**
The apartment is more inviting then it's ever been. I walk in with a deep breath, even if it smells a little musty from the heat it's perfect to me.
"Are you okay?" Harry asks behind me.
"No," I say shaking my head. "I'm a complete moron. We just walked into a hospital with a healing - yet still not good - cut and a burned hand *and* walked out without bothering to get someone to look at either problem."
"I'm serious."
"Me too. I wonder if my tetanus shot is up-to-date."
He smirks and holds up his hand; "It's burger joints from here on out."
"You burned your self using the microwave, not making a seven course dinner," I say turning and heading to the kitchen, the easy banter helping me calm down.
"My hand doesn't know that."
"Harry, your hand couldn't do that."
He comes around me and gets a glass out, filling it with water and handing it to me. "I'll have you know I took two cooking classes in my lifetime."
"Home etc. doesn't count."
"One then, but I did damn good . . . until I dropped out in the second week."
"Thought it was an easy A, huh? It's official then. You're a culinary wizard," I answer cheekily as I take a drink.
**
We've moved the television into the bedroom. It's not hard; it's not a big- screen. I think that this is becoming our main hangout, soon I'll just bypass the living room completely and usher people to the bedroom and tell them to pull up a cushion. Dana and I sit side-by-side on the cushions watching the television, both of us in our pajamas. I opted for actual pajama pants tonight as the fan whirls on us and Dana sits beside me, her head on my arm as she rubs some fabric of her pink, cotton, short-set between her fingers. I try not to notice and focus on some 'hard hitting' prime-time cop show.
She's been quiet all night, thinking about her mother probably and I've . . . I've been thinking about her, and what my mother said. 'Just friends' wasn't having the same tone to it and neither of us wanted to notice or care.
"I want to thank you, Harry, for today."
"You don't have to."
"I do," she tells me as she lifts her head. "You were next to me through the whole thing."
"Of course I was, you're Dana, I have to--"
"Watch out for me?" she asks with a self-deprecating snort.
"Watch out for the people that get in your way," I correct. She looks at me before a slow smile spreads over her lips. What? It's the truth.
Too busy thinking to myself, too busy smiling I don't notice right away that she's looking at that smile, at my lips. I feel the pit of my stomach making me acutely away of the situation and my brain telling me not to even try and speak or move. And I don't. And with a glance to my eyes, then lips, she flutters her eyelids closed and kisses me.
It's soft and sweet.
Too bad my body doesn't realize it because as sweet as it is it's making me tense up, heat shooting throughout me. I try to obey my brain but I move anyway, lifting my hand to cup her cheek and she kisses me more firmly, but doesn't try to further it.
Slowly she pulls away and smiles, shaking her head.
"Sorry."
**
Talk about mixed signals. It was an inspiring kiss, the fact I didn't immediately try to yank off his pants is surprising, but my apology seems to throw him.
"You don't have to apologize."
But he understands. Or he thinks he does.
"Thanks," I say again for the second time tonight. "It was . . . I just had a insane day and . . ." And I wanted to kiss you. But I won't say that because I'm sure he thinks it was because I was stressed, not wanting him and it's both. But after all, what would a 'friend' have any business doing kissing someone they promised never to see in that way. Thoughts of what I did, what he saw me do, flash in my head and I sink back. "Sorry."
**
"It's okay." I didn't mind . . . I just wish it were because she wanted to, not just because she needed comfort in that way . . . I don't want to lose Dana to a Lauren situation.
The shrill ring of the phone in the living room cuts through both our thoughts, Dana jumping beside me before laughing at it and settling back against the bed.
"Next the phone gets a new home," she orders, pointing to the bedside table. I salute her and get up, stumbling over a stray book as I reach for the ringing in the darkened room.
"Hello?"
"Harry?"
"Lauren?" I asked, my voice dropping a couple of decibels.
"Yes, where've you been? All I get is your machine, I hate those things."
"I've been busy, my mother's in town."
"Oh, that's really original, Harry," she says loud enough to qualify as pissed for Lauren.
"It's the truth, she's up from Florida," I defend, surprisingly I have a leg to stand on here when I've been lying to her all week.
"I suppose she's hanging around your apartment too? Answering your phone."
Just when I thought I had an easy situation.
"That's my roommate."
And this time she actually snorts.
"Right, Harry. You just magically have some woman pop up to live with you."
I sigh raggedly and clutch the phone, "It's none of your business anyway, you broke up with me remember?"
"And you screwed my two days ago, remember?" she demands.
"Harry?" I spin to see Dana in the doorway, a worried look on her face. I cover the receiver although Lauren isn't finished harping. "I got worried, is it the hospital?"
"No, it's not. I got it."
She looks at the phone and I see her nod and back up, definitely getting the wrong impression.
"Dana--" But she's gone in the room before I can say anything and it takes me a while to remember I'm still holding the phone. "Hello?"
"I'm still here. Are you?" Lauren snarks.
"Obviously, if I'm talking." Sometimes she could be really -
"I need to see you," she says a little more quietly than before.
"What?"
"I said I need to see you."
"I'm busy."
"Tomorrow then."
"I can't tomorrow, my mother's leaving and I want to see her before she goes."
"Then Tuesday. In the teacher's lounge around ten?"
"Fine," Anything to get off the phone.
"Alright. Goodbye, Harry."
"Bye," I say quickly hanging up. It wasn't the bittersweet gesture that she gave, but, really, I don't care.
**
He comes back into the bedroom a little more fake like he's trying to make up for his phone call. That shows right there that it wasn't his mother calling. I tell myself don't be hurt but . . . Dammit, it's been a tough day, a little self-pity isn't going to kill me. Especially since I just kissed him and . . .
"I'm really tired, I think I'm going to go to bed."
"Dana--"
"No, really, I'm just . . ." I shake my head and get up, grabbing for the tube of antibiotic on the table and heading to the bathroom.
"Do you need any help with that?" His voice is a little . . . searching when he asks and when I turn he's looking at me the same way.
I look at the medicine in my hand and the minute turns into two before I look at him . . .
"No thanks, Harry. I'm not *that* tired."
**
I'm in bed . . . on cushions, that is, before she comes out. The television flashes against her skin as she walks over me to climb onto the bed.
I want to ask her if she's all right but I don't feel like I have the right. She shifts and the mattress squeaks a little as she tries to get comfortable, I almost open my mouth but it happens again, and she's facing away from me now. Her shoulder seems to have gotten to the point where she can shift better and she's no longer forced to look in my direction. I reach up and turn off the television, silencing the room except for the whirling of the fan until I hear quiet cracked voice.
"Goodnight, Harry."
**
The sun's not even up and my eyelids hurt when I open them.
Happy Birthday to me.
It's warm and the fan feels good, making my body start to feel normal and the stuffiness in my head start to dissipate. I still don't move much, just enough to scoot over to the edge of the bed and look down on Harry . . .
He looks uncomfortable from the heat . . . Letting my hand drop I touch his cheek, prickly with stubble. And I cry. I don't want too, I cry too much these days, but I keep on anyway. I try to be quiet, bury my mouth, and nose in my other arm and I can't stop touching his face.
Ugh. Have I gone downhill.
Pulling my hand away I stumble out of bed and run to the bathroom.
**
How does she wake up so early? I rub my eyes with my bad hand before I feel the pain and yank it away. I sit up and scrub through my hair as I eye the clock, I'm the teacher, I have to get up at the crack of dawn, and she's been beating me to it . . . Who cares? It's early and the foggy thoughts are clouding my head needlessly and I yawn as I put my back against the bed.
I hear the door and can hardly force my eyes open to see her when she comes out.
She's wearing a towel.
It's amazing how quickly that can wake you up. And she doesn't seem bothered by it. That's making is so much better that I have to flip the otherwise useless sheet over my lap.
"Morning," I mumble through my parched lips.
"Morning," she tells me with an upbeat tone as she pulls out a drawer. Her face seems renewed, like she's focused on a goal. The towel is a mellow orange wrapped around her body and she keeps a hand on the tuck at all times. It's kind of hard to focus on anything else when you first wake up. "Where's my wishes?"
"Hmmh?" I ask, genuinely confused. Is that like some woman's clothing thing? "Is that some woman's clothing thing?"
"No," she smiles. Her hair is still wet and it's dripping down her back. "My birthday wishes."
Let's review. In a towel, no embarrassed vibe I would have expected, and she's officially eighteen . . .
"Happy Birthday?" I sound like a hopeful puppy. I hope this is from sleeping, I hope I'm not fully awake and that's why I'm finding it hard to think beyond those few facts. Otherwise . . .
I'm screwed.
**
"Thank you very much," I tell him. "I plan on seeing presents."
Thoughts of my mother and . . . everything, edge on my mind but I push them away. While in the shower . . . crying . . . again . . . I told myself to stop. I have to because if not I feel like I'm going to fall apart. I can deal later, but not now, not today. Holding my smile with a death grip I pull out some clothes and set them on top of the dresser.
"You should wake up now, I'm going to want my birthday breakfast," I tell Harry without a glance. When I look over he's still sitting there as if he's trying to find out what's going on and I see that he must have just woken up. It makes me give a genuine grin. Walking over I drop to my knees in front of him. "Are you even conscious yet?"
This time he doesn't look so confused.
He stares at me . . . like . . .
I'm the one unsure this time as his hand goes up to my hair and he brings me close to kiss him. I don't think I close my eyes until the last minute just to make sure I'm not wrong, but how could I mistake this? His lips are so . . . not what I expect for the morning. Not parched, but coaxing and soft, and . . .
Harry . . .
. . .
. . .
He's kissing me, hands in my hair grabbing just a little so the water runs from it to drip on my back. And I have to pick now to want to cry? But I won't, I don't and I just kiss him until I'm laying over his lap, pressed against his bare chest as I try to think, or is that not think or . . .
Harry . . .
The apartment is more inviting then it's ever been. I walk in with a deep breath, even if it smells a little musty from the heat it's perfect to me.
"Are you okay?" Harry asks behind me.
"No," I say shaking my head. "I'm a complete moron. We just walked into a hospital with a healing - yet still not good - cut and a burned hand *and* walked out without bothering to get someone to look at either problem."
"I'm serious."
"Me too. I wonder if my tetanus shot is up-to-date."
He smirks and holds up his hand; "It's burger joints from here on out."
"You burned your self using the microwave, not making a seven course dinner," I say turning and heading to the kitchen, the easy banter helping me calm down.
"My hand doesn't know that."
"Harry, your hand couldn't do that."
He comes around me and gets a glass out, filling it with water and handing it to me. "I'll have you know I took two cooking classes in my lifetime."
"Home etc. doesn't count."
"One then, but I did damn good . . . until I dropped out in the second week."
"Thought it was an easy A, huh? It's official then. You're a culinary wizard," I answer cheekily as I take a drink.
**
We've moved the television into the bedroom. It's not hard; it's not a big- screen. I think that this is becoming our main hangout, soon I'll just bypass the living room completely and usher people to the bedroom and tell them to pull up a cushion. Dana and I sit side-by-side on the cushions watching the television, both of us in our pajamas. I opted for actual pajama pants tonight as the fan whirls on us and Dana sits beside me, her head on my arm as she rubs some fabric of her pink, cotton, short-set between her fingers. I try not to notice and focus on some 'hard hitting' prime-time cop show.
She's been quiet all night, thinking about her mother probably and I've . . . I've been thinking about her, and what my mother said. 'Just friends' wasn't having the same tone to it and neither of us wanted to notice or care.
"I want to thank you, Harry, for today."
"You don't have to."
"I do," she tells me as she lifts her head. "You were next to me through the whole thing."
"Of course I was, you're Dana, I have to--"
"Watch out for me?" she asks with a self-deprecating snort.
"Watch out for the people that get in your way," I correct. She looks at me before a slow smile spreads over her lips. What? It's the truth.
Too busy thinking to myself, too busy smiling I don't notice right away that she's looking at that smile, at my lips. I feel the pit of my stomach making me acutely away of the situation and my brain telling me not to even try and speak or move. And I don't. And with a glance to my eyes, then lips, she flutters her eyelids closed and kisses me.
It's soft and sweet.
Too bad my body doesn't realize it because as sweet as it is it's making me tense up, heat shooting throughout me. I try to obey my brain but I move anyway, lifting my hand to cup her cheek and she kisses me more firmly, but doesn't try to further it.
Slowly she pulls away and smiles, shaking her head.
"Sorry."
**
Talk about mixed signals. It was an inspiring kiss, the fact I didn't immediately try to yank off his pants is surprising, but my apology seems to throw him.
"You don't have to apologize."
But he understands. Or he thinks he does.
"Thanks," I say again for the second time tonight. "It was . . . I just had a insane day and . . ." And I wanted to kiss you. But I won't say that because I'm sure he thinks it was because I was stressed, not wanting him and it's both. But after all, what would a 'friend' have any business doing kissing someone they promised never to see in that way. Thoughts of what I did, what he saw me do, flash in my head and I sink back. "Sorry."
**
"It's okay." I didn't mind . . . I just wish it were because she wanted to, not just because she needed comfort in that way . . . I don't want to lose Dana to a Lauren situation.
The shrill ring of the phone in the living room cuts through both our thoughts, Dana jumping beside me before laughing at it and settling back against the bed.
"Next the phone gets a new home," she orders, pointing to the bedside table. I salute her and get up, stumbling over a stray book as I reach for the ringing in the darkened room.
"Hello?"
"Harry?"
"Lauren?" I asked, my voice dropping a couple of decibels.
"Yes, where've you been? All I get is your machine, I hate those things."
"I've been busy, my mother's in town."
"Oh, that's really original, Harry," she says loud enough to qualify as pissed for Lauren.
"It's the truth, she's up from Florida," I defend, surprisingly I have a leg to stand on here when I've been lying to her all week.
"I suppose she's hanging around your apartment too? Answering your phone."
Just when I thought I had an easy situation.
"That's my roommate."
And this time she actually snorts.
"Right, Harry. You just magically have some woman pop up to live with you."
I sigh raggedly and clutch the phone, "It's none of your business anyway, you broke up with me remember?"
"And you screwed my two days ago, remember?" she demands.
"Harry?" I spin to see Dana in the doorway, a worried look on her face. I cover the receiver although Lauren isn't finished harping. "I got worried, is it the hospital?"
"No, it's not. I got it."
She looks at the phone and I see her nod and back up, definitely getting the wrong impression.
"Dana--" But she's gone in the room before I can say anything and it takes me a while to remember I'm still holding the phone. "Hello?"
"I'm still here. Are you?" Lauren snarks.
"Obviously, if I'm talking." Sometimes she could be really -
"I need to see you," she says a little more quietly than before.
"What?"
"I said I need to see you."
"I'm busy."
"Tomorrow then."
"I can't tomorrow, my mother's leaving and I want to see her before she goes."
"Then Tuesday. In the teacher's lounge around ten?"
"Fine," Anything to get off the phone.
"Alright. Goodbye, Harry."
"Bye," I say quickly hanging up. It wasn't the bittersweet gesture that she gave, but, really, I don't care.
**
He comes back into the bedroom a little more fake like he's trying to make up for his phone call. That shows right there that it wasn't his mother calling. I tell myself don't be hurt but . . . Dammit, it's been a tough day, a little self-pity isn't going to kill me. Especially since I just kissed him and . . .
"I'm really tired, I think I'm going to go to bed."
"Dana--"
"No, really, I'm just . . ." I shake my head and get up, grabbing for the tube of antibiotic on the table and heading to the bathroom.
"Do you need any help with that?" His voice is a little . . . searching when he asks and when I turn he's looking at me the same way.
I look at the medicine in my hand and the minute turns into two before I look at him . . .
"No thanks, Harry. I'm not *that* tired."
**
I'm in bed . . . on cushions, that is, before she comes out. The television flashes against her skin as she walks over me to climb onto the bed.
I want to ask her if she's all right but I don't feel like I have the right. She shifts and the mattress squeaks a little as she tries to get comfortable, I almost open my mouth but it happens again, and she's facing away from me now. Her shoulder seems to have gotten to the point where she can shift better and she's no longer forced to look in my direction. I reach up and turn off the television, silencing the room except for the whirling of the fan until I hear quiet cracked voice.
"Goodnight, Harry."
**
The sun's not even up and my eyelids hurt when I open them.
Happy Birthday to me.
It's warm and the fan feels good, making my body start to feel normal and the stuffiness in my head start to dissipate. I still don't move much, just enough to scoot over to the edge of the bed and look down on Harry . . .
He looks uncomfortable from the heat . . . Letting my hand drop I touch his cheek, prickly with stubble. And I cry. I don't want too, I cry too much these days, but I keep on anyway. I try to be quiet, bury my mouth, and nose in my other arm and I can't stop touching his face.
Ugh. Have I gone downhill.
Pulling my hand away I stumble out of bed and run to the bathroom.
**
How does she wake up so early? I rub my eyes with my bad hand before I feel the pain and yank it away. I sit up and scrub through my hair as I eye the clock, I'm the teacher, I have to get up at the crack of dawn, and she's been beating me to it . . . Who cares? It's early and the foggy thoughts are clouding my head needlessly and I yawn as I put my back against the bed.
I hear the door and can hardly force my eyes open to see her when she comes out.
She's wearing a towel.
It's amazing how quickly that can wake you up. And she doesn't seem bothered by it. That's making is so much better that I have to flip the otherwise useless sheet over my lap.
"Morning," I mumble through my parched lips.
"Morning," she tells me with an upbeat tone as she pulls out a drawer. Her face seems renewed, like she's focused on a goal. The towel is a mellow orange wrapped around her body and she keeps a hand on the tuck at all times. It's kind of hard to focus on anything else when you first wake up. "Where's my wishes?"
"Hmmh?" I ask, genuinely confused. Is that like some woman's clothing thing? "Is that some woman's clothing thing?"
"No," she smiles. Her hair is still wet and it's dripping down her back. "My birthday wishes."
Let's review. In a towel, no embarrassed vibe I would have expected, and she's officially eighteen . . .
"Happy Birthday?" I sound like a hopeful puppy. I hope this is from sleeping, I hope I'm not fully awake and that's why I'm finding it hard to think beyond those few facts. Otherwise . . .
I'm screwed.
**
"Thank you very much," I tell him. "I plan on seeing presents."
Thoughts of my mother and . . . everything, edge on my mind but I push them away. While in the shower . . . crying . . . again . . . I told myself to stop. I have to because if not I feel like I'm going to fall apart. I can deal later, but not now, not today. Holding my smile with a death grip I pull out some clothes and set them on top of the dresser.
"You should wake up now, I'm going to want my birthday breakfast," I tell Harry without a glance. When I look over he's still sitting there as if he's trying to find out what's going on and I see that he must have just woken up. It makes me give a genuine grin. Walking over I drop to my knees in front of him. "Are you even conscious yet?"
This time he doesn't look so confused.
He stares at me . . . like . . .
I'm the one unsure this time as his hand goes up to my hair and he brings me close to kiss him. I don't think I close my eyes until the last minute just to make sure I'm not wrong, but how could I mistake this? His lips are so . . . not what I expect for the morning. Not parched, but coaxing and soft, and . . .
Harry . . .
. . .
. . .
He's kissing me, hands in my hair grabbing just a little so the water runs from it to drip on my back. And I have to pick now to want to cry? But I won't, I don't and I just kiss him until I'm laying over his lap, pressed against his bare chest as I try to think, or is that not think or . . .
Harry . . .
