A Lack of Color
by four51
Chapter 7. Transatlanticism
I banged my head on the wall behind my bed.
I was so effing bored, even Grey's Anatomy couldn't do it for me anymore.
Maybe that's because I was up for most of last night in a marathon of it.
I breathed deeply.
I looked off into nowhere in particular.
Did he think I was just some mindless person that didn't have any feelings?
Of course not, I reasoned. He was only thinking about himself.
Who has he already spent money on to get a ring sized to fit on her perfect finger? (Michelle.)
Who would look best in lingerie? (Michelle.)
Who looked best at his side? (Michelle.)
Who would clean up his apartment the best? (Me.)
Who gave him the best orgasm?
Okay, honestly, I hope that one didn't count because technically I haven't had the chance yet.
Unless he's doing something in his apartment to me…
I smiled.
Then I'd be completely flattered.
And then I'd come before her (insert dirty reference here), because he's thinking about me naked and not his fiancée.
But, apparently, with how he's acting to his recently returned partner, he hasn't though about me very much.
So, who wins?
If he's playing unfairly by the questions, it's Michelle, four to me, one.
(She wins, but ah… unfairly. So, technically, I win by default.)
If he plays fairly and has though about me that way, it's three to two.
(She wins, but I get his thoughts at night, so again, I win.)
If he plays fairly and hasn't thought about me that way, it's four to one.
(She wins, no contest. Damn it.)
"What are you doing?" he asked me, advancing toward my bed and sitting next to me.
I didn't turn my head to him, but watched him through the corner of my eye. "Nothing, actually. Want to go out? I'm begging you."
Tristan chuckled. "Can't. Michelle…"
"Right. She let you out without a leash today?" I teased, but really, I meant it.
He laughed again, noticeably uncomfortable. "She puts her claws away sometimes, Ror. They're just always out when you're around."
"I wonder why that is…?" Maybe because she's not as dense as you and can see that I'm so effing into you, it's not even funny anymore.
"She's just territorial."
"So, she thinks of you as an object she can just show off?"
"You're putting words in my mouth…"
"Because that doesn't sound like the perfect housewife, now does it?"
"Rory…"
"She does, doesn't she?"
He paused. "She just doesn't like having things out of her control is all."
Whatever.
She goes off for weeks at a time and expects him to keep his hands off girls.
Did he tell her about our little road trip the other night?
Of course not.
Did he tell her that he comes to my apartment almost every night and sleeps on my couch, not ten feet from my bed?
Of course not.
Did he tell her we've almost kissed a billion times?
No.
You want to know why?
Because he wants to stick with her.
Because she's an effing model.
I cursed my looks.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
"Stuff."
"Cryptic."
"I guess."
"Why don't you tell me? We're supposed to be best friends."
"Why aren't you in there with your fiancée?"
"She's at the store."
"Buying whipped cream?" I eyed him down, making sure he noticed. "You guys go through that bottle awfully fast, don't you think?"
I could tell her was trying really hard to keep from getting angry. "Don't judge me, Rory."
I shook my head, slightly. "I wasn't judging."
"Really? What were you doing then?"
"I was…" Quick Rory, make something up. "Merely making an observation."
"Bull shit. You've done nothing but judge Michelle and my relationship with her since you saw her."
"Maybe that's because two seconds before I found out you were engaged, we were flirting like crazy and joking about having sex," I raised my voice a little and got off the bed.
As I started walking out of the room, he followed me.
"Joking, Rory. You just said it. We were having a fun conversation between friends."
God, I hate that word.
I didn't know what to do. It all just started spilling out.
"You know we're not just friends, Tristan! We've never been just friends."
He looked like I had slapped him.
"Don't even try to pretend that you don't realize it," I finished.
Why did I say that?
What the hell is wrong with me?
There's things that just can't be said, and that's one of them.
His face just got all tense and I could see that he was jamming his hands in his pockets.
"I uh… got to get back. She should be home soon."
I wanted to laugh at his word: "home".
Maybe she had a home, but it was definitely not with him. I knew that much.
But I decided to just nod and look at my shoes.
He walked out of the living room and out my door. I heard it shut lightly.
What the hell was that face he gave me?
It looked almost… realizing.
If that makes any sense.
Like he had been slapped in the face with the reality of our relationship.
Part of me wanted to say that he deserved it.
That he had it coming – for putting me off for so long.
Leading me on for longer.
But the other part, the one that won, wanted to kill myself.
How could I have possibly been so selfish?
It was getting dark outside.
I had a date with Oliver in an hour.
I jumped in the shower, to wash my dirty, emotionally-cheating ass off.
Then I realized something myself.
I had thought that I was settling for Oliver.
But no.
He didn't deserve my aforementioned cheating self.
He was settling for me.
When I got out, I banged my head against the wall again.
Apparently, I've become a masochist.
The date went fine. We had cheap burgers.
Cheap fries.
Cheap, under-syruped coke.
Again, I tried to get into the sex.
After a while, I told him it wasn't going to happen tonight.
I didn't feel up to faking it tonight.
I didn't feel up to do anything, as a matter of fact.
He took that answer and went himself and rolled off me.
His brown hair and outline cheekbones were outlined by the moon's light.
"Anything wrong?" he asked me.
"No, why?" I lied.
"You just seem… distant since we've started up again."
"I'm fine," I assured him.
"Okay."
We laid there for a while.
"I'll take you home," he finally offered.
Thank god.
When I got up to my room, Tristan was fumbling with his keys to get in his.
We looked awkwardly at each other.
"Hey," he started. "Michelle and I are having a party tomorrow night. Lots of booze, lots of drugs – the usual stuff. You're invited."
I didn't know why he was talking to me, to be honest.
But I didn't have time to answer, because he disappeared into his apartment and shut the door fast.
A party, huh?
With Michelle.
"I don't know," I told Jen the next day.
"Come on. It's Friday night. I'm not going out, because I'm going to the party. Where else would you go?"
I shrugged. She was right. Oliver had a writer's convention and would be gone the whole weekend. The only way I could reach him was his cell phone. And even then, he had to keep it off. 'Spoils the mood,' he told me when I asked. Whatever.
"Come with me. It'll be boring without you there."
"I don't know how long I will stay, then. These things are always so boring."
"You just don't want to be around Tristan after what you said."
"That, too."
"How bad could it have been?"
"You have no idea."
"It's his own damn fault for toying with you like he has been."
"Jen…"
"I know, I know. You have this outrageous feeling to defend him and I don't even know why. It makes no sense."
"We are still friends."
"Yeah, but I'm your best-best friend. I should get priority."
I rolled my eyes. "It's different."
"Just because you love him."
It sounded so… serious when that word came out of her mouth.
She sensed my tension and changed the subject.
"Just come. Who knows? Maybe you'll have fun."
"Fun?"
"Yeah, you know that thing when you're not all bogged down in work or your idiot boyfriend."
I smiled a little. "Oh, that."
"Live a little."
I sighed heavily. "Fine, fine."
She squealed and hugged me, jumping up and down.
"But I'm leaving whenever I want."
"Deal."
"And you buy me dinner."
She laughed. "Nice try."
What was I going to say to Tristan once I was there?
What was he going to feel?
Did he hate me?
Did he get it?
Did he finally realize?
I hope not.
No, I don't. I do hope.
No. I don't.
God. I can't make up my effing mind.
"Let's go get dressed."
"I have to dress up for this? Deal's off!" I complained.
"Shut up. You know you want to go."
Then I realized why she was my best friend.
Because I did want to go.
"I have nothing to wear," I said, when we were facing my closet.
She huffed, and then put her hand to her chin. She pulled out some items.
"Your jean mini, because, hello, you look 'h', 'o', double 't' hot in it. And your silver halter."
I sighed. "Fine. If you say so."
"Okay. Well, I've got to get ready too. Want to help me pick out mine?"
I shrugged. "It seems you don't need much help in finding something suitable to wear. You always turn out great."
"Thanks, Ror. Well, I'm going to go. Put some curlers in your hair too. Big ones. The large waves give a nice effect on your bare shoulders."
I smiled. "Great idea. Thanks."
I took a shower and put the curlers in my hair, like Jen had advised.
I took a deep breath.
Something was telling me that this was going to be a big night.
I walked around in my towel for a little bit.
I ate a cup of yogurt.
I drank a small cup of orange juice.
I put on my panties and matching bra.
Then I slathered lotion on my legs.
The lotion was called Japanese Cherry Blossom. It was my favorite.
Tristan had picked it up for me about a month ago.
I blow dried my hair.
Then I slipped on the dark-wash miniskirt.
I had to admit, my legs looked great. Not in a conceited way, though. More of a… thankful way.
Jen shouted for me as she came in.
"Come in here and help me tie the halter," I yelled back.
She came and tied it.
"You look wonderful!" I told her. She had on a miniskirt too, but hers was a little shorter than mine. Big shock. She also had a red spaghetti strap top on. It complimented her skin well.
"Just wait until we get those curlers down. You'll steal the party."
"I'm sure Michelle wouldn't like that," I mumbled.
She didn't respond to that, but said, "Let me do your make up. The party's already started."
"Fashionably late."
She smiled, smudging concealer on me. "Always."
When she was done, she unleashed the waves and picked out some silver heals for me to wear.
She was wearing stilettos.
I looked in the mirror. We looked like we would belong at a model's party.
That kind of scared me for a moment.
Who was I trying to be?
I pushed those thoughts away as Jen squealed with excitement and pulled me toward the door.
I shoved her off as I brushed my teeth.
"You're taking forever," she complained.
I picked up the mouthwash.
"Come on."
"I've got to have good breath, right?"
She tapped her foot, then said, "Give me some of that."
I laughed slightly as I swished it around in my mouth.
"All ready," I said, as I spit it out.
We were on our way to the door.
We opened it and stepped to Tristan's.
My feet weighed a ton.
Each.
But when I got in there, I felt the most out of place I have.
Of course, I didn't look it.
The girls were wearing less than Jen – and that's saying something.
I exchanged glances with Tristan and he quickly looked away.
We're playing that stupid game again.
I decided to stop playing.
The next hour, I poured myself drinks – one beer, two waters.
I sat down and started getting harassed by this one guy. He had hair plugs.
I told him that I had to go, had a prior engagement, and went in search for Jen.
She was dancing with some guy.
"I going to go," I told her.
She gave me a look and I shrugged my shoulders and left.
I walked ten steps to my own apartment.
I took off all the make up and laid on the bed.
Inhale, exhale.
Inhale.
Hold.
Hold.
Exhale.
"I figured you'd leave soon."
I jumped six feet.
He chuckled.
"I'm sorry I scared you."
"It's okay, Tristan."
He walked to my bed hesitantly. When I didn't say anything, he laid down next to me.
He was breathing, too.
"You feel it, too. Don't lie to me," my voice was really quiet.
He propped himself on his elbow.
After looking in my eyes for about ten seconds, he looked down.
"I feel it, too," he said, his voice even softer than mine.
I could still hear him breathing.
"I'm with Michelle," he said, like it explained everything.
"I'm with Oliver…?" I returned. What I was really saying was that we could still love each other if we had a person waiting for us.
He was quiet and I knew he got what I meant.
"You're wearing the shirt you wore on New Years," he told me.
I looked down. "How would you know?"
He smiled. "Because I couldn't keep my eyes off you."
I didn't know what to say.
I didn't need to.
Because right then, at that moment, his lips came crashing onto mine.
He rolled over on top of me, kissing me hard.
He tugged my shirt over my head and I did the same.
I breathed hard and kept my eyes closed as he started kissing my chest.
And a little… lower. My hands got lost in his blonde hair.
He traced his hand up my leg.
From my calf to my knee.
From my knee to the back of my thigh.
The grabbed hard onto that.
I'm so glad I wore my black lace underwear set tonight.
It all felt so good.
So right.
So insanely stimulating.
We were both breathing heavily, and he came back up to kiss my lips.
He went back to my neck.
I moaned, "Tristan."
"Oh, Rory," he said back to me.
Then he lifted his head and I caught glimpse of his widened eyes.
Oh, no.
"Oh, my god," he said, getting up.
"What? What is it?!"
I needed him back on top of me.
He pulled his discarded shirt over his head.
"Michelle…" he explained and paused, "I have to go."
His voice sounded desperate.
He left without another word.
I took off my skirt and sunk lower in my bed, tears threatening to spill.
Definitely a masochist.
A/N: gasp What did they just do?! I was going to have this chapter based on the song Tiny Vessels, for obvious reasons. But this sound was so much more like them. Give it a listen. Two more chapters. I'm very sad but excited. Review!