Sorry this took so long. I went out of town on a few different occasions, and exams, and life. You know...general interference. It's hard juggling 2 stories. I don't want the quality of either to suffer.
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A baby wailed in its mother's arms. The unforgiving fluorescent lights in the ceiling flickered on and off, threatening never to ignite again. The 100-year-old driers rattled and shook with their spinning, scratching the floor and the 3 customers' ears. It was a typical weeknight at the Laund-O-rama.
Ross stood on the other side of the door, peering through the wide plate of glass. He'd been standing that way for almost an entire minute, now, terrified to set even one foot inside. The place looked so dismal. All the customers looked so depressed and bitter, clad in faded tones and frowns.
One looked especially bitter and lonesome. She was sitting by herself in the corner, eyes fixated on her glaring laptop screen, just as they'd been every time before. He hadn't taken his eyes off her since he'd been standing there. She was more terrifying than even that unidentified brown stain in the center of the cracked-tile floor.
He watched her and debated with himself.
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"So stupid," Rachel spat, cursing herself for ever having come here tonight.
She hadn't really expected anything. No, that was a lie. She'd expected everything. She'd expected him. She didn't know why, really. It wasn't even their usual Friday night. Something had told her he would be there, though. That something had obviously been a liar. Maybe it had been her conscience. Or her judgment. They were equal impostures.
She closed the laptop screen and set it inside her bag. Her clothed had been done a good half hour ago. She'd stayed there, pathetic and hopeful, just in case. Now, that decision made her want to cry. She would at least wait until she got home. She stood up and turned to leave.
She froze.
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"Shit," he cursed, realizing she'd seen him. Now he just looked like an idiot. He should have gone inside to begin with.
He would have turned to leave if her eyes weren't locked so intensely on him. She was watching him work all of this out in his head-- debating with himself. Should he go? Should he stay? Was it too late, either way? Was she with this other guy already? Had she been with him the whole time, and he had been right all along? Had he forgotten how devastatingly beautiful she was? Yes. That last one wasn't debatable. All these thoughts were painted across his face so clearly, and she was reading and processing all of them. He was an open book when it came to women, especially this woman.
Not knowing what else to do-- and not really having much of a choice-- he pulled what was probably the most awkward, clumsy, panicky thing possible.
He smiled and waved.
'What the hell was THAT?' he thought to himself. Fucking idiot. Of all the ways he'd been imagining this reunion over the pass few days-- for all the things he'd wanted to scream and all the explanations he'd want to demand and all the different ways he'd imagined kissing her and making love to her again-- smiling and waving had DEFINITELY been the very last things on his 'to do' list. Life is funny that way.
Appropriately enough, however, she smiled and waved back.
And all of those things he'd just mentally listed to do-- all of the screaming and demanding-- evaporated.
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"Hey," he whispered gracelessly, smiling his patented crooked smile. He let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when she smiled back.
"Hey you."
Awkward silence.
"So, um, I just had some laundry to do here..." he trailed off, gesturing lamely towards his full bag.
"Oh, sure, yeah!" she nodded ardently. "Me too!" Alright, Rachel, calm down. You're smiling and babbling like an idiot. Just be cool.
Awkward Silence.
"I've missed you." She exhaled and shut her eyes. Screw being cool. Just be honest.
"Wow, really?" he asked, obviously relieved. "Because I've been thinking...this is crazy."
"Yeah?" she asked, reaching out instinctively to touch his arm. He flinched, but in a good way. She noticed.
"Yeah," he smiled, taking her hand in his. 'Woah there, boy,' he had to remind himself. 'There's a reason you were so pissed off. She's beautiful and sexy and you are quite possibly in love with her, but don't jump the gun, here.'
"You're thinking about Mark, aren't you?" she asked worriedly. She read his mind. Somehow, that didn't surprise him.
"Oh, so he's got a name?" he joked, only really half joking. If he was going to admit to her ability to read him, through and through, without fault, he'd at least have to be somewhat comical about it. She smiled warmly and rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb.
"Do you want to talk about this somewhere that's a little less...here?" she asked. "I mean, I know you still have laundry to do, but--"
"No, that can wait," he interrupted assuredly. Pause. "I mean, I've been wearing this same underwear for a few days, now, anyway, so..." She laughed aloud.
"Come on."
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"Do you want more coffee?" he asked, noticing her empty mug. She looked down as if she were noticing it for the first time, too.
"Oh, no thanks." She pushed the mug away from her. He rolled up his sleeves and took another swig of his second cup. She played with her hair nervously through the silences. He noticed and smiled.
"So is this guy dangerous?" he asked after a while without talking. She looked up into his eyes seriously.
She'd told him the whole story. She's told him everything-- even more than she'd told that damned incompetent psychiatrist she'd visited for a long weeks afterwards. She'd had to stop a few times to collect her thoughts, and those calms were the times he most felt like jamming his own foot up his ass. He'd been so insensitive and judgmental. As it turned out, she hated this guy even more than he did...if that were possible.
"Oh, no, I don't think so," she assured him, although her tone sounded as if she needed some assurance, herself.
"Did he every hurt you?" he asked, rather boisterously. This caught her off guard. She found herself rather defensive about the question, for some reason. She shook her head wildly.
"No, Ross, you don't understand. It wasn't like that. He--"
"Don't make excuses for this guy, Rachel," he interrupted, his voice commanding. She looked into his eyes and saw something passionate and feral in them. He was angry and defensive, himself, about all this. He was trying to protect her. She could tell.
"I'm not making excuses. He never hurt me," she stated, matter of factly.
"Yeah, well," Ross scoffed, "I guess that depends on how you interpret the word 'hurt'. I saw how he was treating you on the dance floor. It seemed like he was pretty used to having his way with you."
"Hey," she spoke up, raising her voice. Her eyes now held that same passion. She pointed her finger at him. "Don't presume to know everything about me, Ross. I had a life before you. I know how to handle myself. I'm not as naive as I think you'd like to believe."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. This conversation was turning quickly from intimate and quiet to charged.
"It MEANS," she emphasized, "that I'm not going to play the innocent damsel in distress for you. I'm not going to apologize to you for my relationship with Mark and I'm not going to dredge up the past just so yours can be the arms I fall into." She was on a roll. His jaw was locked open. He didn't know what to say.
"Rachel, that's not what I--"
"It seems like every man I meet wants to 'save me', Ross. They see my past and my hang-ups and my baggage and they identify with it...like I know you did." She paused after this last comment, letting it sink in. He didn't refute her argument. He knew she was right. "They think I'm going to help them 'find themselves' while they try to make me better...whatever 'better' even means. Well, you know what? I've got my problems. Who doesn't? I've got a past, and a lot of it sucks. A lot. But if you want to be with me, now...be with me NOW. Don't worry about how I've messed up in the past, and don't try to be the one who helps me not mess up in the future. Just be with me."
He didn't really know what to say. She was right, though. He had seem her as a way to 'find himself'-- to straighten up all the shit in his life. He forget Carol. To stop being lonely. To find love again. To find meaning and justification. He'd expected it from her, really, and that was perhaps his first mistake. You should never expect anything from someone you've just met.
"You're right," he finally decided on. It was the most honest version of what he was thinking.
"I know," she nodded, not backing down or softening up.
Awkward pause.
"Do you, uh...Do you think it's too late to start over?"
"Start over from where?"
"Well," he paused. "from where I walked into a laundry mat...saw the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen...and started wanting to spend every moment of every day with her, right then."
"Damn you and your perfect answers," she teased. He smiled charmingly, as usual. It faded after a moment, and he took her hand.
"Rachel, listen..." he began, "You're right. I think I expected too much from you. Maybe the worst thing I expected was for you to leave your baggage at the door, and that's impossible. I just...I just want to be with you. Now. Whatever that means, I'll do it."
"What about Mark?" she asked. She was testing him.
"Screw Mark. Screw any former boyfriends or lovers or vices or neurosis. I trust you. I have to...you kind of took my heart and ran with it."
And, once again, he melted her heart.
"Okay then..." she agreed, nodding and extending her hand to shake his in a formal agreement. "Let's get out of here." He chuckled and shook her hand in compliance.
"Gladly."
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He threw her onto the bed and took delight in the girly squeal she emitted as her back met the cushiony mattress. Immediately, he was on top of her, and she welcomed him eagerly. Even a week away from his lips and touch was too much. She'd forgotten how careful he was, but how good. He was so good.
"Take off your clothes," he whispered in her ear, as he did the same with his.
He wouldn't be taking all the time tonight that he normally did. He was too starved for her. She was as beautiful as ever and he was still trying to swallow the fact that he was allowed to touch her again. A few days ago, he was bordering clinical depression upon the realization that he hadn't in days. He was like a drug addict terrified of withdrawal. They might each have their own separate baggage, but the irony was that they were quickly becoming one another's.
Meanwhile, she was loving how rough and commanding her was being. That was the one thing that she'd liked and missed about Mark. He'd taken it too far and he'd gone about it the wrong way, and the thought of him may have disgusted her now, but he had been one of the only men who hadn't expected her to be the one to take control. Like she'd said, every man before had always put the weight on her shoulders-- sexually, romantically, and emotionally. She'd had to carry them the whole way-- be their 'cure'. She liked that he wasn't afraid to be the one to cure her. He noticed that she liked it.
"Is this what Mark did?" he asked, being sure to exemplify 'this' by kissing her exceptionally hard on her neck and grabbing at her waist and she squirmed beneath him. He didn't think this qualified as breaching the 'leaving the past behind' pact they'd made. He was simply teasing her, and perhaps marking his territory, as well-- stressing that whatever any man may have done in the past, the present was HIS.
"Yes," she whispered in a small voice, closing her eyes and arching her back to signal him to continue. His hands quickly to the opening in his boxers. Tonight was about quality, not quantity. It might not last long, but it didn't need to. They just needed to be together again like this and reestablish themselves. It felt so much better-- more comfortable-- when they were together. They both needed that again.
He threw her thighs roughly apart and settled between them, their bodies nearly sliding off the side of the bed. His feet were still touching the floor. It didn't matter. They didn't have time to do this neatly. He slid his hands underneath her ass to push roughly in and out of her, listening to her scream and moan the whole time. He might have even been hurting her, but he didn't stop to check. If she needed him to stop, she'd tell him.
"It'sokaykeepgoing," she slurred together, reading his mind, her voice breathy and rushed. She ran her hands up and down his back, over his ass, the top of his thighs, his hair. Everything she could reach. She pulled him harder and deeper inside her. This was unhealthy. Maybe even a little crazy. Neither cared.
He pushed into her a few final times so hard that he lifted her complete off the bed. She might have screamed, but he didn't heart it. He was already gone. When he came too, he was literally kneeling on the floor with her pinned between him and the bed. He'd never been so sweaty and sticky and exhausted. He felt her kiss his neck and the action pulled him back to reality.
"Are you okay?" he finally asked, now that the moment was over. He prayed to God she'd say 'yes'. He'd been too rough. He hadn't been able to control himself. He sighed with relief when she nodded and smiled weakly.
"Come here," she coaxed, pulling him up onto the bed with her. He laid on top of her with his head on her breast, their legs and arms intertwined. She brushed her fingers through his sweat-matted hair. He kissed her collarbone.
Maybe this was just the first in a series of unfortunate events that would only ever lead them back to one another, and, subsequently, to an addictive, noxious relationship. Maybe they were ill-fated-- ill-matched, star-crossed and doomed to one another. Maybe they were just defenseless victims of fate-- two lines converging at the same point at the same exact time. Whatever they were, one thing was for sure: they were stuck, for better or for worse, with one another.