Chapter IV

Wild Honey Pie

Note: Because there needs to be a chapter that not only establishes but also cements a friendship between Max and Lizzy, otherwise I think that the story would fall apart. Or, at least, be less believable. Much of this is only-slightly-depressing-somewhat-comic relief (because there needs to be a break from the utterly angst-ridden stuff), though there are a few scenes that are a little sad. Also, you will find that it is mostly dialogue and very little action, which is something I have always wanted to try. I think that it helps the chapter move faster and more fluidly, and that reinforces what I'm going for: a chapter made up of a series of short but informative scenes that could take place in one day, several days…it's up to the readers. So, let me know what you think. :-)

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"So where are you from, anyway?"

"Georgia."

"No kidding? I would've pegged you for a Texas girl."

She snorted, rolling her dark eyes skyward.

"Please. I am neither tan nor blonde enough to be a Texan. Though I do have the boobs for it."

"Oh, absolutely," he agreed, nodding enthusiastically. "I mean, that goes without saying."

She smiled a little, pretending to examine her fingernails.

"What part of Georgia?" he ventured further.

"Well, Savannah, originally. But then, after graduating high school, I moved to New Orleans, Louisiana." She shook her head, eyes bright with memories. "It was wild."

"How'd your parents take that?"

"Well, they didn't really have much to say about it," she replied casually. "They died when I was seven, so…"

His eyes widened a fraction and he suddenly felt like a total prick for asking, which was stupid because, really, it wasn't like he had known that he was about to bring up such a sensitive subject. But this was one of those things that made him feel uncomfortable, even though it really shouldn't have.

"Shit, I'm sorry, y'know—"

But Lizzy just shook her head, waving him off as if it were nothing.

"Don't be. I mean, you couldn't have known. And besides, it's not like I really knew them, anyway, so I wasn't all that bothered by it. My oldest brother, Chuck, though…he was." Her eyes grew cloudy and he sensed that she was looking at something that was far away. "He, um, he was ten when it happened, so he'd already had a decade with them." She picked at the dried blood beneath her nails. "He's always been protective of Dave and me—Dave, he's my other brother; he's only a year older than me—but, uh…but Chuck, I think, had to grow up faster than he wanted to, which isn't right, and I kind a wish he didn't feel that way…but he does, and there's no changing that." She smiled slightly. "It's funny, but I guess he's still like a kid in some ways. He's stubborn, he gets pissy when things don't go his way…"

"You sound like my sister," he remarked, and he smirked a little, thinking of Lucy.

"Talking about you?" she guessed.

"Yeah…only, in addition to being stubborn and pissy, I also watch cartoons, pull my little sister's hair, and eat Cap'n Crunch."

She wrinkled her nose. "Ew, Cap'n Crunch?"

"Yeah," he replied, taking offence.

"Why?"

"What—?"

"Froot Loops are like, so much better."

"Babe, you're crazy."

"At least I have taste buds," she snorted. "Cap'n Crunch, honestly…"

"Hey, it's awesome, and I wish I had a big bowl of it now so that I could eat it in front of you. I bet you'd cringe."

"I would," she admitted at once. "That shit is nasty—it shreds the roof of your mouth!"

"No it doesn—well, okay, yeah, it does, but it still tastes great!"

Confounded, Lizzy huffed, tossing her head snootily.

"I don't think we can be friends, now."

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"You grew up with your grandparents? That sucks."

"Yeah, you'd think that," Lizzy replied, "but my grandparents are actually these eccentric liberals who are all for free-thinking and individualism and all that shit."

"Really," he stated, not believing her.

"Mm." She waved her little hand around vaguely, searching for words. "Mimi—she doesn't like to be called 'Grandma' cuz she thinks it makes her sound old—she's into meditation and tai chi and the rest of that New Age stuff because she's a firm believer in 'stress equals age,' so she's totally cool with living life the way you want it—within reason," she added with a roll of her eyes. "It's like, she loves us, but she doesn't want to worry too much cuz it causes wrinkles and because she doesn't believe in telling us how to live.

"And then Grandaddy's a shrink, so he's like completely fascinated by the way we all act—like Dave. He's a friggin' genius, could've been a doctor or a lawyer or a business executive…but he wants to be a photographer—not that he isn't amazing at that, too, but…"

"And I'm guessing that pissed Grandaddy off right away?"

"Oh, no," Lizzy said, much to his surprise. "No, he doesn't mind as long as Dave's happy. He was just curious as to what could make a science and math guy like Dave want to go into photography."

"Man, my parents would flip shit if I did something like that—and I did, which means that they did." He smirked.

"What did you do?" she demanded at once.

One thing that he had realized early on about Lizzy was that she suffered from irrepressible curiosity. Some would call her nosey, but he didn't mind. If anything, he kind of liked it.

Sinking deeper into the pillows, he began to tell her about New York.

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"What's New Orleans like? I've always wanted to go there, check out Mardi Gras, y'know?"

"Why am I not surprised?" She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Seriously, though, I can't blame you. Mardi Gras is awesome."

"Really?"

"Yeah!" She nodded enthusiastically. "I mean, who wouldn't love a celebration where everyone's acting crazy and having a great time, there's never enough booze, and people give me beads to take my top off."

He sat up a little, daring to hope.

"Are you saying…" he began slowly, "that you have no problem flashing your tatas in public?"

"Well, what kind of stripper would I be if I did?" She smirked. "Besides, if it were legal for me to walk around topless, I totally would. But, since it's not, I have to settle for going braless."

No way. Unbelievable. This was all too much. Everything was happening at once—there were so many wonderful bits of knowledge entering his mind right now, and all of them involved Lizzy's tits. He felt overwhelmed (not to mention aroused).

"Wait—stripper?"

She shrugged. "Had to make a living some way, and there was this placed called the Day Tripper that had an opening. And, I mean, I'd always been a dancer—started taking ballet when I was six cuz, um…" She bit her lip, grinning a little. "Well, they said that I was too 'rambunctious' in the class room, so they told my parents to stick me in ballet cuz they thought that I'd burn off the extra energy dancing—either that, or I'd really lose it because ballet's so strict and there are a lot of rules that you have to follow, and I've never done well with rules."

A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth (oh, he liked her).

"But, uh, surprisingly, I really enjoyed it and was good at it," she continued. "Kept up with it until I finished high school. Everyone, my grandmother especially, wanted me to go to France and become this prima ballerina at the Paris Opéra or something." She glanced skyward, like she thought that those ideas were all too fanciful and ridiculous, even for her. "But that wasn't for me. Besides, I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to. My boobs are too big."

"Oh, so we're back on that again?"

Her eyebrows arched. "Are you complaining? I could change the subject—"

"Oh, no, not at all," he assured her, grinning. "Please, continue—don't hesitate to go into detail."

She pursed her lips, barely concealing a smirk, but continued. "Okay, so…like I said, I have no problem with breasts, especially mine. I mean, they're great, aren't they?"

"Oh yeah."

"There's this thing—I think Freud came up with it—called 'penis envy,' where women supposedly wish that they had a dick of their own? Sorry, but I'm content with my metaphorical one; it's huge. And I'd rather have breasts."

He snorted. "All guys secretly wish they had tits, anyway."

"I know, right?" she said enthusiastically. "That's what I was gonna say."

"Don't get me wrong," he added quickly. "It's great having a dick, but boobs are a lot more fun. I don't know how you ladies keep your hands off yourselves."

"Oh, it's not easy, trust me. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if…y'know…" She watched him carefully. "It turned out that I liked girls more than boys."

When he spoke, her face brightened with relief.

"I don't blame you—naked women are just so much nicer to look at than guys."

"Right, like…with a naked girl, it's like everything sort of…falls into place, y'know? Like it's all clearly there, but it isn't jumping out at you. But with a naked guy, it's just…out there, like he's saying, 'Hey, baby, here I am!' And I just…no. No. I like dick, but I don't wanna look at it."

"Plus, kissing girls is so much nicer."

"Exactly," she said, nodding. Then, "Shit, no, I mean…fuck me."

"When and where?" he snickered. "Seriously, though, honey pie, one of my friends is a lesbian. I'm totally cool with it—"

"No, it's just that," she stumbled, trying to explain herself, "I kissed a girl, I liked it, but I still like boys, too. Like, a lot."

"Yeah?" he asked, giving her a charming grin.

She leaned in toward him, getting closer.

"Yeah."

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"Honey pie…" he whispered to no one. It was the middle of the night, completely black save for the gleaming shaft of moonlight that poured through the window behind him. Why no light shone through the other windows, he wasn't sure, but that was just one thing that made him wonder if this was a dream.

"Honey pie…" he sighed again, tipping his head back.

Just like that, she materialized from nowhere—a speck of dust sparkled in the silvery light and there she was. For once, her hair wasn't tied up in that God-awful ponytail, instead hanging loose around her shoulders. Except for the sides. She had pulled them back.

Her uniform was white, no blood. Clean and crisp and tight. Shorter, too, than what she normally wore. And low-cut.

He licked his lips, feeling a familiar heat beginning to grow in his nether regions. She wasn't wearing a bra, but everything was still so pert.

"Honey pie…"

Her hips began to rock as she slowly undid her uniform from the waist up, fingering each button one by one. Lithe fingers lingering just a moment on the top button, teeth sunk into her lower lip, she spun gracefully. Turning her back to him and bending over, she wiggled out of her panties. They were red. Watching him over her shoulder, she twisted the panties around her fingers, and then threw them to him. He caught them with ease and held the lacey fabric to his nose, giving her a wicked grin the entire time.

"Honey pie…" he moaned a little.

Her high heels—a pair of bright red, six-inch numbers, not those squeaky, white nurse's shoes—clicked on the beige and puke-green tiles as she circled his bed, soundlessly pulling the curtains shut. She remained outside, standing at the foot of the bed.

Encased in a sheer white cage, he could only see nothing but the curtain. But then, her silhouette shone in front of a huge yellow spotlight. Her back was to him; he could tell by the way she moved. Damn, the way she moved…

One hand on her hip, she reached up to remove her nurse's cap, tossing it aside, sending it whizzing through the air. Gripping each side of her collar, she ripped her uniform open in one fluid movement and shimmied out of the binding outfit, kicking it aside as if it were nothing. Naked (or so he assumed), she reached out, took a hold of a pole that ran from ceiling to floor, and swung around, rubbing herself against it. Up and down, up and down. Where the pole had come from, he didn't know; probably the same place as the moon, the spotlight, and she herself.

"Honey pie…" He was pleading with her, now completely hard. He wanted to see her, needed to feel her.

The curtains at the foot of his bed flew open.

"Honey pie…"

There she stood. Naked, just like he had wanted, though the golden yellow spotlight made it difficult to actually see her. He didn't care; she was coming toward him.

"Honey pie…"

She slipped a hand behind her head and removed the two pins that held her hair in place, dipping low and shaking her sandy locks all about before whipping back up to look at him. Slowly, she began to approach.

She climbed onto the bed, running her hands along every inch of him as she crawled forward. Stopping at his eager length, she smirked, reaching down, stroking gently, torturously. He gasped a little.

"Honey pie…

Honey pie…"

Hovering over him, hands on either side of his head, she leaned in, mouth so close to his, and whispered softly:

"I love you, honey pie."

For once, he said nothing. Simply ran his fingers through her hair and, cupping her face, closed the distance between then.

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Once again, this is probably as close to a sex scene as you are ever going to get from me. Let me know what you think! Also, I hope this chapter wasn't too Lizzy-centric. Even though it was all told from Max's POV, I'm worried that it might focus on her a little too much.

Notes:

"My oldest brother, Chuck…" – in a lot of ways, Chuck is very much like Max. As Lizzy said, they're both stubborn and pissy, but they're also both laidback, fun-loving nonconformists who are very loyal to the people that they care about, even if they don't always show it. Chuck, however, is a bit more serious and responsible than Max is, for obvious reasons. He isn't really a father figure to Lizzy, though he has had a major influence on her. For instance, he's where she gets her loud mouth and short temper. :)

"…a doctor or a lawyer or a business executive…" – this isn't a reference to anything written by the Beatles, I'm afraid. However, instead I'm quoting a fairly awesome song entitled "Little Boxes" by Pete Seeger.

…a dick of their own? – is it just me, or does this sounds sort of like a porno version of Virginia Woolf's novel A Room of One's Own? Actually, seeing how I just finished two classes in which a good many lessons focused on Woolf and her writing, it could just be me. :D

"I kissed a girl, I liked it…" – yes, I'm shamelessly referencing the Katy Perry song "I Kissed a Girl."

"Honey pie…" – sadly, I think that this might be the only Beatles's reference in the entire chapter.

They were red. – even though he should have been able to see red panties through a white uniform. Just keep telling yourself that it's all a dream. :)