This is a one-shot I wrote such a long time ago that I don't even remember when it was. But because I didn't want it to go to waste, here it is! And I hope you enjoy the surprise twists it takes.
Here is Life In The Fast Lane
Life in the Fast Lane
It was a rush, unrivaled by anything else on earth. The wind that swept my body as the world whirled all around me in a blend of watercolors that would inspire young Picassos in the making (much like myself) everywhere. The bump of my bike as it kissed each pebble of gravel in the popular and the abandoned roads, I experienced a thrill that made me yell at the top of my lungs, though outmatched by the lionous roar of my beast of an engine. I liked to think of myself as a biker princess. Only, I donned my beloved leather boots instead of glass slippers, and my helmet rather than a crown. But sitting pretty and chasing money was never within my vast realm of taste. All I cared about was art, coffee, and my baby - the motorcycle that was my most prized possession.
As I fast approached a traffic light fading from neon green to a glowing yellow, I prepared to drop my speed down. I really, truly did. But...a dare called to me. The risky venture of outrunning the light and making it to the other side before it was too late. Like when I was a kid and pretended our worn sofa cushions would protect me from the 'lava', aka our beer soaked carpet speckled with cigarette burns.
Either way, I twisted the handle of my beauty and whooped as I breezed through the fast lane, the very same that made old ladies shake their heads and the road ragers to shake their fists.
Young. Wild. Free.
But...
It was a risk.
And with all chances we take, there's always a side dish of consequences and benefits that we reap.
It all happened at the speed of lightning. The pain that shot through my body like a bullet, the way the sky flipped upside down and spun like I was inside a moving cylinder. My bike flying across the intersection as I was thrown off as if I were on a bucking horse, crashing to the ground before halted traffic. A gasp is ripped from my lungs, my head beating harder than the heavy metal I listened to, my ribs on fire as the lower half of my body ached badly enough that my lips formed a scream. I hear the sound of car doors opening and closing, followed by hurried footsteps and frantic voices blending together. One lady calls 119 as a younger man crouches over me, inspecting me while trying to avoid coming into contact.
He abruptly snaps his head in the other direction, asking, "Are you okay? Would you like me to get you both to the hospital?"
Both?
It hadn't even occurred to me that someone else could have been fatally injured, as it took two to collide. If I hurt someone...I'd never forgive myself. I still haven't let myself forget what I did back then.
"Hn," they grunt in answer, and I collect the little strength I have to crane my head, though blood pouring from my temples spills on the ground as I face him. I'm floored (and not in a good way) when I see he's glaring at me with malice and hatred in the depths of his dark eyes.
"You," he growls, flinching as if it kills him to speak. "What were you thinking? The light was red."
This was not the time to be playing the blame game. Who cares if its the scene of the crime? I just wanted to be put out of my misery and rescued from this nightmare that manifested as a headache. And don't even get me started on the pain that consumed my whole torso and my legs.
"Can't this wait? We could be dying," I retort, turning back to stare up into the greying sky. "Besides, the light was yellow. Its your fault for being color blind."
He snorts, as if this sentiment is completely outrageous, and I am gently reminded to remain still until the ambulance arrives. I guess the guy that said it had somewhere better to be and his hospital escort offer had expired in the span of a minute. I couldn't blame him, though. These kinds of situations were often sticky at best and involved law suits. I've gotten enough tickets to know that. And our accident was a case of 'he-said-she-said.' We both thought we were right.
Only the traffic footage will tell.
...
The next moment I'm conscious, I find myself hurting from head to toe, despite the iv inserted into my arm and feeding my body medicine. The bed I'm in has tan railings and dull white sheets. I'm propped up by the assortment of pillows strategically stuffed behind my back, allowing me to get a full scope of the hospital room. By the looks of it...I had a roomie. We were divided by a plastic opaque curtain, though it failed to minimize the room as it was still terrifyingly large. Large rooms meant expenses I couldn't afford. Every last cent of my paycheck went towards my bike and food.
Oh no.
I didn't get the chance to see if my baby was okay!
Panic burrows into my stomach as concern elevates my heartbeat at an alarming rate.
It probably wasn't normal that I got so worked up about an inanimate object. But I am attached. And I have been since I was sixteen. It was historic, having been by my side through milestones of my life. Like the time my ex and I kissed the first time. It was on that bike after I'd parked at a scenic spot that overlooked the city lights and the neighboring ocean. It was my mode of transportation for visiting my mom in rehab, every Thursday night. It was the one I clung to during the night my boyfriend and I had broken up, and I took a ride through the country and hadn't returned until the next day.
Being an only child was hard because my mom was a head case and my dad was never around anymore. So, in an odd way...my bike was like a sibling. It was dependable and cherish-able, giving me a sense of belonging, a home, and a family all in one.
I prepare to take off and go find it when the curtain slides back, revealing the boy from before that practically killed me today. But instead of looking as hostile as he had earlier, he merely stares back at me with complete blankness. Like this whole situation was as boring as watching paint dry.
"What are you doing?"
Um...how is that any of his business? He doesn't have a right to keep tabs on me, regardless of our current predicament.
"Leaving," I answer simply, wrapping my hand around the cord of the iv to yank it out, only to be stopped again.
"On a broken leg? This I have to see," he deadpans, though he looks ridiculous himself considering he's practically in traction.
"You're one to talk," I throw back, my hand falling to the mattress. "At least my arm isn't in a cast with the rest of me."
He scoffs. "Says the girl that can't walk."
"I so can walk," I argue, sticking my tongue out.
His eyebrow raises, daringly. "I'll believe it when I see it."
Was he serious?
I'm trying to get out of here and locate my motorcycle, asses the damage, and begin gathering the parts I'll need. Though knowing my life, it's probably with the police and being analyzed and processed in one of those fancy, high-tec labs of theirs.
Ugh.
This is so not my day.
I return to a reclining position, rolling over so that I face away from him and curl up into a ball. He wasn't gonna get another peep out of me. I had no interest in trying to prove him wrong. Because, quite frankly, I couldn't care less of what he thought of me. Who cares how cute he is? He crashed into me and then accused me for it. So forget him. He deserves the silent treatment.
"Hey, um..." he starts, awkwardly. "Whoever you are...can you hit the call button for me? I'm hungry."
I roll my eyes, biting my lip to fight the urge to speak. He ordered a cold shoulder, so there's no chance I won't serve it.
He sighs. "Look, I'm sorry for what I said. But I really need your help."
I turn back over, wincing when my leg cramps with the movement. "You have one other hand. Reach over and press it yourself."
"It may not be in a cast, but it hurts like crazy," he says. "Can't we just call a truce while we're here?"
Its my turn to sigh as I search my bed for my own red button, holding it down until I'm connected.
"Sonata hospital, how may I be of assistance?"
"Hi, I'd like to order from the cafeteria's menu."
"Ok, please hold."
"Thank you," I say, sweetly, though I can't stand listening to the bad quality music they play. It always sounds like it was recorded through a potato.
I look back at the boy with bi-colored hair, meeting his grey eyes. "The name's Lavender, fyi."
"I don't know what should concern me more; your name or the fact you speak in acronyms," he muses, an amused lilt to his otherwise bland tone.
Was he going to make fun of my name, now? I always thought it was cool. It was the one thing my parents did right.
"Why lead a blasé life that'll start and end in mediocrity?" I pose, narrowing my eyes. "What's so great about your name, hotshot?"
"Its Hatsuharu...Haru for short."
"Not impressed."
He scoffs again, shaking his head. "Is that why you have that purple streak of yours?"
My hand instinctively seeks out my beloved strand of lavender colored hair, and I force back the blush that threatens to stain my cheeks at having been found out. What I thought was funny in an ironic sense now seems...childish.
Thankfully, my pitiful moment is interrupted by a voice sounding from the bed's phone.
"Ready for your order."
"Hi, I'd like to order from the dinner menu—" I glance up at Haru, waving my hand to get him to tell me what he wanted.
"Do they have any vegetarian options?" He asks, serious as a heart attack.
I purse my lips mockingly, as if to say, 'Aw, what a sensitive guy you are,' before repeating his question to the woman on the line.
"Yes, we have varying selections of meat-free lettuce wraps and dinner rolls, served with a fruit bowl. Would that be okay?"
I look to him for confirmation, receiving a nod before giving acquiescence on his behalf and asking for my own.
When I finally hangup, I try to relax back into the bed as the drugs start to take effect and the pain is numbed away.
Its really strange how despite the fact I nearly met my maker today and was a hair off of being six feet under, I feel kind of...I don't know...comfortable. Maybe its the sedatives and painkillers talking. But, things haven't been too bad.
I absently fiddle with the weathered dog-tag around my neck, fingering its slightly rusty chain and comforting myself with the sound it makes. Like a rattle for an infant. It was something I refused to ever remove for my own guilt's sake. An ode to him after what I did. An albatross that would forever hang around my neck with the remorse that polluted my heart like ink on skin. It marred its innocence, its beauty, and replaced it with a bitter, cold, ugliness.
Would it have been better for him if I'd died in the accident or succumbed to my injuries some other way?
Would he forgive me, then?
"Lavender," Haru calls, unknowingly saving me from suicidal thoughts that had begun to take shape these past few days. "Tell me something about yourself."
What?
"Why?"
He shrugs, grunting as pain follows this action. "I'm bored."
"Seriously..." I drawl, considering the gamut of story after story I could divulge. There was the crappy cesspool of my life filled with screw ups and failures, but there were the upbeat moments and the progressive ones where I ran through my emotions as I did my sticks of charcoal and pastels. And to most people, crying and breaking things was unwanted and avoided. To me, it was relieving. And it was the only way to cap the pressure building inside of me and protecting me from bursting.
"I love Razorblades," I offer, kicking things off with a discussion on music. If his music tastes were awful...I would sue.
He cocks an eyebrow at this, though just as impassive. "You actually listen to them...? That explains it."
Was that a good thing or a bad thing?
...why do I care?
"What? You don't like them?"
He snorts. "No."
I slump back into my tower of pillows, folding my arms. "You're impossible to please, aren't you? They're just the best heavy metal group of all time. Nothing much, really."
"You need to listen to more music if you believe that. The Hammerhead Jaws is the only group where I have loved every song. Razorblades just scream over the same chord over and over."
I clap a hand over my heart. "You poor little boy...who hurt you? How did you become this damaged?"
He chuckles - he actually shows emotion - twisting around as much as his injuries will allow, to face me. "I could ask you the same, Razor fangirl."
"Shark stan."
"Do you have your phone on you?" He asks, cutting our name-calling short.
"Yeah...why? You gonna turn me into the fuzz with your broken hands?"
"Hilarious," he says, his tone the textbook definition of sarcastic. "I was trying to get you to search up a Hammerhead song for me."
My eyebrows pinch together, though I fish my phone out and type in The Hammerhead Jaws anyway. "Okay...then what?"
"Look up 'Ocean Deep' by them, and then listen for yourself. Then you can pick the best Razorblades song and I'll listen. We'll see who converts who."
I smile, actually excited at the prospect of bringing a new unsuspecting victim over to Razor side. "Fine. I agree to your terms."
I tap on the song he requested and adjust the volume so its just one notch from being on max.
An electric guitar introduces the piece, inviting a contrastingly soft drum line and the anguished voice of a man that bleeds raw grittiness. And all of it should sound chaotic, especially when the frontman is joined by a harmony that layers on top of his vocals. But somehow, it doesn't. It actually works. Like salty fries dipped into sweet milkshakes. Two opposites that marry well and never clash.
When the song reaches its conclusion, my mouth hangs open, like I'm a human venus fly trap. That song actually wasn't terrible. The lyricism was poetic with its euphemisms, and it didn't try hard to rhyme. It was (dare I say it?) good.
I really don't like that it was good.
"So? What did you think?" Haru questions, a smirk coloring his voice with triumph.
"Hush, child," I say, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a legitimate answer. "Lend me your ear, for I have a song of my own to enlighten you."
"Julius Caesar? Really?"
"Yes. Now listen, I'm gonna play my absolute favorite song by them. In case you want to get it later, its called Off-tempo Heartbeats. Remember the name."
He grunts, but says nothing else as the instrument of a drum mimicking a heartbeat kicks in. A classical piano floods the room and embraces the beat, paving the way for the gruff, hollow voice of my all-time favorite singer.
See, the thing that inspired my art was how innovative Razorblades was. They did wild things like mix a piano and an electric guitar. It was this song that got me into them in the first place. It joined the plethora of tracks on my breakup playlist when I was wolfing down comfort foods and crying myself to sleep for a month.
When it finishes with a crash of a cymbal, Haru glances up at me, his lips twitching. Like he's putting forth his best effort to not smile. His face betraying nothing of what he's thinking.
"My opinion of Razorblades..."
"Yeah?" I lean forward, breathless for the words I long to hear.
"...remains unchanged."
This time my mouth drops open so far, it almost touches the floor. Just who did he think he was, bashing them? I get that people have opinions and different vibes. I'm down with that. But to still dislike them after hearing such a masterpiece makes me realize...
This could never work.
Friendship or relationship, it would go down in flames.
Before I can get into a heated debate with him, the door to our room bangs open, and in walks a nurse as she wheels in a table holding our food.
I almost drool at the sight of it, thanking the woman as my portion is set down on the tray connected to my bed. I pop the container open and take a massive bite out of my wrap. And its only when I'm chewing that I belatedly realize—
Haru couldn't eat without assistance.
Well, seeing how our unplanned collision course was partially my fault, I decided to help out of the goodness of my heart.
I asked the nurse if she could ever be so kind as to feed him.
...what? My leg's broken, remember. I can't exactly get to him at the moment.
The nurse winked at me, before prattling on to do exactly that, like she was beside herself with excitement over feeding the pretty boy. I guess I couldn't really blame her. But did she have to act so eager?
Not that I care, or anything.
...
A week later, we're both discharged from the hospital.
It was a pretty uneventful six days out of seven due to the fact I was put in a smaller, cheaper room. He came from money and I did not. My insurance only covered so much, and I had to let my upcoming pay take care of the rest.
We were still unhealed and had to remain either on crutches or in casts for the next three weeks. Today, I'm supposed to head to the police station to give another statement on how the accident occurred, and for us to review the tape.
It was a stormy day by the looks of the grey clouds that loomed over the station like an abandoned house on a hill. My brunette hair fell down my back in waves, the outstanding streak of my namesake braided and crowning the back of my head, held in place with bobby pins. I did a little extra with my makeup and outfit today. But not because Haru's gonna be here, or anything. But because I want to. Yeah. I'm an independent woman that dresses to impress herself and no one else.
...except, maybe Haru. Just a little.
The black dress that hugged my curves and the lipgloss was picked with him in mind. My signature studded leather jacket and boots were another story. I wore that combination almost everywhere. The only thing was having to use crutches because my leg suffered a bad fracture and I couldn't put any weight on it. But otherwise, I thought I looked pretty fly. Or...I hoped so.
Its not long before I'm ushered into an elevator, carried to the second floor where the infamous room would be. The same room that had seen murderers, rapists, thieves, and conmen alike. It was a little eerie that I'd be sitting in the same chair they did, treated like a common crook.
That's what I assumed until I saw Haru through the one-way glass, nibbling on a milk chocolate brownie that had been put out for us. It made me happy that he had full use of one of his hands again. It must have been awful to have to pee without any hands. How did he work his zipper?
I hobble in through the door, drawing attention to the clicking of my crutches meeting the ground as I make my way to the second plastic chair. It hadn't even crossed my mind that they'd talk to us at the same time. But I guess it was ok because we were just confirming our first statement to see if our stories were still straight.
I guarantee you that mine will be rich.
'Oh officer', I'd say, batting my eyelashes. 'It was that cruel, cruel boy's fault. He was blinded by my beauty or my bike, I still do not know. But I am just an innocent little thing that wouldn't hurt a fly. You should arrest him for hating on the Razorblades and for not paying attention...even though he's attractive.'
Yeah, that'll go over well.
"Let's see a movie tonight," Haru suggests offhandedly, shoving another brownie into his mouth.
My heartbeat picks up, muting everything else around me.
He wanted to see a movie? With me?! Why does that make me so giddy? Has my two-year dry spell really gotten to me that much?
Eh, who cares?
Its not like he proposed to me or something. It didn't have to turn into anything serious. Especially knowing he's anti-Razorblades.
"Sure, if I'm not busy getting processed for a conviction."
He snorts, reaching for another brownie in the same second I do. Only, instead of our hands brushing against one another in a romantic moment straight out of Hollywood, I slap his hand away and grab one.
"If I don't stop you, I'll never get to try one."
"Do you have to hurt me to do it?" He asks, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out in front of him. "Maybe I should rethink that movie offer."
"Oh please," I say, waving that away. "You know you can't get enough of me. Let's see a noir film. I'm feeling it, today."
He cants his head, observing me as I cram a second brownie into my mouth. "I see you more as a girl that likes horror. I just can't put my finger on why."
I swallow the delectable treat, pouting. "Are you always this sarcastic? Or only with me?"
He brings his face an inch within mine, making my breath catch in my throat, his eyes flicking to my glossy lips and back. His uninjured hand lands on the back of my chair, his own warmth crashing against my lips like oceanic waves. "Me? I'm almost always like this. The only thing that's different with you is how much you make me want to talk about things...its kind of fun to argue with you."
"Really?" I ask, my voice coming out more sultry than I expected. "I could argue you with you all day. I'm sure there's a lot we disagree on."
He smirks, withdrawing to snatch up the last brownie and split it in two the best he's able with one hand. I accept the other piece as our previous conversation resumes.
"What would you like to see?" I inquire, curious if he was more of a thriller or horror guy himself.
"A comedy, I guess," he says, giving a half-shrug. "Unless this noir thing of yours is really good."
I feel myself bubbling over at his veiled show of interest in watching a movie I've been dying to see. We probably failed to see eye to eye on films, too, but it would give us something to debate about later.
"I think it'll be fun," I say, lightly bumping his shoulder with mine. "There's always a six o'clock showing for them."
"Its—" he reaches into his pocket, checking the time, "—three in the afternoon. We should get in during the previews if this doesn't take too long."
Yeah, if the sheriff doesn't take his sweet time starting our session.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," a baritone voice speaks up, the door closing behind the man of the hour as he seats himself on the opposite side of the desk.
"Its fine..." I grumble, though it wasn't. Not really. "So, what's the verdict?"
He laughs as he opens our case file. One that goes belly deep as if I were a comedian at open mic night. "I'm not a judge, miss. Though I can say that you're both off the hook."
Haru leans forward in his seat, his gaze jumping from me to the sheriff. "What does that mean?"
"It means, according to this file, that no one was actually at fault. Upon investigation it was discovered that Sohma Hatsuharu's breaks had failed and the traffic light had just turned yellow the moment you both crossed the intersection. Its unlawful to stop in the middle of the intersection and both of you would normally be in the clear if it hadn't been for the mechanical malfunction of his vehicle."
"So, wait...does that mean we won't take this to trial or have to attend traffic school?" I ask, unable to suppress the excitement and shock in my voice.
The man nods, shutting the file with a satisfied smile. "Absolutely. Its up to the two of you to discuss the need to press charges as you were both injured. But that decision lies with you and your insurance claim."
He stands and reaches out to shake both of our hands in turn before he exits as quickly as he showed up.
I sit back in my chair, at a loss for words.
"So, I'm sorry about what I said," Haru begins, scratching the back of his head. "About the light being red and blaming you...I'm cool with putting this behind us if you are. None of us are responsible and we'll both make full recoveries."
"Hmm..." I hum, purposely taking my time to make him squirm a little. "I'll agree to those terms on one condition."
"I'm scared to ask."
"You buy me the largest popcorn and white Icee that money can buy..." I snatch up the last brownie, a smirk dancing on my lips. "Deal?"
He sighs like he's over this, but he can't hold back a smile of his own. "Deal."
...
"Can you believe the double standards of sex?" I ask Haru, hobbling into the coffee shop in front of him. Thankfully, the door was propped open. "Guys can bang a chick a day to keep the jokes away, but a girl sleeps with the same guy for a year and girls ride her about it."
He glances back at me, smirking.
"No pun intended," I add, seating myself in one of the back tables and him sliding in across from me.
"Where's this coming from? I thought we'd talk about the movie, first."
I huff, resting my chin in my hands. "I am thinking of the movie. I mean, well...it sparked a thought when I saw the guy pin his girlfriend down."
"He was killing her."
"Yeah...but then I associated it with how they say girls get away with murder when its actually the opposite. Then it made me think of the hypocrisy of people our age. And— you see where I'm going with this, right?"
He laughs at this, picking up his menu. "Do you always think this much about everything? How can you sleep with your brain working a mile a minute?"
"Who says I do?" I wink.
He shakes his head, a smile playing on his lips. "What do you think sounds good? An iced macchiato? Or a caramel frappe with a shot of espresso?"
Hmm. I did like iced coffee, but I favored the hot and strong kind, more. People hated when their coffee was anything short of sweet and brown with creamer. I preferred the bitter and robust; it might have all been a mind game, but it seemed more effective.
"The latter. I'm looking at a pretty long night."
He closes the laminated pamphlet with his available hand, his eyes meeting mine. "Do you have exams coming up?"
I bite my lip, tracing patterns into the table with my finger. "Yeah...but that's not what I'm pulling an all-nighter for."
He drops his voice so as not to be overheard. "A one-night stand?"
"Haru," I say, trying not to giggle. "You're so straightforward about everything. And no, I'm perfectly single and sex-free. I'm marathoning a mystery series tonight, and its lasting into 6am."
"Really?" He cocks his head to the side, light entering his eyes. "I don't know if you're tired of me at this point, but...I'm not exactly in demand at the moment, either. We could watch together."
"Watch together?" I repeat, wanting to hear him say it again. Was it wrong to fall in love with his voice when we almost killed each other just last week?
"Yeah," he affirms, slouching down into his seat and his knee bumping mine. "I'm into suspense. Within reason."
"Ugh, yes!" I groan, my head falling back with my exasperation. "Its the worst when they drag things out."
"Especially when they throw it in chick flicks," he says. "The will they or won't they crap between the leads."
"Exactly," I agree, practically bouncing in my seat as I face him again. But what he says registers further, and I take pause.
"Did you just say chick flick? You...actually...watch those?"
He clears his throat, looking around the room as if searching for his man card. "My...girlfriend forced me to sit with her and watch them. She liked to make fun of them."
I blush a little, feeling more than a little foolish. "Oh...I had no idea you had a girlfriend. She's busy tonight?"
What was I thinking? Of course he has a girlfriend. He's a catch with his looks and his voice and even his interests. Even I have to admit that The Hammerhead Jaws knew what they were doing. Whoever this girl is, I have no chance competing with.
"She's my ex," he says, sending air back into my lungs. "I wouldn't lead you on."
Well in that case...
"Is there something?" I ask, trying my best to keep eye contact when I'm a nervous wreck all over again. "You could really see yourself with a fan of the Razorblades?"
He chuckles, brushing my foot with his as if to make up for being unable to hold my hand. "You're forgiven because you do like the stuff I listen to. And...it doesn't hurt that—" he leans across the table, and I meet him halfway.
"—I like you," he says lowly into my ear, a chill causing my body to shudder like a weakened house.
Let's be honest, his voice could make any girl weak.
"I like you, too," I whisper back, my lips just touching his cheek before I pull away. My heart races like my bike's engine, and I flag down the barista to try to pace myself until whatever tonight will bring.
...
"Oh no," I breathe, the remote slipping from my hand and smacking against the crates that operated as my coffee table.
"What?" Haru asks, strolling over.
"I got the days mixed up. The marathon starts at 8pm tomorrow. Not tonight. We can take a rain check?"
I should have known better and triple checked. I've been bad with remembering dates since I was little. Birthdays, anniversaries, and project due dates? I've forgotten them all. I'd found relief in the fact my ex hadn't pressured me about not remembering our first anniversary when it happened.
"That's fine. I'm cool with hanging out," he says smoothly, casually taking a seat on my sofa.
I tap my chin, pondering what else there was at eleven at night. We saw a movie, ate, and were interrogated. What else did two college students do for fun other than play those stupid drinking games?
"Hey, can I sketch you?" I ask, not even realizing it left my lips until his answer came.
"Okay."
"Rad."
My impulsiveness was showing, again. But, I guess I should just roll with it. Though I dreamed of being more laid-back. It made life hurt less.
"Do I have to be naked for this?" He questions, thumbing through my sketchbook.
"No," I say, laughing. "Unless...you want to..."
He glances up at me, blinking. "I don't really care one way or another."
Oh wow.
Is there a kinky side to him that I don't know about?
Or is that apathy?
I sheepishly hobble into the kitchen in search of a lighter, considering my options in the space of the distance.
"Same goes for me," I answer smartly, not wanting to be the one to choose. "If you can and be careful with your arm, and all."
"How about half?" He deadpans, stripping off his black button down to reveal a set of abs that makes me bite my cheek. "I'm curious about how I'll turn out. You're really good at drawing."
My face glows pink as I pluck the lighter from the drawer, making a lap around the living room to my candles. "Thanks...I'm an art major." I click the switch, cutting off the flame as the room fills with the scent of Japanese Cherry Blossom. "For some reason, even though we've moved onto impressionism, I'm still stuck on the human form. Especially the male and female anatomy. Is that weird?"
He shrugs a little. "I can't really say. I'm not exactly normal."
I bob my head, grinning. "True. Though, I do want to pick your brain a bit more," I admit, glad to finally sit down again as I reclaim my sketchbook and nearby pencil.
"What do you want to know?"
I eyeball him to get a general idea of his head shape, glancing down at my blank page to get a feel for the scale to his body. "I don't know. Tell me the good, the bad, and the ugly. Anything you want to."
He remains still for the sake of my art, as emotionless as he was in the hospital. He really would be the perfect model for art students the world over.
"You know that ex I mentioned earlier?"
I slowly nod, slipping up and making his nose too wide, cleaning it up with my white eraser. I buy more silence in sweeping the shavings aside, prolonging whatever he was to tell me.
"Even though she's out of my life - I removed her from my phone and deleted all our pictures together - I still miss her sometimes." He frowns a little, though I try to focus on the rest of his expression, not wanting to memorialize his sadness on canvas.
"She dumped me without any warning or explanation, but I still want to talk to her sometimes..."
I give an infinitesimal sigh, tempted to be dishonest in case he went crawling back to her. But, that wasn't any way to be. If there's anything my previous relationship taught me, its the fact that honesty is always the best policy.
"You probably want closure," I say, going over the light outlines with my pencil. "She didn't give you a reason as to why she left you. Because of that, you have no clue if it was you or her. So even though she hurt you...you could think you're at fault for the end of it all, and that she's blameless." I fixate my eyes on him again, wanting to make sure he understands. "If you believe she's completely innocent in all this, why would your feelings toward her change? Of course you miss her."
He leans back, shattering the still art, deeply contemplating my words. He closes his eyes as if allowing it to sink in and settle down from his brain to his heart.
"Hmm...that makes sense, but-" he reopens his eyes, looking directly at me. "What did we really have if she ended it so fast, like I didn't deserve answers...? I just want to move on from her. Three years is enough time."
Three years?
I can't even imagine going that long without knowing what made my relationship go south. It would drive me crazy to spend that long in the dark.
"Want to hear something just as heavy?" I ask softly, keeping my hands occupied by forming the outline of his body relaxed on the couch. "You might judge me for it..."
"Try me," he challenges.
You can do it, Lav. Take the skeletons out of the closet. He should know upfront what he's getting himself into.
"I...cheated..." My hand skids to an abrupt stop, though it wasn't my intention. "In my first relationship with the former love of my life...I cheated on him."
And now he knows.
My hand automatically gravitates to the dog tag around my neck. And I move it back and forth for the sound. Both to eradicate any awkwardness sure to follow, and to relax me.
Some people had scotch, I had a memento from the boyfriend I betrayed.
"Oh," he says, straightening up fully, all fun of our day fading from the atmosphere. "I don't know how to respond."
"React how you want," I say, dropping the necklace to pick up my pencil. "Tell me I'm weak. Call me a slut or a whore. Remind me that I'm not worth him and spoiled a great relationship that could have continued when you had yours ripped out from beneath you. I'm aware of all these things. And I'll never not hate myself for it."
There was no reason to try and explain away what made me have an affair. There was no legit excuse for infidelity. I was stupid and lonely because he was away for two weeks on a vacation with his family. A guy - that's not even all that, in retrospect - came along and crept into my thoughts. Like a snake charmer with their hypnotic tune to control a serpent. He was new and was the heir to a chain of businesses that his parents owned. Other than his riches and his ability to tell me jokes, nothing else was appealing about him.
But one night, my boyfriend decided that he had other places to be instead of hearing me tell him about my early acceptance to a prestigious art program. I was a stupid seventeen year old, mad about how I hung onto his every word when he blew me off on more than one occasion when it was my turn to talk. So, I turned to somebody that listened. I told him about it all. Somehow...we ended up in his bed at the end of the night. And the next morning, I took the walk of shame straight to the rehab center to visit my mom.
Blame it on my daddy issues, my broken mother, or my neglectful boyfriend. But I will never think anyone else was in the wrong. I made a decision, so I would live with it.
"You're not any of those things," he states, penetrating my soul with his grey eyes. "I wouldn't want to be with someone that did that to me. But, I doubt you'd do that again. Maybe I really am as stupid as everyone else thinks I am for giving you the benefit of the doubt. I don't know. But I want to hope you wouldn't make the same mistake twice and lose out on love."
I scoff, chewing on my pencil. It was a habit that began when I was learning my times tables and my mom had been hospitalized the first time. It began with a botched attempt to drown her insides with her favorite blend of scotch and a hint of sleeping pills. And it freaked me out to see my dad rushing her off to the hospital, only he forgot to take me along.
With nothing else around me, instead of hugging a stuffed animal or biting my nails, I gnawed my pencil thin. Like a rabid beaver on steroids.
Right now, though...it was because Haru's assumption that I was actually a good person - way deep down inside - made me nervous.
"Once a cheater...always a cheater," I say, sharing the words of wisdom I acquired over the years. "Once an alcoholic..." always an alcoholic. Alkies and adulterers alike were nearly one in the same. The next time is always supposed to be the last time; they try to quit, go through withdrawals, and relapse; they can't get enough of their drug.
And they never think about who they will inevitably hurt in the end.
"You're an addict?" He asks, carefully. Though as to the point as always.
"You'd think," I joke, though I know my dark humor is unappreciated. "But no, my mom is. She's in rehab for at least six more months."
Instead of reacting like my boyfriend first did - shock, horror, and mild disappointment - he's calm, cool, and collected. The picture of understanding. And...its the most comforting thing since the chain around my neck.
"How's she doing?"
"She's okay," I say, glad that he's not trying to tiptoe around my feelings or offer his condolences. "She's making progress. The detox and the first month were the hardest on her. They're the hardest on anyone. Getting clean is always painful, but...this is the longest she's gone without a drink."
"People can change," he says, propping his feet up on my 'coffee table.' "And you don't have to become an addict just because your mom struggled with it."
"I don't know..." I trail off, shading in the spectrum of the grey and black of his eyes. "My dad would beg to differ. You should have seen him before he left. He stopped tucking me in at night...hugging me...and eventually, he couldn't even look at me. Like I was turning into a mini version of my mom right before his eyes. It was crazy because I refuse to ever have a drop of alcohol. But apparently, sharing 23 of her chromosomes equates to a twelve-step program."
I tuck my hair behind my ear, shaking my head. "Good riddance..."
The couch dips a little, before a bare chest meets my back as his uninjured hand gingerly extracts the pencil from me. He sets it and my sketchbook down, laying back with his arm wrapped firmly around my body. He keeps the arm in the cast over the couch and out of harms way, holding me to him by the waist.
I glance up at him, wondering what brought this on, but not even minding that I was technically snuggling a stranger.
"You are you, Lavender," he says, mid-yawn. "You don't have to become anything you don't want to."
I close my eyes, absorbing his words and dreading the moment I would have to get up and extinguish the candles.
He'd pegged something unspoken in what I told him, and even what I thought myself.
My fear...of not having control.
To lose myself to lust or alcohol or the blade of my razor... it petrified me to think of going back to any dark moment of time. To feel like I took one step forward, and five steps back.
It all scares me.
Do people change?
Would my mom outlast her inane needs?
Would my dad change his mind about me and see me in a different light?
Could I really just be Lavender...?
I don't know.
...
"You wear a thong?" A sleep ridden voice drags me away from a dream, causing me to lift heavy eyes.
"Good morning to you, too," I say, belatedly remembering that I stayed at his place.
He runs a hand through his tousled hair, though the broken one remains over the side of the couch. "I wasn't looking for it or anything. Your dress rode up and I happened to notice."
I roll my eyes and start to speak, momentarily wincing when I get a taste of my morning breath. As an afterthought, I cover my mouth in hopes of keeping him alive. "I think I prefer my theory of you being a perv."
"Oh, I am," he comments, dryly, folding his arm behind his head. "But I can promise you, I won't check you out unless you're paying attention. I want you to know I like what I see."
I scoff, rolling up into a seated position and straightening my outfit. I was under the impression that he was a respectful yet bizarre creature. Now, I'm starting to see that he's a gentleman by day and a freak by night.
And it seriously ups his sex appeal.
I bend to grab my crutches from where they lay on the floor, though I jump when a pair of thighs appear on either side of mine as his chin lands on my shoulder.
"Are you heading out?"
"I'm not sure..." I glance at him coyly, batting my eyelashes. "Is this an invitation to stay for brunch? Or—" My eyes flick to the clock hanging from the kitchen, taking in the hour. "Lunch, considering how late it is."
He laughs, leaning in to nip along my jaw as his good hand falls to my hip. "If that's what you want to call it..."
"Haru..." I exhale his name, struck with an odd epiphany. "Remember what we were talking about last night? About what happened to my parents."
He nods against my cheek, his hand retreating to the arm of the couch. "Is there more? You're not a...hooker...are you?"
I laugh, smiling despite the words to follow. "I love that you get my kind of humor."
I think we just...work. As friends or whatever this is.
But that's not what I wanted to say.
"I think I've figured it out. Why our heart aches so much when we lose someone to addictions and death and divorce...I think its because that person is taking up all the space in us. Ruling our souls, crowding our hearts, until cracks begin to show. And with anything that's full and broken all at the same time..." I lean back into him. "We hurt. And carrying the pain around is a testament of how much we cared or still care for them. And you know what's the worst thing about this?"
"That it never leaves," Haru supplies, his voice a sliver darker to coordinate with his words. "It can fade as the years go on, but it still hurts just as badly as when she left me. Like it just happened this morning."
"Your ex?"
"My mom," he says, his tone the bitter coffee I downed daily.
I never thought to ask about his family. I was too preoccupied with my sob story and cautionary tale to. But now, I can't help but want to find out.
"But, she's honestly not someone worth any more words spent talking about her."
Oh come on!
Way to leave me hanging, Hat-su-ha-ru.
I pout, forcing my slightly battered body into the kitchen to prepare two cups of coffee. As I pour two mugs full, I pause and stare out at the window over the sink. Sinking with realization.
This isn't gonna work out is it?
No...I don't think so.
We both have too much baggage.
And even though we could be there for each other. Maybe there was just too much in the way of it being a healthy dependency. We needed to work on ourselves first.
...
I'd like to say the reason we ended was because he broke my heart and bled me dry. It wouldn't be so complicated.
But that's now it went down.
Our hearts belong to other people, and to each other. And we can't sort out the mess of feelings that tangled them more than the cord of my earbuds. But, we broke apart. Because...we weren't meant to last forever.
No.
Instead, we were landmarks that would be bookmarked in our memories to return to one day. A moment in time where two broken hearts intertwined for a month and separated, better and somehow worse than they'd been at the start.
But in the end, its still a happy ever after.
Because for that single moment in my history, I found my perspective had changed and I'd matured in a way I would have never expected.
And as fast as it began...it ended just as quickly.
But hey, what can you expect when you live life in the fast lane?
Why should we live life in obscurity and safety, stopping only at the sky?
Really...The galaxy's the limit.
The End.