**
It's kind of puffy. And really green . . . and it was extra to get the delivery men to bring it over right away, by the time I was off the bus and on my way up in the elevator they were arriving with it. The new couch. The puffy, green couch. Hmm.
But it's soft, and you could fall asleep in it's verdant pillows, and after sitting on crates it was pretty much a siren's song. Leaving the couch I go into the kitchen and check the steaks in the oven, the recipe on the back of this flavor packet thing said these were 'Winning Recipes'. Hey. Look. I'm nesting. I like it. I wonder how long it will last . . . Those steaks look kind of dry.
**
I open the door, it's warmer in here than the summer temperatures outside, and the smell of food welcomes me. That's pretty nice. "Dana?"
She's in front of me in a second and completely gorgeous, her hair in a pony tail and she's wearing this summer dress, yellow, that only comes mid thigh and is strapless, a little bow in the center of the top, that's pretty nice too. I reach for her and she comes to me, kissing me and making me grab her side because that's really, really pretty nice.
And it's hard to think of what we are now. I went from not wanting this, to wanting to be together, to being together, that's it. There is no couple, or 'us', it's Dana and me. And that's all we need . . .
I think.
Cause there's a couch in the living room.
"A couch . . . a green . . . couch. That's great," I say as my stomach flips and I see this for what it is . . . a milestone in a couple relationship.
"You like it? I know it's kind of . . . puffy . . . but that's just because it's comfortable," she says brightly. She moves to sit on it, a little unsure with her choice, biting her lip, not noticing I'm silently screaming my head off. She looks really good siting there, but I'm not thinking about that now. I'm thinking that I'm going to kill Kevin for bringing all of this up.
"It's great."
Uh-oh, she's looking. Maybe she did notice. "Is something wrong? It's too puffy, isn't it? I'm going to hurt that salesman. I was just on a whole furniture high and . . . we can return it. I don't . . . know . . . Harry? . . . It's not the couch is it?"
"No. Yes, it's the couch." It is in a way . . . a way that avoids the subject, but we said we wouldn't do that. Shit. We even have couple rules. Or . . . not that it always means you're a couple with those . . . What? I don't know what the hell I'm thinking.
"What is it?"
Dana . . .
"Dana . . . you bought a couch and . . . and we . . . you bought a couch."
And she looks at me, then it, then me . . . and she gets it.
Maybe I didn't mean it though, if I told her that may--
"I bought us a couch." She says it softly before shaking her head and getting defensive. "I bought something for us, something big, and a reminder. I get it . . . this is a thing that people in relationships do -- Real relationships," she says flying up from the couch.
"Dana, wait."
"No, I get it," she says snatching her purse up. "I'm a roommate, one who lets you screw her, but a roommate nonetheless."
"I didn't--"
"Forget it, I'll be back later. And don't even THINK we'll be christening that thing!" she snaps as she is out the door, slamming it behind her . . .
I should have just said I liked the couch.
**
What an asshole! I should have known, I was so stupid! All that stuff about wanting us to be together, and *I* was the one worried about the couple stigma! He was probably just suggesting that we be good fuck partners. Hope he enjoyed it because that's the last time he'll EVER have sex with me. Yes. SEX, not 'making love' or something sweet. Just sex. Sex. Sex! That's it.
"Sex!" I stamp my foot and it draws some attention from the people milling past the store display of porcelain dolls I've been staring at for the past ten minutes. Though my yelling 'sex' probably made them look more then a delicately heeled strappy sandal.
Jerk.
And I'm in love with him.
What am I going to do?
Fuck. I stand against the brick wall next to the glass display window and look at the people morosely as they pass. Fuck.
If I was sixteen again I could just go shopping with the disgusting surplus of money I made. It wouldn't make me forget, but it'd get me distracted. But I blew what money I could spend on that couch - if it was for shopping for *me* I wouldn't have touched it! I would have told myself to save it, but since it was for Harry and I, our first thing . . . Bastard. Even if I was sixteen I'd more than likely be busy trying to get a glance at 'Mr. Senate'.
How did I get into this so deep? It was never love then, just a crush. I fell for him then because I was so young, stupid, in awe . . . Frankly; he was hot, and ideal. But, after everything that had happened, after the illicit kiss was found out and it all sucked . . . I saw him, the real person . . . and I truly fell in love just a little, that tiny bit of infatuation-love. Then it was over, I thought I'd never see him again, but I did. That little love started to build . . . he had to go and be all wonderful, over and over again. And then be a jerk too. He's imperfect, I know that now, and . . . he's Harry.
I love him.
Bastard.
**
The phone rings and I dive for it in a very uncool way, the couch's big damn pillows threatening to drown me.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is Casey, I'm calling for Dana."
"Oh. She's not here. I'm Harry, can I take a message?" She's giving the number out . . . Because she lives here. I'm such an idiot. This has been progressing, because I let it, because I *wanted* it to.
"Please. Tell her that she can work tomorrow night, work rush. Okay?"
"Yeah. I'll tell her."
"So I guess you're her new roommate, huh?" She probably thinks this is discreet.
"Yeah."
"Cause she said she moved. I mean, new phone number and everything, so, you know."
"Yeah. I'm . . ." I'm what? I don't know what to say.
"Hey," she says softly. "I just . . . uh, I wanted to say that I'm glad there's someone there for her. With her mom, you know?"
"Yeah," I say quietly. "I'm glad too."
The phone is quiet and she clears her throat before talking again. "Just, uh, give her that message, work rush. Thanks, Harry."
"No problem."
The phone clicks and I stare at it. They want her to work now, with her mother in the hospital? But the way she spoke . . . I don't know. That smell . . . Fuck. Dinner.
I got it, and - in my infinite wisdom - pull out the thing WITHOUT a damn potholder. AGAIN. This time I manage to drop it on the oven door before I get burned though. Shit. And I miss Dana. She's pissed, really pissed and I don't know when she'll be back, and if she'll be coming back with every intention to move out all of her stuff. SHIT.
Boy, those steaks look bad.
**
After two mochas, I have three napkins shredded into tiny pieces and settled on the coffeehouse tabletop with a swirling pattern inside. I gather them all again and start dropping them into the ashtray when someone takes it upon themselves to sit across from me.
"Hi." He has blonde hair and clear blue eyes, his features a cut and model- like. He seems like one of those open people who'll tell you all about themselves in seconds.
Not my type.
I give him a tight smile and keep gathering up the napkin.
"You know I normally don't do this."
Yeah. I'll bet. "Yeah. I'll bet."
"No, really," he says, trying to quell my suspicion. It won't work. And I don't care anyway. "I saw you sitting there and . . . I wanted to say hi."
"Okay." His face looks a little disappointed when I look up, I guess I'm being a bitch, but what do I look like, a Love Connection contestant? No. "Look. I'm . . ." No, I'm not sorry this isn't going the way he wants. I don't want it that way. "I know you expected this to go better, but I can't help you out there."
"Maybe I can buy you another mocha?"
"No, I'm fine thanks." I already have to pee.
"It'd be no problem, I--"
"I said no, I'm fine." I have that edge on my voice, the one that works in the club when guys try to come onto me. Once I'm off the stage, I'm off of work.
"I'm sorry," he says. Good intentions faded, and kicked in the ass by me. "I just saw you here and you were so pretty and I thought we could talk. I didn't . . . relationship, right?"
"Huh?"
"You're with someone, right?" Am I? I just stare at him and he shrugs. "Great guy, right? Falls at your feet?"
Yeah, that's Harry. A regular foot servant.
I quirk my eyebrow in response but ole' Bashful Guy just looks at his drink.
"I just, of course, you're involved." He's not very confident, even for coming over and sitting with me. See, Harry would handle this way differently . . . Damn. "So, this great guy that does everything for you," he's so meek, like he's already seeing me and this imposing someone in his head and pitying himself on why it never works out for him. "Bet you're in love and everything, huh?"
In - love. Am - I - in - love?
"Yes."
Completely, uttering, and damn sure *hopelessly* in love.
Damn.
He nods a little.
I want to go home.
It's kind of puffy. And really green . . . and it was extra to get the delivery men to bring it over right away, by the time I was off the bus and on my way up in the elevator they were arriving with it. The new couch. The puffy, green couch. Hmm.
But it's soft, and you could fall asleep in it's verdant pillows, and after sitting on crates it was pretty much a siren's song. Leaving the couch I go into the kitchen and check the steaks in the oven, the recipe on the back of this flavor packet thing said these were 'Winning Recipes'. Hey. Look. I'm nesting. I like it. I wonder how long it will last . . . Those steaks look kind of dry.
**
I open the door, it's warmer in here than the summer temperatures outside, and the smell of food welcomes me. That's pretty nice. "Dana?"
She's in front of me in a second and completely gorgeous, her hair in a pony tail and she's wearing this summer dress, yellow, that only comes mid thigh and is strapless, a little bow in the center of the top, that's pretty nice too. I reach for her and she comes to me, kissing me and making me grab her side because that's really, really pretty nice.
And it's hard to think of what we are now. I went from not wanting this, to wanting to be together, to being together, that's it. There is no couple, or 'us', it's Dana and me. And that's all we need . . .
I think.
Cause there's a couch in the living room.
"A couch . . . a green . . . couch. That's great," I say as my stomach flips and I see this for what it is . . . a milestone in a couple relationship.
"You like it? I know it's kind of . . . puffy . . . but that's just because it's comfortable," she says brightly. She moves to sit on it, a little unsure with her choice, biting her lip, not noticing I'm silently screaming my head off. She looks really good siting there, but I'm not thinking about that now. I'm thinking that I'm going to kill Kevin for bringing all of this up.
"It's great."
Uh-oh, she's looking. Maybe she did notice. "Is something wrong? It's too puffy, isn't it? I'm going to hurt that salesman. I was just on a whole furniture high and . . . we can return it. I don't . . . know . . . Harry? . . . It's not the couch is it?"
"No. Yes, it's the couch." It is in a way . . . a way that avoids the subject, but we said we wouldn't do that. Shit. We even have couple rules. Or . . . not that it always means you're a couple with those . . . What? I don't know what the hell I'm thinking.
"What is it?"
Dana . . .
"Dana . . . you bought a couch and . . . and we . . . you bought a couch."
And she looks at me, then it, then me . . . and she gets it.
Maybe I didn't mean it though, if I told her that may--
"I bought us a couch." She says it softly before shaking her head and getting defensive. "I bought something for us, something big, and a reminder. I get it . . . this is a thing that people in relationships do -- Real relationships," she says flying up from the couch.
"Dana, wait."
"No, I get it," she says snatching her purse up. "I'm a roommate, one who lets you screw her, but a roommate nonetheless."
"I didn't--"
"Forget it, I'll be back later. And don't even THINK we'll be christening that thing!" she snaps as she is out the door, slamming it behind her . . .
I should have just said I liked the couch.
**
What an asshole! I should have known, I was so stupid! All that stuff about wanting us to be together, and *I* was the one worried about the couple stigma! He was probably just suggesting that we be good fuck partners. Hope he enjoyed it because that's the last time he'll EVER have sex with me. Yes. SEX, not 'making love' or something sweet. Just sex. Sex. Sex! That's it.
"Sex!" I stamp my foot and it draws some attention from the people milling past the store display of porcelain dolls I've been staring at for the past ten minutes. Though my yelling 'sex' probably made them look more then a delicately heeled strappy sandal.
Jerk.
And I'm in love with him.
What am I going to do?
Fuck. I stand against the brick wall next to the glass display window and look at the people morosely as they pass. Fuck.
If I was sixteen again I could just go shopping with the disgusting surplus of money I made. It wouldn't make me forget, but it'd get me distracted. But I blew what money I could spend on that couch - if it was for shopping for *me* I wouldn't have touched it! I would have told myself to save it, but since it was for Harry and I, our first thing . . . Bastard. Even if I was sixteen I'd more than likely be busy trying to get a glance at 'Mr. Senate'.
How did I get into this so deep? It was never love then, just a crush. I fell for him then because I was so young, stupid, in awe . . . Frankly; he was hot, and ideal. But, after everything that had happened, after the illicit kiss was found out and it all sucked . . . I saw him, the real person . . . and I truly fell in love just a little, that tiny bit of infatuation-love. Then it was over, I thought I'd never see him again, but I did. That little love started to build . . . he had to go and be all wonderful, over and over again. And then be a jerk too. He's imperfect, I know that now, and . . . he's Harry.
I love him.
Bastard.
**
The phone rings and I dive for it in a very uncool way, the couch's big damn pillows threatening to drown me.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is Casey, I'm calling for Dana."
"Oh. She's not here. I'm Harry, can I take a message?" She's giving the number out . . . Because she lives here. I'm such an idiot. This has been progressing, because I let it, because I *wanted* it to.
"Please. Tell her that she can work tomorrow night, work rush. Okay?"
"Yeah. I'll tell her."
"So I guess you're her new roommate, huh?" She probably thinks this is discreet.
"Yeah."
"Cause she said she moved. I mean, new phone number and everything, so, you know."
"Yeah. I'm . . ." I'm what? I don't know what to say.
"Hey," she says softly. "I just . . . uh, I wanted to say that I'm glad there's someone there for her. With her mom, you know?"
"Yeah," I say quietly. "I'm glad too."
The phone is quiet and she clears her throat before talking again. "Just, uh, give her that message, work rush. Thanks, Harry."
"No problem."
The phone clicks and I stare at it. They want her to work now, with her mother in the hospital? But the way she spoke . . . I don't know. That smell . . . Fuck. Dinner.
I got it, and - in my infinite wisdom - pull out the thing WITHOUT a damn potholder. AGAIN. This time I manage to drop it on the oven door before I get burned though. Shit. And I miss Dana. She's pissed, really pissed and I don't know when she'll be back, and if she'll be coming back with every intention to move out all of her stuff. SHIT.
Boy, those steaks look bad.
**
After two mochas, I have three napkins shredded into tiny pieces and settled on the coffeehouse tabletop with a swirling pattern inside. I gather them all again and start dropping them into the ashtray when someone takes it upon themselves to sit across from me.
"Hi." He has blonde hair and clear blue eyes, his features a cut and model- like. He seems like one of those open people who'll tell you all about themselves in seconds.
Not my type.
I give him a tight smile and keep gathering up the napkin.
"You know I normally don't do this."
Yeah. I'll bet. "Yeah. I'll bet."
"No, really," he says, trying to quell my suspicion. It won't work. And I don't care anyway. "I saw you sitting there and . . . I wanted to say hi."
"Okay." His face looks a little disappointed when I look up, I guess I'm being a bitch, but what do I look like, a Love Connection contestant? No. "Look. I'm . . ." No, I'm not sorry this isn't going the way he wants. I don't want it that way. "I know you expected this to go better, but I can't help you out there."
"Maybe I can buy you another mocha?"
"No, I'm fine thanks." I already have to pee.
"It'd be no problem, I--"
"I said no, I'm fine." I have that edge on my voice, the one that works in the club when guys try to come onto me. Once I'm off the stage, I'm off of work.
"I'm sorry," he says. Good intentions faded, and kicked in the ass by me. "I just saw you here and you were so pretty and I thought we could talk. I didn't . . . relationship, right?"
"Huh?"
"You're with someone, right?" Am I? I just stare at him and he shrugs. "Great guy, right? Falls at your feet?"
Yeah, that's Harry. A regular foot servant.
I quirk my eyebrow in response but ole' Bashful Guy just looks at his drink.
"I just, of course, you're involved." He's not very confident, even for coming over and sitting with me. See, Harry would handle this way differently . . . Damn. "So, this great guy that does everything for you," he's so meek, like he's already seeing me and this imposing someone in his head and pitying himself on why it never works out for him. "Bet you're in love and everything, huh?"
In - love. Am - I - in - love?
"Yes."
Completely, uttering, and damn sure *hopelessly* in love.
Damn.
He nods a little.
I want to go home.
