A/N: This has been sitting around for a while, unfinished like half the other stuff I've planned. Between school, sports and now my driver's ed class (I turned 15 aweek ago), it'll take me longer to update.
This story is a bit confusing, even to me. Let me know what you think.
Song is Jimmy Eat World's "Just Tonight"
He's never promised you the world, like so many others had done before. They were fake. So scared to touch you, to hold you, as if they were afraid you'd break upon physical contact. They had all been stupid. You wanted them to touch you, to run their hands through your hair and kiss your neck until their lips broke. After the incident in grade nine, people avoided you, and you hated it. It was as if you had some invisible barrier, keeping people away. No one laid a hand on you for months. You were diseased.
And then you found him; the perfect doctor.
He shoves your body against the van, bringing his mouth to your neck. You don't need alcohol, razors or pills. This is your addiction. You crave physical contact, the warmth of someone's body grasping your own. It makes you feel alive again. His touch feels warm against your skin, so wanted, so needed. Your breathing speeds up slightly, you're getting just what you've been begging for, all these past few years. He's the only one brave enough to give it to you.
I was scared but once I thought about, I let it go
Everything she said to me I guess I ought to know
We're all tired talk when it comes to shove
Put up, put out or stay at home.
He trails wet kisses up your neck to your cheekbone, and eventually to your lips, grunting. After several minutes, he breaks away and the two of you gasp for air. Once you gain your breath you grab his shirt collar and jerk him towards you, slamming your lips onto his. The kiss is sloppy, and rough. But so is everything the two of you do and it doesn't matter. He soon begins tugging on your shirt and you stop kissing him, shoving him back and giving off a sharp glare.
"What the hell---" He stares at you, bringing a hand up to massage his jaw, "why'd you stop?"
"I told you, I won't do that." You say, crossing your arms in front of you.
He shakes his head before staring back at you again. "Look princess, we've been meeting for what, three months now? And all we do is make out and fool around. It's like you expect us to get hitched or something before we actually do anything more."
You glare at him. How dare he? But at the same time, he's right. The thought of eventually having sex with him never crossed your mind. All you wanted was to be touched, to enjoy some form of passion while remaining innocent. Even though, you weren't really innocent to begin with anyways. Not that it was your choice.
"I'm not ready for that, you know it." You mutter, hugging your arms tightly across your chest.
"You've done it before, the whole school knows it. Why is it such a big deal now? I'm just asking for one time." He rolls his eyes.
"I told you, I don't want to do it again." You mutter, suddenly feeling weak and small compared to him.
"Well then maybe we should stop doing this." He sighs. "I'm tired of you teasing me, promising we'll do it another time. If this is the way you're gonna be, I'll go find someone else. You should go home Paige."
You bite your tongue. You swore to yourself you'd never do it again, ever since grade nine. Never. But at the same time, you can't lose him. You can't lose it. The feeling of him kissing you, touching you, his lips on yours. You're addicted. You have to have him. Maybe, maybe just once would be enough. Then maybe he'd be satisfied, and you could buy yourself a few months of just the kissing and contact.
You take a deep breath and utter the words to a proposition you thought you'd never agree to.
"Alright. But just this once. Only tonight."
We'll never be the same, never feel this way again
I'd give you anything but you want pain.
A little water please, I taste you all over my teeth
Never again. Just tonight? Ok
He grins, as if he's just been given a belated birthday present. You stare at the ground as he opens the van door and escorts you inside. Breathe. Hopefully, it'll be over soon. Just breathe.
As soon as the van door is closed, he begins kissing you. Hard. Reluctantly, you kiss him back. Within moments, his fingers claw at your blouse. You oblige and slide it off, leaving you feeling cold and uncomfortable, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's too busy sucking on your neck. You sigh, clutching your bare arms from the cold. He brings his head up for a second to pull his massive hockey jersey over his head and discard it to the side. Once that'd taken care off, he returns to planting wet kissed along your neck and fingering your belt. You stare at the black windows, desperate for some sign off the outside or something interesting to focus on while he manages to undo your belt and start on your pants.
Then, you're left in nothing but your undergarments; a light blue bra and pink panties with little hearts printed on the lining.
He unfastens your bra and discards it, staring at you for a few moments before pulling on your underwear. Now you're left with nothing, lying naked on the van floor, your clothes scattered in corners of the van. He slides down his humongous shorts and then does the same with his boxers. You stare off at the window, not even bothering to sneak a peek of him naked. Calm down Paige, it'll be over soon. He leans over you and you take a deep breath.
"Dammit." He whispers and moves away from you, rummaging in the pockets of his shorts. Then he's back over by you, his fingers grasped around a small plastic package. Soon the wrapping is cast away and the condom no longer in his hands. You close your eyes, letting the darkness soothe you as you pray it's just a bad dream.
But it's not, because in seconds you feel him enter you. This should be foreign, but it's not. It's familiar and uncomfortable.You hear him breathing heavily as Dean's image fills the inside of your eyelids. So you open your eyes and the image disapears, replaced by a sweating Jay Hogart hovering over you. He's apparently enjoying himself.
After what seems like a year, he collapses on the van floor, gasping for air, a grin on his face. You thank God that it's over.
You pull your clothes on, but they don't feel the same. You don't feel the same. You feel used and unclean, like you're some hooker off the streets. He grins at you as you pull open the door and get out. You turn back at him for a brief moment.
"Now we go back to doing what I want to, okay?" You say bitterly.
"Whatever you want Michalchuk, it's fine with me." He mumbles and begins pull on his hockey jersey. Sighing, you slam the door in his face. It's over. At least you want to think it is. You know he'll eventually want more than just making out again, but until then, you're content. For now, it's just an ugly memory of the dark.
All at once the music stopped, the feeling went away
An ugly picture, me and you, but nothing I can change
You know what happens with the lights back on
The less you know the more you want (you want, you want)
You scurry back home and shower, destroying all the physical evidence of him. The next day, you're back in your expensive clothing, wearing perfect makeup and a plastic smile. They all see you as her, Paige Michalchuk, the definition of perfection. No one knows that you sneak out of your room every night to make out with Jay Hogart, or that last night you had sex with him in the back of some filthy van. They don't have the wit to see beneath your facade.
Or maybe, maybe they just don't want to.