You're beautiful."
She blushed in the pale light. "Really?"
"Yeah." Swallowing hard, he held out the folded clothes to her. "You should put these on."
"Why?" She stepped up to him, grabbing the pyjamas and tossing them to the side. "Haven't you ever dreamed of this?"
Dreamt of it? Maybe, she truly could read his mind.
She slid her arms around his neck. "Isn't this what you wanted?"
"Carly, you're on the rebound. You're not thinking straight."
"Your shirt is wet. We need to get you out of it, before you catch pneumonia." She tugged his shirt over his head. Freddie let her.
Maybe, he was the one not thinking straight.
"Carly..."
She looked up into his eyes. He began to become lost. "Don't you love me?"
"Of course, I do, but—"
"Please?" She tilted her head to the side, never breaking contact.
"Carly—"
She kissed him, sweet and chaste.
She pulled back, looking for a response. "For me?"
Sliding her arms once again around his neck, she clasped her fingers together. She kissed him again, that time longer, and he melted into her kiss. He was hers. He always was, and he always would be.
The night was a blur. It went by so fast. Neither were sure to remember it all. There were just flashes, fragments, of skin pressing against skin, lip suckling against neck, hand sliding against waist, and fingernail scrapping against back. A night they would barely remember, yet would never forget. There was panting, and heavy breathing. They could hear their names being called in the voice of the other. Flushing skin was hot to the touch, and the cold night was no longer so cold. Fingers stroked the lengths of backs, and there would be vague recollections of voices in hushed, throaty, moans, whispered into ears.
The morning sun peaked over the horizon, illuminating the Seattle cityscape. The dark clouds had long since departed, giving way to a new day. The morning dew formed and dripped off of the leaves of trees lining the street. The sun shed its light onto the damp pavement, beginning the process of drying the concrete. Early-morning birds were beginning to sing, to start off the day calling for mates. Sunlight calmly crept up the side of Bushwell Plaza. The light reached the eighth floor, peering through the curtains of a certain apartment. The fair yellow beams fell to reach a bed of brown, dishevelled hair. Stretching to touch a pair of closed eyes, it bade them open. Open, they did.
Stirring, moving, the figure awoke. A deep breath was taken in. Fingers were drawn over cotton sheets. A hand slid over something warm, soft, yet hard. The feeling was that of skin. Pushing themselves up, they brushed back long hair from brown eyes. Brown eyes looking down upon the young boy who took her in one night in which the rain poured. No, young man. He was a man, now. Carly watched him sleep for a bit. He lay there, in slumber, dreaming whatever dreams he dreamt. She watched him mouthing words. Whispering her name. She leant down, hair draping around them in the way of bruin curtains. Softly, she kissed him. His lips were warm, just as they had been the prior night. They had kept her warm throughout the night. The new dawn newly appointed to that task. Sitting back up, she looked down, only to realise that she were still nude. The slight chill of being away from him, evident on her uncovered chest. Sighing, she slipped out of the covers, feet touching the cold floor. Making her way around the she picked up her previously shed clothes. Picking up her bra, she smiled. What a dork, she thought, hooking it back on, and adjusting the straps.
As quietly as she could, she put her outfit back together, piece by piece. Luckily, they were mostly dry. She ran her fingers through her hair, in an attempt to get the knots out. Pouting when she couldn't, she vowed to go at it with a proper brush when she got back to her apartment. With everything on save for her shoes, she took a glance back at Freddie, still somehow dozing in bed, and took hold of the doorknob. Slowly opening the door, she poked her head out and looked around. With the coast clear, she tip-toed across the living-room floor. Once she had reached the front door, she opened it,taking a quick check up and down the corridor. She heard footsteps, and a door closing in another area of the apartment. Frightened that it was Mrs. Benson, or worse yet, Freddie himself, she quickly, yet quietly, ushered herself out through the door, shutting it behind her. Making her way to her own door, she snuck into her apartment. Trying to avoid waking her brother, Spencer, she made it all the way to the third floor of the flat, where her bedroom was. Flopping down on her bed, she began trying to make sense of the prior night's happenings.
Freddie, at the moment, was awakened to a knocking on his door. He could hear that it was his mother, saying that breakfast would soon be ready. He opened his eyes to see the morning sun glaring through the windows. Taking a deep breath, he lay his right arm over his eyes. He let out a sigh, hating the mornings. He lay his other arm on his bare stomach, sheets resting at his hip. He realised that something was wrong; he usually wore a shirt whilst slumbering. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sat up in bed, attempting to get his bearings. He was still in his room, of that, he was sure. Getting up from his bed, he noticed that he was nude. He quickly wrapped his sheets around his waist. Sitting back down, he tried to remember the prior night. It did not take long. His mind drew back to the skin, the heat, the voices. Her voice. He put a hand to his mouth.
"No way."
He couldn't believe it. It wasn't possible. Was it? No, it was. He and Carly...
"Had sex." Dropping his hand from his mouth, he gripped the sheets on his lap firmly. "We had sex."
Looking down at his curled fingers, he flashed back to that night, fingers tightly grasped at sheets. Warm lips pressed against heated neck. His lips, her neck. He couldn't believe that it had happened. He remembered holding her, caressing her, feeling his hands slide up and down her back. He blushed at the recollection. He couldn't believe it. They actually did it. They made love. He soon remembered things, not everything, but many. He could vaguely remember what they did together, what he did to her, what she did to him. They expressed something that could only be expressed that way. He lay back in bed, breakfast could wait. He had much thinking to do. He watched the sunlight moving across the ceiling. He recalled running his hand through her hair that night. Her hair had since dried, and he realised, her smell wasn't due to the rain, after all.