3. (Grudges)
Ok, breath, just breath. It's been at least 5 years since I've seen Mark. I was 16 when he moved away. My brother and I lived in N.Y.C., with my parents. He and his family lived next door. One day, he just left. I walked over to his house and his mom told me he was gone. I natrually asked where did he go, and when would he be back, and all she said was 'I don't know'. How the hell could you let your son leave without knowing where he is? I lean back against the bathroom door and let my body slide down onto the tile floor. He just left. Of course my brother knew where he was.....of course. He moved to California. That place where it never got cold, beaches everywhere, thousands of miles away from me. I was 16 years old, with history's biggest crush. I cried for a week, and no one knew what the hell over. I hated school, I hated the city. All I wanted is to be thousands of miles away in a state I knew nothing about. He done this to me. About a year later, our parents died, and that didn't make things better. My brother and I where utterly alone. He was 18, so he kept custody of me. Friends of our parents helped us out until they could find family for us to stay with. Our great Aunt Corneilia found out about our parents and sent for us. She lived in California, in L.A. A small slice of joy sprang through the clouds. Long-story-short, we moved to L.A., Aunt Corney croaked, leaving us her ridiculously large house and her money, as well as the money from our parents. Well that brings us to here, but some still may wonder about the punch. He left, he just left. Granted, we weren't dating, and he didn't have a clue that I loved him, but he couldv'e said 'goodbye', and all those time he called to talk to Ricky, he couldn't take a second to say hello to me? I'm over him, but just seeing him made the anger come back. My parents died and he just called to tell Ricky how sorry he was and offer any help. They were like his parents too. Ok, well I can understand not having enough money to fly up, but.....I'm just mad. I liked him a lot, and he didn't like me back. There it is. There's the truth I wouldn't dare say out loud. As a 16 year old girl, it hurt me more than anything. The way he and Ricky would bring girls over, way more 'developed' girls, then leave with them, and all I could do is run to my room and cry over the phone with my best friend. It just hurt, and now, 5 years later here he is. Christ, he looks like greek god. I place my hand on the doorknob, ready to face him again, and the knob begins to turn, but not by my fingers. The door whips open with a quickness that cathes me square in the forhead. I fly back and land flat on my ass. My hand goes to the already swelling knot on my head as I look up to see Mark, dried blood in the corner of his lips, looking down at me shocked. I rub my head with one hand as he grabs the other to help me to my feet.
"I guess we're even", I mumble trying to rub the aching pain away. Shit, this hurts. I pull my hand down to see my middle fingertip coated in my bright red DNA. Great, it's more than a flesh wound.
"That wasn't intentional", he tells me honestly, stepping closer to inspect my head. I flinch and suck my teeth the second his hands move from his sides.
"I didn't even touch you!", he tells me a smile playing across his lips. I always flinch. He could be a mile away, but if his hands go anywhere near the hurt area, I flinch, but only with him. He has bandaged many a scraped knee. Most of the time against his will, because Ricky wouldn't. He can't stand the sight of blood, but it's never bothered Mark. He and Rick taught me how to ride a bike. That was one of the worst days of my life. I fell so many times, I began to think that the asphault was where I truely belonged.
"Just let me look at it", he looks at the wound quizzitively, walking closer to me. I step back matching his forward motion.
"Letty! Stop, just let me look at it! I'm not gonna touch it", he tells me seriously, giving me that 'caring but annoyed' look. I stop as I hit a wall behind me. He towers over me, like always, and looks at my head like he's trying to solve a calculus equation. He sighs.
"Ok, now, I have to touch it", he says quickly, knowing a protest is comming. I slip around him.
"No, I'm okay", I tell him wincing at the blunt, painful headache now forming.
"Only for a second to put some ointment on it", he pleads with me.
"No really, I'm okay..." I tell him leaning over in pain. I think I slipped around him a little too quickly. The fast motion set off the pain. He comes over and put an arm around my waist. He leads me over and sits me down on the toilet. Being in too much pain now to fight him. I sit and lean over with my arms folded in front of me.
"Ahhhh, I feel like my eyeballs are gonna fall out!", I yell out loud, as he searches through the medicine cabinet for materials. He grabs a cup from the beside the sink and fills it with tap water.
"Take this", he tells me, handing me the small, round, brown tablets, and the glass of room temperature water. I swallow the two small lumps, and clench my eyes close. He gets on his knees in front of me, and I surrender to his healing touch. I close my eyes to sheild them from the now blinding white lights of the bathroom. He places the ointment on my head and instead of pain surging through me, my entire body relaxes. He places the bandage on and throws away the wrapper.
"I think you'll feel better in the morning", he stands over me looking me over for any other damage. I can tell he feels guilty for hurting me, even though he shouldn't. I hurt him first, and he still feels guilty.......what a guy. There's a moment of silence between us, and I finally gather enough of myself to speak again. With my eyes still closed, I find my way to my feet and stumble, but he catches me again, supporting me with his amazingly muscular arm.
"I don't remember you being this...big" I mumble, half to myself. I'm feeling a little woozy now.
"What?", he ask looking down at me. He turns me around to face him, with his hands still on my waist.
"Umm, nothing", I snap out of my inner thoughts. I look up at him opening my eyes, but blinking rapidly.
"I'm sorry for....you kow.....hitting you......I was just......I dunno....pissed...about you leaving and not talking to me since...", I ramble blinking vigrously.
"Letty...It's okay", he stops me. Between blinks I can see him looking at me, relieved that I'm not pissed at him.
"Let's get you somewhere.....darker", he half smiles, walking me out of the 6000 watt bathroom into my dimmly lit room. He sits me down on the bed. I sit up as he walks over to close the door.
"We really need to talk.........I'm glad I ran into you.....", his voice trails off in my head. All I remember is hearing the door close and his words, before I was off into a deep sleep....more like unconsciousness. I guess the hit was a little harder than I thought.
Ok, breath, just breath. It's been at least 5 years since I've seen Mark. I was 16 when he moved away. My brother and I lived in N.Y.C., with my parents. He and his family lived next door. One day, he just left. I walked over to his house and his mom told me he was gone. I natrually asked where did he go, and when would he be back, and all she said was 'I don't know'. How the hell could you let your son leave without knowing where he is? I lean back against the bathroom door and let my body slide down onto the tile floor. He just left. Of course my brother knew where he was.....of course. He moved to California. That place where it never got cold, beaches everywhere, thousands of miles away from me. I was 16 years old, with history's biggest crush. I cried for a week, and no one knew what the hell over. I hated school, I hated the city. All I wanted is to be thousands of miles away in a state I knew nothing about. He done this to me. About a year later, our parents died, and that didn't make things better. My brother and I where utterly alone. He was 18, so he kept custody of me. Friends of our parents helped us out until they could find family for us to stay with. Our great Aunt Corneilia found out about our parents and sent for us. She lived in California, in L.A. A small slice of joy sprang through the clouds. Long-story-short, we moved to L.A., Aunt Corney croaked, leaving us her ridiculously large house and her money, as well as the money from our parents. Well that brings us to here, but some still may wonder about the punch. He left, he just left. Granted, we weren't dating, and he didn't have a clue that I loved him, but he couldv'e said 'goodbye', and all those time he called to talk to Ricky, he couldn't take a second to say hello to me? I'm over him, but just seeing him made the anger come back. My parents died and he just called to tell Ricky how sorry he was and offer any help. They were like his parents too. Ok, well I can understand not having enough money to fly up, but.....I'm just mad. I liked him a lot, and he didn't like me back. There it is. There's the truth I wouldn't dare say out loud. As a 16 year old girl, it hurt me more than anything. The way he and Ricky would bring girls over, way more 'developed' girls, then leave with them, and all I could do is run to my room and cry over the phone with my best friend. It just hurt, and now, 5 years later here he is. Christ, he looks like greek god. I place my hand on the doorknob, ready to face him again, and the knob begins to turn, but not by my fingers. The door whips open with a quickness that cathes me square in the forhead. I fly back and land flat on my ass. My hand goes to the already swelling knot on my head as I look up to see Mark, dried blood in the corner of his lips, looking down at me shocked. I rub my head with one hand as he grabs the other to help me to my feet.
"I guess we're even", I mumble trying to rub the aching pain away. Shit, this hurts. I pull my hand down to see my middle fingertip coated in my bright red DNA. Great, it's more than a flesh wound.
"That wasn't intentional", he tells me honestly, stepping closer to inspect my head. I flinch and suck my teeth the second his hands move from his sides.
"I didn't even touch you!", he tells me a smile playing across his lips. I always flinch. He could be a mile away, but if his hands go anywhere near the hurt area, I flinch, but only with him. He has bandaged many a scraped knee. Most of the time against his will, because Ricky wouldn't. He can't stand the sight of blood, but it's never bothered Mark. He and Rick taught me how to ride a bike. That was one of the worst days of my life. I fell so many times, I began to think that the asphault was where I truely belonged.
"Just let me look at it", he looks at the wound quizzitively, walking closer to me. I step back matching his forward motion.
"Letty! Stop, just let me look at it! I'm not gonna touch it", he tells me seriously, giving me that 'caring but annoyed' look. I stop as I hit a wall behind me. He towers over me, like always, and looks at my head like he's trying to solve a calculus equation. He sighs.
"Ok, now, I have to touch it", he says quickly, knowing a protest is comming. I slip around him.
"No, I'm okay", I tell him wincing at the blunt, painful headache now forming.
"Only for a second to put some ointment on it", he pleads with me.
"No really, I'm okay..." I tell him leaning over in pain. I think I slipped around him a little too quickly. The fast motion set off the pain. He comes over and put an arm around my waist. He leads me over and sits me down on the toilet. Being in too much pain now to fight him. I sit and lean over with my arms folded in front of me.
"Ahhhh, I feel like my eyeballs are gonna fall out!", I yell out loud, as he searches through the medicine cabinet for materials. He grabs a cup from the beside the sink and fills it with tap water.
"Take this", he tells me, handing me the small, round, brown tablets, and the glass of room temperature water. I swallow the two small lumps, and clench my eyes close. He gets on his knees in front of me, and I surrender to his healing touch. I close my eyes to sheild them from the now blinding white lights of the bathroom. He places the ointment on my head and instead of pain surging through me, my entire body relaxes. He places the bandage on and throws away the wrapper.
"I think you'll feel better in the morning", he stands over me looking me over for any other damage. I can tell he feels guilty for hurting me, even though he shouldn't. I hurt him first, and he still feels guilty.......what a guy. There's a moment of silence between us, and I finally gather enough of myself to speak again. With my eyes still closed, I find my way to my feet and stumble, but he catches me again, supporting me with his amazingly muscular arm.
"I don't remember you being this...big" I mumble, half to myself. I'm feeling a little woozy now.
"What?", he ask looking down at me. He turns me around to face him, with his hands still on my waist.
"Umm, nothing", I snap out of my inner thoughts. I look up at him opening my eyes, but blinking rapidly.
"I'm sorry for....you kow.....hitting you......I was just......I dunno....pissed...about you leaving and not talking to me since...", I ramble blinking vigrously.
"Letty...It's okay", he stops me. Between blinks I can see him looking at me, relieved that I'm not pissed at him.
"Let's get you somewhere.....darker", he half smiles, walking me out of the 6000 watt bathroom into my dimmly lit room. He sits me down on the bed. I sit up as he walks over to close the door.
"We really need to talk.........I'm glad I ran into you.....", his voice trails off in my head. All I remember is hearing the door close and his words, before I was off into a deep sleep....more like unconsciousness. I guess the hit was a little harder than I thought.