Chapter 25: You were the only one left there
You're sick of waiting for Betty to make some sort of move; she's withdrawn into herself again and you miss her. You have to swig the rest of the bottle of wine and you pace your room with a cigarette before you can bring yourself to knock on her door. She answers in her pajamas, and you push your way in past her, pushing her up against the door, reaching one hand over her shoulder to lock it behind her. She looks cornered, but well, you have cornered her.
"Be not afraid," you almost whisper to yourself, but Betty thinks you're talking to her and leans in a little closer.
"Afraid of what?" She asks.
"This," you say, and you lean forward again, just before you reach her lips she jerks her head back so hard it hits the door with a thump.
You have her pressed against her door now, and you're pressed against her. You won't give up, no matter what. It took everything you had to get to this point and you're never going to be brave enough to do this again. This close her heartbeat thumps its way into your chest, transmits to your own heart as you pick up its beat.
"Well? Tell me what you want from me Betty." Betty just shakes her head. "Don't you want this?" You ask, because she looks scared more than anything.
"Not like this." You rest the hand that isn't still on the door on her hip; you can feel the shape of her bone beneath the flesh and you can feel a blush sliding up to your face. Betty's tough so the softness of her beneath your hand is a surprise to you. She's managed to get her hands on your shoulders but she can't quite bring herself to push you away.
"I don't know how else," you tell her, because you've been trying to figure out how you could let her know that kissing her might be something you might be interested in and you still don't know how you could possibly phrase it without making an idiot out of yourself.
"How 'bout sober?" She says awkwardly. "So I know you won't blame me for it in the morning."
"Please Betty, if I don't do this now, I don't think I can try again." You can see her waver, soften a little around the eyes, but she tightens her mouth; you can literally see her steel her resolve.
"And I can't if you're like this," she tells you flatly. "You want to try this, you gotta be sober, and you gotta tell me that this is what you want. Because I don't think it is." And with that she gathers the strength to push you away from her, not hard, just enough so she can slip past you. She lights a slightly shaky cigarette and eyes you warily. She goes to sit on the bed, then thinks better of it and turns her chair backward so she can rest her forearms on the back of it and squint at you through gusts of smoke.
You take a seat on her bed. You didn't expect her to react this way, you were expecting her to leap at the chance of this. It almost feels like a rejection, and you're surprised at how much that hurts.
"I don't know what I want," you tell her quietly, "But everything I want involves you, in some way."
Author's note:
Title from Paul McDermott's song 'Shut up and kiss me'