CHAPTER 7
Snapshots. That was what his life boiled down to. While everyone embraced the technology of digital cameras, Tristin found solace in working in the darkroom. The days he worked on his photographs are few and far between but he embraced them like it was his first.
However, not this way.
For someone who has lived a clean life for almost four years, he reverted back to vices he gave up long before he became the proclaimed bad boy and it was all because of a girl. Alcohol and cigarettes. How pathetic.
He took a swig of his Grey Goose and cranberry. It was his third drink in an hour. If that was not enough, he took a drag from the lit fag tipped in the ashtray, half a pack wasted. The gray-blue smoke muted the sharp images that formed before him. He smirked. How could someone he forgot make him hurt so badly?
The image developed on the paper. Her blue eyes, her kohl black lashes, her baby-pink lips. Her image mocked him.
Rory sat in her car deliberating what she was going to say. No script could get her to break the awkwardness. She just can't go in and exchange pleasantries like nothing happened. Worse is saying, "You look more like a Dean than a Tristin". Rory flashed angry eyes at her car stereo. The irony of Liz Phair's "Why Can't I?" blasting through the speakers made her more guilty and paranoid about what she planned to do to win Tristin's truce once more.
"It's now or never," she muttered to herself as she opened her car door.
An elderly gentleman greeted Rory at the door. He asked her to come in and take a seat in the living room as he called his 'young master'. Young master. It fit him. She found herself fantasizing about him until he made his presence known in the room.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
Rory stared at him. He wore a tattered blue shirt only he can make touchable. The top button to his stone washed jeans were unbuttoned. She can't help but notice his disheveled hair and blood shot eyes. And if that wasn't enough, his bare feet made her feel like she was intruding in a private affair that should have been uninterrupted.
"What? Cat got your tongue?" he said with a biting tone.
"I came to say I'm sorry," Rory said emphatically.
"Whatever," Tristin said glancing at her and the door she came from.
"Tristin, what would it take for you to forgive me?" Rory asked, her heart pumping harder. Her desperation and anger were getting the best of her.
Tristin's bright eyes focused on her. He said, "This."
He took purposeful strides towards her and assaulted her lips like he was trying to punish her. She could taste blood in her mouth as he assaulted her with his lips. His tongue prodded and pushed. His mouth tried to coax her lips to kiss him back. She did.
He wanted her to hurt. He wanted revenge even though the most blissful kiss was tearing his heart out.
"Tristin, you're hurting me," she cried out. Her swollen lips and her heady eyes filled with desire taunted him.
He didn't heed her plea. He snuck his arms around her waist, embracing her closely. He heard her whimper. He swallowed the sound with his lips.
Rory could not breathe. The scent of chemicals, cigarettes and alcohol assaulted her nostrils. And yet, his exclusive scent and taste overpowered everything else. His roving hands cupped her bottom and rocked her toward his frame. She could feel him get hard between their jeans. Rory was scared to venture out and take the liberty to touch him like he was doing to her now.
She gasped as she felt him unhook her bra through her shirt. His hand quickly grabbed her breast until he massaged it to a peak.
"Tristin!" she called his name out.
All of a sudden, Tristin stopped groping her. With short, shallow breaths, he distanced himself from her. He wiped his swollen lips with the back of his hand. Not once did he take his eyes off of her.
"And don't you forget it," he said in a sinister tone.
Rory's eye blurred. She's not going though this again.
"Is this what we've come to? Huh?" Rory asked, her anger raging. "I came to say I'm sorry and you throw it back to my face." She tried to hook her bra up, not having much success with the task.
"That's what you think," Tristin responded icily. "You're all the same. You know what the difference is between you and Summer?"
Rory looked at him with apathy.
"She knew when she was playing with fire. Go back to your sandbox, Rory. And leave the matches by the door," he said.
Rory was in a quandary. When she got her clothing straightened out, she rubbed he palms on her thighs.
"There's the door," he pointed at the general direction without dropping his arm.
Rory fidgeted at the spot she stood. Then she took the courage to walk to Tristin and lay her hand to his chest. She laid a quick kiss right on his heart.
"Get away from me," he growled.
Rory was aghast. Turning her back to him, she marched to the door. Without looking back, she yelled, "Go fuck yourself, Tristin!"
There were no goodbyes.
The door slammed on Tristin's face. He finally dropped his arm. He took the half empty glass he was drinking and threw it against the door that just closed on him. The only thing that kept him company was the sound of the shattering tumbler.
