Chapter 7: Crash Into Me

"How does that look?" I asked, swiveling around in my squatting position in front of the wooden table to face him. He looked up from the box he was unpacking and grinned at the position of the vase I'd been adjusting and readjusting for the past hour. "Well?"

"Yeah, it looks great," he nodded, getting up from the cardboard box, labeled "Box of Shit," in front of him to kneel down next to me to get a closer look. Putting a hand on my heavily sweating neck, he whispered into my hair, "But you've been working on that vase for a whole 2 hours and you still have the rest of the box to unpack."

I sneered at him. "First of all, it's only been about 1 hour." I placed my hand on the varnished surface of the wooden table, pulling myself up to a standing position. "Second of all, this vase is the center of the room so it needs to be perfect." I gestured to the now perfectly centered vase as though it was on display in a museum.

I gave the room a once-over, mentally making a note of where to put things when they were unpacked, before turning back to face him.

He was smiling at me, "Since when did you become high maintenance?"

"What're you talking about? This girl has always been tightly strung," I replied, throwing my arms around his neck so I could kiss his nose, a grin spread across my face.

This apartment had been ours for only a few hours, and yet it already began to feel like home. Actually, this was my home. I'd never felt more at home anywhere else. I was able to imagine myself here in the next ten, twenty years, children trailing along under our feet, a dog waiting by the door to be walked, Sydney, lying in the sunlight of the window, relishing in the warmth. I could see us waking up everyday and having breakfast in bed on a wooden bed and catalog-ordered, white sheets. This was the beginning of our life together. Our perfect life together. And we weren't even married yet.

Shaking his head, he rubbed his palms along the back fabric of my tank top. "And I'm sure that this is the same girl who could barely move around in her room, on account of there being too much stuff on the floor?"

I let out an over-exaggerated sigh, letting my arms drop to my hips. "You just have to ruin every moment don't you, Michael?" I wrinkled my nose, just for effect.

"Hey, that's Professor Turner to you," he smiled, pointing a mocking finger at my face.

"Of course, how could I forget?" I shrugged, returning to the box that I had abandoned and pulled out another more extravagant, yet ugly, purple vase. "How did you get away with keeping this disgusting excuse for a room accessory and we ended up throwing away about half of my, might I add much nicer decorations?"

Without looking up from the photo album he was flipping through – most likely pictures of me as a baby, knowing my luck – Michael replied, "Because, honey, that's your nauseating excuse for a room accessory."

"Actually the word I used was 'disgusting,'" I muttered under my breath, as I re-wrapped the vase and carefully and noiselessly put it back in its box. That could just go in storage until it came back in fashion. You know, when hell is frozen over, and the first woman is proven wrong.

It was quiet in the room except for the rustling of the grey packing paper and the creaking of the floorboards under our feet. "This place better be ready for when your brother comes to dinner on Thursday or else I'm withholding sex again," I said, looking over at the back of neck, where his brown curls met with his skin. He turned to face me and caught me staring.

He grinned, "You wouldn't dare…"

"I've done it before and I can do it again," I answered, nonchalantly, trying to hide the smile with my hair as I looked down at the pictures inside the frames in my hands. I heard him get up from the floor, smiling more widely as I felt his arms wrap around my waist from behind. "You're wasting your time here," I sang, trying to ignore his touch.

"It'll be done," he said into my hair, causing goosebumps to form along my lower arms.

I dropped the frames into the wadded up paper below and turned around, returning my hands to his neck. I shook my head, "Well, if we keep going on like this, I'm not so sure it will be."

Michael kissed my lips. "I'll work on the vases, you unpack the DVD collection," he mumbled slowly against them.

"You're impossible, Professor Turner," I murmured in return, pressing his face harder against mine before pulling away and making my way over to the mess of DVDs in the corner. "Should I alphabetize too?" I asked, picking up Shindler's List and placing it at the end of the shelf before me.

"You get an A for in high maintenance, Ms. Harrison, I'll give ya that."

I winced as I heard the sound of glass shattering on the wooden floor.

XXXXXXX

I ran the fingers of my left hand along the sharp edge of the piece of paper in front of me, praying that it wasn't real. I tried to see past the dark printed words, yet they all I could focus my eyes on. My back began to hurt from leaning so far over the kitchen counter so that my head was just above the notice, but I made no attempt to move. The fingers on my right hand held a cigarette between them, which was slowly burning towards the low ceiling. I looked around at the apartment. It definitely wasn't anything special and frankly, I would be glad to leave. But where was I supposed to go? I winced as the paper sliced through the skin of my fingerprint and I quickly threw the wound in my mouth.

Where the hell was Jack? He'd stormed off more than two hours ago to go and confront Budd about the matter. It was a lost cause, though. I mean, I'm sure lots of people lose their free housing everyday and no one even bats an eye.

"Hey."

I spun around to find Jack standing in the doorframe. He was panting heavily through a bleeding lip and his right eye bore the beginnings of a black one. Shit. I'd completely forgot about Spyder's bouncers. He looked almost as bad as he had when he'd come into the hospital with a bullet in his shoulder, except his face was more flushed than it had been that day. Did he run here?

"Jack, my God," I breathed. Without even stopping to think, I threw my half gone cigarette in the sink, grabbed his arm roughly and pulled into the bathroom where he sat down on the toilet seat, instinctively. I knelt down and started to dig through the cupboard under the sink for the alcohol, Neosporin and cotton balls.

"It's really not that bad, Dylan," Jack said, but the swelling in his lip made the statement somewhat less than convincing. "You're making this way more than it is."

I silenced him with a wave of the hand.

The bouncers at Spyder were nice guys, if you were a nice guy. Or girl. But I could see the scene go down in front of my eyes as I dug around for the first aid. Jack would run in there, raising up hell about me, and he'd try and throw in some punches as Greg, the main bouncer tried to drag him out. It happened every week to angry boyfriends and such, but I never thought it would ever happen on account of me.

My hand made contact with the first aid kit and I dragged it out of the cupboard, knocking over some old shampoo bottles with it. I snuck a glance at Jack, who was staring at the tiled floor, his bruised eye twitching every time he blinked. He looked wearily at the liquid I was squirting onto the white cotton ball. "So," I said, trying to divert his mind. "Did you at least get some blows in?"

Jack chuckled, drawing his hand to the blood on his lip. "You know I did," he said, and I nodded, a doubtful expression on my face.

I placed my hand on his face to steady his head. His facial features were screwed up in anticipation of the sting of the rubbing alcohol. "To tell you the truth, I've had worse from Bobby," he added.

Raising my eyebrows I touched the cotton to his lip, making him wince subtly with pain.

"Don't be a pussy," I sighed, as he pulled away slightly.

"I'm not being a pussy," he straightened up on the lid and braced himself again. He didn't speak again for a few moments, just sat as still and as natural as he possibly could without revealing the pain he was in. Finally he said, "Budd's really sorry about… well, about everything."

I stood up, leaning over the sink to throw out the dirty cotton before retrieving another from the plastic bag. "Whatever, I'm over it," I said, shrugging.

And it wasn't a lie, either. Or maybe it was. Maybe this was better for me. Now, figuring out what I was going to do was another story. I had to be out of here within the week. Yet, again I was proposed with the problem of being homeless. And jobless, for that matter.

Jack sounded doubtful, "Yeah, and I'm sure you have a grand plan of where you're gonna live after the week's over, too."

I let out a sound of frustration. "Don't be a bitch, Jack. Just because you got the shit kicked out of you—"

"—I did not get the shit kicked out of me!"

"—I didn't ask you to go over there so don't complain. I don't have to be gentle when disinfecting you," I snapped at him, slapping another cotton ball on his lip. This time he cried out in shock and pain, making me smirk.

He was silent again as he began to get used to the sting. "What're you gonna do?" he asked, trying not to sound concerned, but I could hear it in his voice as though I was saying it myself.

I threw the second cotton ball in the trash and reached for the Neosporin, thinking hard about how to answer his question. There's not a lot I could do. I didn't even have an inkling of where to go or what to do. I didn't have any qualifications except for my music, which was hard enough to break into as it was; I didn't have enough money to start college now, and even if I did, where would I be able to get in? I was a walking lost cause.

"Look." The sound of Jack's voice startled me, causing me squeeze the tube of Neosporin too hard and a stream of white cream to end up on the bathroom floor. "Sorry," Jack spoke again, trying not to laugh. He ripped off a long strip of toilet paper from the roll and handed it to me before continuing, "Why don't you come live with me and my brothers for a while. It doesn't have to be forever, just until you get… What?"

I shook my head, wiping up the mess on the floor. "What'd you mean, what?" I said, looking up from the tiles to rest my eyes on his face. "Jack, you can't possibly be asking me that with a straight face." I was trying to make him see sense in his words, as per usual. God, I hope I'm not gonna be doing this for the rest of my life…

"Why not?" he said, standing up so that I had to crane my neck skyward to look at him.

Standing up so that I was at least a little bit closer to his face, I said, "Because it's rude," I began to count on my fingers, pulling each one back as I made each point. "Two, because Bobby would beat your ass if another girl came to live in that house—"

"Sofi hardly counts as a girl," Jack interrupted, grinning.

"Three," I bent back another finger, "because I have another week left here and who's to say that I won't find another place to live by next week?"

Jack shook his head in doubt. "The chances of you finding another place to live are like a million to nothing." He sat back down on the toilet lid again, looking tired. "And also, don't worry about Bobby. He likes you." He shrugged, "More than he likes Sofi, anyway."

I cracked a smile, dabbing a drop of the remaining cream onto my finger. "Okay, fine," I gave in. "But if either of your brothers object—"

"You'll be the first to know." He paused, looking at the cream on my finger. "Are you gonna apply that or do I need to slip twenty bucks into your g-string?"

"Shut your goddamn mouth."

XXXXXXXX

"It's weird," I said, slowly shifting my weight on the sofa cushions from a sitting to a lying down position, my head propped up on one arm. "I would've thought this would be more fun."

Angel grunted, "Yeah, well compared to what we're doing, I'm sure it's paradise." He groaned as he hoisted the couch up higher in his muscled arms.

I gave him the finger from my position on the pillows as I turned over onto my front, watching the slowly moving surroundings of my short-lived apartment.

The initial shock of being evicted had worn off during the past two days. Budd's "difficult" decision to fire me as well as kick me out of my rentless house was out of the fear of being prosecuted if word got out that I'd had a seizure while I was working. I wasn't exactly heartbroken about the whole idea of having no job and nowhere to live, mainly because I'd been through worse. And not only that but Jack had been able to convince Bobby to let me stay with them. At least 'til I was able to get back on my feet, which was something I hadn't done in a long time.

I turned over onto my side again as I heard a sigh of irritation coming from the behind opposite arm of the couch. "Do you think you could quit moving, Dylan? It's already hard enough to carry this thing without you sitting on it," Bobby whined, breathing heavily.

"Chill out, Bobby," Jerry said from his position in the kitchen. "You'll make her go anorexic or somethin'."

Sighing, I continued in an airy tone of voice, "Don't worry, Jerry, it didn't even cross my mind that he was making a slur against my weight." I paused, pretending to think, "But then, with boys like Bobby, you never can be sure…"

Bobby made a noise that sounded like a groan of pain and annoyance. "Shut up, you knew what I meant," he said.

"Do I?" I asked, sitting up to look at him, innocently, causing more groans from either sides of the couch.

He raised his eyebrows, "Yeah, I'm pretty sure ya do."

I shrugged, pouting, "Well, please, Bobby, please feel free to explain it to me. I'm only a simple girl, after all…"

"That shouldn't be necessary," Bobby said, still struggling to keep the couch steady, more for his own benefit than mine. "Let's not forget that you're coming to live in my house…"

Exhaling, I flopped back down on the couch as hard as I could. "There's a little thing called common courtesy towards a lady, boys" I said, looking up at the ceiling. We'd barely made it 6 feet since I last spoke. Jack was packing boxes in the bedroom since he was still recovering from his wound from a month ago. Plus, even if he was healthy, Angel and Bobby still would've been the strongest brothers of the bunch. Much to his dismay. And their's. Jerry was standing in the kitchen area wrapping up the plates I had spent ages unwrapping just under a month ago.

A snort from Angel's side, "There's also a little thing called walking."

"Fine. Pussies," I retorted, jumping down from the couch, causing them both to grunt again in sync with each other. "I'm gonna go see what the other Stooge is reeking havoc on."

Bobby laughed, "Yeah, make sure he's not stealin' any of your underwear!"

I could hear the faint sound of strings being plucked at as I wandered into the bedroom, leaning my shoulder against the doorframe when I saw Jack's back facing me, my guitar in his hands. He was playing it lightly, as though he was making sure nobody was able to hear him.

But I could hear him, and I couldn't help but smile: he was playing Dave Matthew's "Crash Into Me," singing the words softly under his breath so that I had to strain my ears to hear him.

He stopped when he realized that there were no longer voices coming from the living room/kitchen and turned around. "Hi," he said, simply, a surprised look on his slowly reddening face.

I could tell he was embarrassed that I'd been listening so I said, "Aren't you gonna play the rest?" I approached the bed slowly, rubbing my bare arms with the palms of my hands, trying to rid them of cold.

"Maybe another time," he said, seriously, putting the guitar back in its case. I looked around the room at the all the boxes he'd packed and I had to hand it to him, I couldn't have done better myself. Everything was packed away and every box was labeled. I opened the top drawer of my dresser.

"I see you took the liberty of packing my unmentionables," I said, smirking as he closed the guitar case with 4 loud snaps.

Jack got up and stood next to me, looking down at the box that was clearly labeled "Unmentionables," smiling, slyly. "You didn't think I'd leave those out did you? Especially that little lacy number from Victoria's Secret."

Slapping his arm, I laughed. I leaned down to pick up Sydney who'd been scratching at my leg for the past few minutes, trying to get my attention. "Yeah, well at least we know that one of us was having sex at some point. As for the other party…"

He gasped in mock astonishment, "I'll have you know I've had plenty of sex with a considerable amount of partners. Most of them, exceptionally hot."

"Most of them?" I asked, wiggling my eyebrows at him.

His hand rubbed the back of his neck, nervous about the subject, "Well, you know the ones that weren't so hot sure looked it after a certain amount of drinks." I giggled. "What's so funny?"

I shrugged turning away from him to look in my closet to see if he'd left anything behind. "Oh nothing, really," I said, still giggling, "It's just, at the club we had a little saying you might find appropriate for your particular situation."

"Which was?"

Turning around, I grinned at him, trying to hold back the laughter in my lungs, "It goes, 'If a girl has a pierced tongue, she'll probably suck your dick,'" He nodded, letting me know I could continue. I would've continued anyway. "'If a guy has a pierced tongue, he'll probably suck your—"

"OKAY, let's go pack up that bathroom of yours!" he said, dragging me sharply out of the room by my shoulder.

XXXXXX

I stepped back, surveying the room in front of me. Bobby had given me Evelyn's room, the room, which he had been sleeping in for the past month since he came back to Detroit for the funeral. This was her room. This was Evelyn's room. The room where she'd think about ways to make the world a better place for kids who didn't deserve the situation they were in. The room where countless children had run in whenever they'd had a nightmare. The room where she would brush her hair while she waited for the social worker to bring another son or daughter into her life. The place where she spent her last night alive. Plants hung in the window, necklaces and beads hung from the dressing table. In all its simplicity, it was beautiful. Like she was.

Something brushed against my right shoulder and was silent as it stood next to me. I didn't take my eyes off the room. Every corner, every inch of the carpeted floor, every piece of the dull colored wall paper… to me they were Evelyn Mercer. And I wanted it to be burnt into my mind for the rest of my life. I was infatuated with this room. It was almost as motherly and comforting as she had been.

A hand clutched at mine and wrapped its fingers around my knuckles. I knew those hands as well as I knew my own, although I had only held them twice before.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Jack said, his voice going as low as it could possibly go without being inaudible, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up as I shivered on the inside.

I dropped the suitcase in my other hand at my feet. I still hadn't taken that one final step out of the hallway and into the bedroom I'd been staring at for the past few minutes. I knew this doorframe was just like any other I had seen before, but I felt too insignificant to step through its wooden threshold. It made my brain hurt in a way that I never thought was possible and the throbbing didn't seem to cease, even as I stepped inside.

Jack had his arm around my waist as he led me into his mother's room, kicking the suitcase with his feet as we entered. "You're gonna have to get used to it at some point," he said. I nodded, feeling tears stinging at my eyes.

I could feel the dam that had been holding back the floods of my own emotions break down completely, as I slowly turned to Jack on the tips of my toes and gently kissed him on the mouth. After a month of dancing around it, I had finally done it. I felt my legs shake underneath the torso that was surrounded by his hands, even though the touch was only as soft and as gentle as our hands were whenever they touched one another. A tear escaped from the incarceration of my eye and it rolled down my cheek freely as I pulled away from the place where our lips met.

I looked down at my feet, wiping the tear away subtly. I was surprised to find I wasn't guilt ridden. Maybe this was what was supposed to happen. It definitely hadn't felt wrong, and I found I was smiling softly when I looked back up at his face, which displayed an expression of similar proportions.

"Thank you for everything," I said. My lips, which were still quivering from the kiss, were unable to do anything else but smile.

He merely nodded before pulling me into a tight hug.

XXXXXXXX

A/N: Whoo! Finally some blatant sexual contact between them! I was gonna put it off for another chapter or two but then I thought, nah I've tortured them enough. That was a present to you guys as well as myself, because it's my birthday on March 2nd. 17! Hurrah! And they thought I wouldn't make it to my 5th birthday… Ha, fools…

I can't believe this story has come this far! All your reviews make me want to continue every single day. Even if they're just a few of you reviewing, the number of hits on this story, wow, blows my mind everyday. Thank you to everyone who's been reading or just started reading and has come back to see how it's gonna end up!

This is gonna sound really odd, but I swear it's just out of pure interest I have four questions:

1.What makes you want to read a fic? Is it the summary, the amount of words, the amount of reviews, etc.?

2. Do you like the length of the chapters or should I be making them longer? I try to make them at least 10 pages or longer, except for the first two, which were just under. It all really depends on the mood I'm in.

3. Do you guys like the flashback scenes? They're kind of more for my benefit and mind, but I pray that you guys like them for the reason that they go deeper into Dylan's character and past.

And 4. Is this moving too fast? I've been trying to decide if maybe the chapters should be shorter and the content should take one scene at a time. I don't know, so please help me out. I really want to do everything in my power to make this story the best that it can be.

Please, let me know.

Lastly, I'm sorry that this chapter is kind of a disappointment compared to the other ones but it was a kind of spur of the moment thing, so please review and I promise that next chapter will be better. A lot better. In fact, I've been looking forward to writing it for quite some time and it should definitely be posted by Monday at the latest. Coursework deadlines are looming…. Damn.

Now for the important part:

Electricxrain – Hey, how'd the talent show go? What did you sing? I know exactly how you feel with the whole sore-throat thing. Every time I have to get up on stage I get this massive phlegm stream in my throat. And then I'm kicking myself for getting cheese at the salad bar at lunch… Yeah, anyway, I hope it went amazing, which I'm sure it did! Also, I just wanted to thank you eternally for all the reviews you've ever left me. I'm not sucking up, I just wanted to let you know that they always mean a lot. So again, thank you. Also, if you don't update "Tip the Scales" I am going to have to whip you. And not in the pleasant kinky way, either…. Until next time… MWAHAHAHA.

Embry – Thank you! And thanks for coming back!

Iluvgarrethedlund -- …….. GAH! .tackles. We seriously must be on the same wavelength. From across an ocean we are on the exact same wavelength and it's freakin' me out! Thank you though, your reviews mean a lot, and I hope you're enjoying the story even though you're able to predict what's gonna happen! I hope you enjoyed this one.

SlythPrincess – Thank you so much for your review! It made me smile from ear to ear. I haven't read your story yet but I promise I will as soon as I post this! Hope I hear from you again!

Arwen1982 (Lisa) – Thanks! I'm glad you're enjoying it so far! Review again soon!