It's alright to tell me what you think about me
I won't try to argue or hold it against you
I know that you're leaving, you must have your reasons
The season is calling, your pictures are falling down
The nice thing about attending a small university was that everyone knew everyone. This familiarity was sometimes a bad thing, as Musichetta came to know all too well the day after her encounter with Joly. It seemed to her that everyone knew her business, and she was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the awkward small talk and sideways glances directed at her.
Musichetta was a physical therapy student along with Bahorel, who obviously knew about her hookup with Joly. While his friends were, undeniably, awesome and fun to be around, they were also primarily guys. Guys, especially college-aged ones, gossip far more than they would ever admit. So, Musichetta had barely arrived at the hospital for her shift when she realized people knew. By the time lunch rolled around, she was thankful to see Bahorel and Azelma, who was a nursing student, already sitting at their usual table in the spacious cafeteria. Musichetta walked briskly to the table, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone else.
"Hey, champ," greeted Bahorel. "So I heard you can really take a-" he was cut off when Azelma elbowed him.
"I'm sorry my boyfriend's an insensitive twat," she apologized.
"It's okay," said Musichetta. "You've got nothing to apologize for," she assured Bahorel. "I just feel so, so fucking stupid," she lamented. She tugged awkwardly at the top of her lilac-colored scrubs. She usually hated how the plain, boxy tops obscured her figure but today she was glad for the coverage.
"I'm sorry, Musichetta. I honestly had no idea Joly would take you home without his other half," apologized Azelma. "I forgot Bossuet was here."
Musichetta swirled her soup with her spoon without really intending on eating any of it. "Drunk mistake, right? I've honestly never felt like a slut before. I feel so used."
"I don't believe for a second that Joly wanted you to feel that way," said Bahorel. "I would personally beat the shit out of him if he did, and I know he didn't."
"Have you talked to him since yesterday?" asked Azelma.
"No," admitted Musichetta. "I don't even know what to say." It was true. She had plenty of things she wanted to say on her mind, but none of them seemed to come out right when she practiced in front of her mirror. "I'm mortified."
"I wouldn't worry about it, honestly," said Bahorel. "They have a really unconventional relationship. It used to be cute how they do everything together like they're stuck at the hip, but I don't know how they don't get sick of each other. I think you should try to talk to Joly again. Maybe try to see them together?"
A group of nurses walked by at this moment, and Musichetta felt that their eyes and whispers were on her. "You really think so?" she asked. "That seems weird."
"You can't even say you didn't have a good time with him. Am I wrong?" wheedled Azelma.
Musichetta's cheeks burned as she thought of the scrapes on her knees and the bruised skin on her collarbone under her shirt. "No, I really like…liked him. I just didn't realize he had a freaking boyfriend. That changes everything, Azelma," she affirmed.
"Does it really?" questioned Azelma. "Joly's taken quite a liking to you. When he cares for something, he gets really passionate about it. Couldn't you tell from the way he talked about his work or his studies?"
Musichetta dropped her spoon, having barely touched her soup. "I missed the part where he talked about how much he cared about his boyfriend, then," she said stubbornly. "I'll see you guys later," she muttered. She got up from the table and left.
"I guess she has a point," Bossuet said as he nuzzled his face playfully into Azelma's neck.
"I know," sighed Azelma. "I just hope she doesn't write him off yet."
Several states away, Eponine and Grantaire were making good time on their drive to Virginia Beach. They'd spent the previous night in a hotel, watching bad cable and polishing off a fifth of tequila and then some wine. This was not the wisest combination.
Now they were back on the road in the small two-door car they'd borrowed from Azelma. "I feel like shit," Grantaire mumbled. Eponine just laughed and handed him the box of Tums he'd been nursing all morning.
"Heartburn's a bitch, isn't it?" she joked. "Maybe if you had shared the alcohol with me equally, you'd be feeling better."
"Maybe. Or, I just have heartburn because that's the way I am," responded Grantaire grumpily. Eponine looked away from him, adjusting her oversized sunglasses in the passenger side mirror. He missed her mouth the word "whatever" as she slid the seat as far back as it would go so that she could stretch out.
Grantaire sighed and chewed a few of the antacids as quickly as he could, reaching for the lukewarm beer in Eponine's cup holder to rinse the taste out. If he had his way they would have stayed in bed until past noon, but Eponine wanted to get on the move to her aunt's house at the beach.
He stared at the road ahead of him for a while, noting that he would be on the same highway for nearly an hour. Driving was not his favorite thing to do, but it was so easy for Eponine to manipulate him with a pout and a bat of her eyes. Grantaire was struggling to stay awake, fighting his hangover. He thought Eponine was also asleep on the passenger seat beside him.
After almost an hour of this stupor, he noticed some movement from Eponine's direction. Grantaire thought she was just making herself comfortable as he saw her stretch out, her legs extended and parted. Then he saw her slip her hand under the waistband of her denim shorts.
"Everything okay over there?" asked Grantaire, in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner.
"Mhm," said Eponine. "I'm rubbing my clit through my undies. They're lacy and it feels pretty good."
"Fucking hell," whispered Grantaire. The car swerved as he overcorrected, jerking the wheel so he was back on the highway. He'd driven off the road a little at Eponine's admission. "You can't do that while we're driving on the highway," he hissed.
"I can do whatever I want while you're driving," said Eponine with a positively devilish smile. "I can't help that I'm bored and horny."
Grantaire swore again, and he could feel his dick straining in his pants. It was getting really difficult for him to drive. Eponine, sunglasses still covering her eyes, moaned with pleasure. "Fuck, this feels good, Grantaire." She paused, and looked in his direction. "I think I'm going to move my fingers under my panties though. Doesn't that sound like a good idea?"
Grantaire made a strangled sort of grunt in his throat, desperately trying to pay attention to the road. A minivan sped past him in the other lane, and he hoped they weren't looking in the car. "Eponine, has it occurred to you that someone could easily look in the car? It's afternoon for fuck's sake."
"What, you think someone's going to call the cops on me? Report a girl masturbating on the highway? Please," she snorted. "Oh, Grantaire, this feels so good." She arched up in the seat, and Grantaire could tell she was slipping a finger, probably two, inside herself. She bobbed her fingers in a few times, moving to her own rhythm until she released a deep moan.
With her other hand, Eponine pushed her sunglasses up on her head. She looked at her boyfriend, and the lusty look in her eyes made his cock throb. She closed her eyes, and pulled her fingers out to rub her clit again. "Damn, this was a good idea," she murmured.
Grantaire cleared his throat again, and could feel a blush rising on his cheeks. It was very difficult for him to look anywhere but at the woman on his right. His eyes flicked to the rest of the beer Eponine had been drinking, and he swiftly drank the remainder. "No drinking and driving," Eponine whispered gently in between moans. Those moans were coming faster now, and Grantaire seriously considered palming himself through his pants. A quick glance at his phone told him he was still at least 45 minutes from the next highway change.
Eponine's fingers worked more and more quickly, and she scrunched up her face in a way that let Grantaire know she was close. She was crying out now, her head turned to the side facing Grantaire, mumbling into her shoulder. Grantaire tried not to look at the way her hips were rolling, the way she bucked under her own touch. Her movements grew more frantic and desperate, until she came; moaning, in her own little world.
"Fucking fuck," said Grantaire. This was torture for him. He looked to his right and saw Eponine, grinding into her own hand. Her pace slowed.
"How much longer til we're at the beach?" she asked, withdrawing her hand finally. Grantaire sighed. Then he saw the flash of blue and red lights in his rearview mirror.
The steps that I retrace, the sad look on your face
The timing and structure - did you hear he fucked her?
A day late, a buck short, I'm writing the report
On losing and failing
When I move, I'm flailing now
Musichetta was really pissed off at herself. Since she left her friends at lunch, the rest of her day really hadn't gotten any better. As she finally left the hospital at the end of her shift, she checked her phone for texts. She hadn't gotten very far when a guy, about her age, approached her on a bicycle.
"Hey," he called softly.
"Not interested," she sighed, keeping her face to her phone. Getting catcalled was a frequent and irritating occurrence in town. Sometimes she liked the attention, but Musichetta was not in the mood for these games today.
"I'm Bossuet." The tires of his bicycle squeaked to a stop.
Musichetta snapped her head up, and stopped walking. "I'm so sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to be a bitch."
"I know," he said. "I didn't mean to come across as a creep." He smiled shyly, and Musichetta couldn't help but warm up to him. "Can we talk?"
Musichetta bit her lip. A sense of dread had been gnawing at her all day, and it worsened. It was that feeling she got when she was younger and had been called to the principal's office, or caught doing something she shouldn't by her parents. "Of course," she said, and dropped her phone into her bag.
A group of students in scrubs walked past them, undoubtedly headed into the hospital for their shift. Bossuet stepped off of his bike, and rolled it in the grass along the sidewalk as he walked beside Musichetta. It was a warm, sunny day, and Musichetta squinted her eyes, wishing she had remembered her sunglasses. The guilty feeling in her gut grew stronger, threatening to make her heave on the spot.
"I'm sorry, you know," she said. The words tumbled out of her mouth, short and fast like ripping off a band-aid. "For spilling my drink on you…and sleeping with your boyfriend."
Bossuet hadn't expected her apology to be so blunt and so honest. He also hadn't expected to run his bicycle tires over a bee's nest in the ground, but the explosion of wasps around his legs pushed Musichetta's apology to the back burner of his mind.
She was a few steps ahead of Bossuet, who stopped dead in his tracks when he felt the first couple stings. Musichetta worried for a second when she realized he was no longer beside her, and she turned, expecting to see him looking disgusted or upset with her. She quickly realized the look of horror on his face had nothing to do with her, and everything to do with the small cloud of wasps around his body.
Musichetta grabbed Bossuet's arm, nearly tearing the plaid fabric of his rolled-up sleeve. "Come on," she pleaded. He was doing a strange hop with each sting he received, still holding on to his bike with one hand. "Run, drop the damn bike. Let's go," she insisted, as he seemed to snap to his senses.
They were a five-minute walk to Musichetta's place, and, dragging Bossuet, she made it there in two. The two students were panting when they made it to her door. Bossuet tugged awkwardly on his cargo shorts, until another wasp fell out. He promptly squished it under his sandal. "I'll clean that up," he gasped.
"You in pain yet?" asked Musichetta as she fumbled to open the door.
"Yeah, I think my adrenaline's wearing off a little bit. My fucking luck." He shook his head.
"Will you come in?" she asked. "I'm sure someone from the hospital took your bike in. You need taken care of."
"Only because you asked so nicely," said Bossuet with a wink.
Musichetta pushed the door open and took his hand, leading him in. "You're awfully cheerful."
"Musichetta, when you have luck like mine, you can't afford to be anything other than cheerful. I mean, just think, I saved someone else the trouble of finding out there was a wasp nest there." He sat right on the floor of her living room, grinning despite the pain he was undoubtedly feeling.
"I guess so," she smiled. "Now, down to your boxers," the brunette said in what she hoped was an authoritative manner. It was easy for her to see why Joly and Bossuet were over the moon for each other. Joly's compassion, Bossuet's selflessness- and more charm between them than two men should be allowed.
Musichetta disappeared to her bathroom, and returned with a wire basket. "Torture devices?" teased Bossuet. He sat in place in his boxers. His skin had at least thirty welts, red and puffy. Musichetta winced just looking at him.
Still in her scrubs, unwashed and without sleep from her shift at the hospital, Musichetta began the painstaking labor of drawing the stingers out of the welts. While she was working, Bossuet didn't complain once. "This isn't what I pictured our first date to be like," he said after a little while.
Musichetta faltered. "Date?"
"Yeah," he said. Her hands worked unfailingly, running a cotton ball soaked in something that felt like heaven on his sore skin.
"Flip over," she said, pretending she hadn't heard him. "I need to get your back."
"I mean it. I was going to ask you to get coffee or dinner or something. A date." He obliged her directions and laid on his stomach, squeezing a pillow under his head.
"Why? I was expecting you to ream me out. I'm a terrible person."
"I don't think so. You didn't know you were doing anything wrong. Actually, I don't even think anything wrong happened."
Musichetta paused her ministrations. "I'm not trying to make this worse than it is, but I feel like Joly cheated on you with me." She saw Bossuet's back raise and deflate again with a huge sigh.
"I did too, at first. But the more we talked about it, I decided any woman Joly liked that much couldn't be too horrible." She couldn't see his face, but Musichetta could tell he was smiling.
"What do you mean?"
Bossuet sat up to face her. His lips were plush, fuller than Joly's. His eyes radiated the same gentleness that Joly's had. His face was inches from hers. "I just mean," he said carefully, "that I'm not upset. I just wanted to try to get to know you."
How a simple fling had turned into this, Musichetta couldn't be sure. "Thanks?" she said.
And it's happened once again
I'll turn to a friend
Someone that understands
Sees through the master plan
Bossuet leaned in and kissed her, just for a second. She pulled away first. Her eyes searched his, begging for answers. "If I kiss you, things are going to get weird. More weird," she said. Her mind was careening wildlybetween this isn't me and who I am hasn't been working out so far.
"Things already are a little weird," agreed Bossuet. "Let's pump the breaks, then. How about I call Joly and see if he'll meet up with us. For a proper date."
"Okay," agreed Musichetta. "What do we have to lose, right?"
Grantaire pulled the borrowed Honda off to the side of the road. Eponine swore and felt around the back seat until she found another lukewarm beer and opened it, taking a long drink.
"What the hell are you doing?" hissed Grantaire. He scrambled for his wallet as the cop who pulled them over started walking to them.
"Would you rather you get nailed for drinking and driving?" retorted Eponine. Grantaire wasn't really sure where she was going with this, but he nodded anyway.
"License and registration please," the officer said as soon as Grantaire rolled down his window. Eponine fished in the glove box until she found the registration papers, and handed them to the officer. The pair of them reeked of alcohol, and probably weed.
The officer spent longer than necessary inspecting the papers and Grantaire's license, and his face seemed to permanently house a smirk. He was quite good-looking, with dark eyes and cherry-colored lips. "I'll need your license too, miss."
"I beg your pardon, but I'm not the one driving."
Grantaire wasn't quite sure what rights they had, and he wasn't in the mood to find out. He grabbed Eponine's purse and retrieved her license before she could protest. She drank her beer again, clearly to provoke the officer further. Something about him really got under her skin.
"Do you know why I pulled you over?"
Grantaire ran a hand exasperatedly through his hair, letting out a sigh and shaking his head. "No, sir."
"Would you care to explain to me why you were swerving all over the road? Would a field sobriety test help you remember?"
Grantaire felt the color drain from his face. This could not be happening. "I'm not drinking or drunk, sir," he choked out.
"What about your slut of a girlfriend over there? Was she sucking you off?" the cop smirked, nodding to Eponine in the passenger seat. He threw their licenses back in the car at them.
Seeing red, Grantaire threw the car door open, hitting the officer with it in the process. He stepped out of the car, fuming. "Oh, you want to hit me now?" The cop laughed heartily. "I was only asking out of concern. I almost wrecked my car on my prom night 'cause Eponine likes giving road head."
Eponine flew out of the car, now, screaming at this man. Grantaire suddenly felt nauseous. He doubled over and emptied his stomach. He stood up, dizzy and sick. Through the haze in his head, he could hear the name Eponine was cursing out for the world to hear: Montparnasse.
But everybody's gone
And you've been there for too long
To face this on your own
Well I guess this is growing up
Huge thank you to my beta ConcreteAngelRoxHerHalo for believing in me. I know it's been a long time since the last update, but I hit a rough spot in my real life, but I'm really excited to get back to writing! Expect much more regular updates from me from now on. Also, song credit for this chapter is Dammit by Blink 182.
