"Hhmmmm…favorite color?" Will mumbles softly against my neck. He plants a few feathery kisses against my skin as I giggle softly.
"Lavender," I whisper roughly, unable to control my laughter. Will presses his lips against mine passionately. I kiss him back, thankful for the volume to be turned down on our romantic moment at 2:30 in the afternoon inside a hospital janitorial closest. We're on our "lunch break".
I burst into another fit of laughter as we both stumble over a poorly placed mop. "Shhh!" he holds a finger to his lips and covers my mouth with his free and so tightly I can barely breathe through my hysterics. It only makes me appreciate him that much more, being patient with me about admitting our three week relationship to the masses.
I kiss his palm. He removes his hand, allowing our lips to connect once more. "Are…you…a…natural…blonde," I gasp, continuing our game between kisses. I can feel his grin against my lips.
"Nnnooooo," he jokes as we part. His mouth finds the mole under my chin and kisses it gently, "it used to be green." He says simply. Again he makes me laugh. I love it.
His face is once again level with my own, contorted in mock concentration, "Hhmmm…favorite song?" he questions then kisses the tip of my nose.
"Oh that's a tough one," I giggle, kissing his cheek until my lips are at his ear, "The joker, by Steve Miller Band." I can feel his chest moving as he chuckles at our private joke. No pun intended.
"Of course it is," he kisses my neck.
"You're best subject in school?" I prompt. His hands snake their way beneath my coat and up my torso.
"Science," his words are muffled against the skin of my chest. I wore a low cut shirt today specially for this occasion.
"Heh, biggest childhood fear?" I move in to kiss the top of his head but instead find myself groaning at the very thought of my biggest childhood fear.
"Clowns," I admit. I can feel his smile against my neck as he trances a path back up to my ear.
"Father's profession?" I suddenly find myself asking.
"Alcoholic with the occasional wife beating," he says dryly, not a hint of humor in his voice. For a second I'm frozen, not knowing if his answer was serious or another of his many jests. I stay this way until I feel the rumble of his laughter against. I too smile and stretch my arms out behind his neck, preparing to ruffle his hair as our lips meet yet again. As we kiss I catch a brief glimpse of my watch.
"Frick!" I groan against his mouth, he eyes me curiously, "I'm late to see a patient, oh crap!" I quickly detach myself from him, feeling cold where our bodies once touched.
"The crazies can wait can't they?" he giggles, attempting to nuzzle against my neck.
"Oh hush," I strain my face away from his and shove him back with a palm to his chest, "they're not all crazy. Just…confused," I give him a quick peck on the cheek, "so this time I get to leave the closest first and you can wait thirty seconds before following."
"Can't we just come out of the closest together?" he grins innocently.
"Ha ha," I reply with sarcasm. I turn the door knob and propel myself from the closest before he has a chance to rebuttal. The hallway is crowded with busy doctors and frantic nurses. I'm thankful for a second time today when nobody notices my escape. I make my way swiftly down the hall, I should have kept better track of time.
"Oh fine then, just leave me here!" Will projects his from down the hall. I freeze mid step, as many others have in reaction to this outburst, "is this how it's always going be? We make out for ten minutes in a janitor's closest and go back to work never letting our coworkers in on the secret?" I spin, mortified, to meet his gaze across a sea of scrubs. There's a twinkle in his eye as he speaks, "I am so hurt, Harley," he fakes a sniffle, placing a hand over his heart, "I am so hurt that my girlfriend won't admit to our relationship? How cruel!" he shouts, his voice full of false hysterics, "Are you ashamed of me? Ashamed like you told me you would be if any ever found out about your secret Beanie Baby collection?"
"Will," I hiss, inching my way closer to him, "I don't have a Beanie Baby collection." He doesn't move at all but keeps with his act of fictionalized emotional damage. More of my coworkers have stuffed to listen at this point. From where I stand I could easily reach out and strangle him for this humiliation. I keep my hands stuffed into the pockets of my white coat to keep them from acting of their own accord.
"I bet it's a funny joke to you isn't it?" he sniffles again, "Toying with my heart for these past few weeks!" He raises his eyebrows at me, all while biting his lip to keep the grin at bay. It's a sign that he's enjoying himself. Pity I don't feel the same at this moment, "I just want the world to know I love you."
"Excuse me?" I'm frozen. He places his hands across his chest again, an earnest gesture. But how can he say he loves me already? It's too soon!
"And that from here on in I live to make you smile," he finishes, grinning sweetly. Our audience "aawww"s and claps at our display. The ones that are closest can no doubt feel my tension and are the first to leave. The others follow suit and disperse quickly.
"I bet you thought that was real funny didn't you?" I hiss. He nods, smiling so happily at me, "you certainly have a strange sense of humor…and imagination."
"The truth is stranger than fiction, my dear," he takes a step closer to me.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" and another.
"It means, Harley-Queen—"
"Ugh," I hate that nickname, and rhyming.
"That I meant what I said," he reaches for my hand, "that I love you and I don't care if everybody around here knows about us," he kisses the backs of my fingers, "I promise not to ruin your reputation."
"Too late," I pull my hand away, "you are so embarrassing."
"That's why you love me isn't it?" he snickers. Again he's frozen me with words. It takes me a long time, what feels like millenniums, to rack my brain for the truthful answer. He waits, patiently, hopeful. I've never seen the look of hope sprawled across his features before. On him it looks so…foreign.
"Yes," I answer softly before I can stop myself, "it is." This confession satisfies him. He places a tender kiss upon my lips and skips away joyfully.
I'm lost in thought. He's so…happy. For some reason it pulls me back to our tryst. What Will said about his father being an alcoholic… the way he said it. This may just be my shrink side taking over but I recognized the tone. It was a tone used by a person making a confession they're not quite ready to confess yet and brushing it off with laughter. Of course there was something more… chilling about it. I can almost feel the tragedy lingering in that simple word and protective laughter. How can a person that genuinely happy make me feel bubbly and icy all at the same time. I suppose everyone has a dark side. A place where awful memories go to settle.
"Shit!" I realize I'm still late.
