AN: I got a lot of reviews saying 'please make a second chapter!' and 'so what happened next?' with Written in Red. At first I was thinking, 'No way! I want it to stay a oneshot!' and then I thought, 'Well, maybe...' and it went back and forth like that for a few months until I decided to write this one night. So...here we are. I liked the closure of the last chapter, but I have to admit that a reunion would be too awkwardly hilarious to pass up. (By the way, did you guys like how I named the chapters? Too Little and Too Late? XD Because Courtney contradicts herself.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Total Drama because the Canadians got there first.
Written in Red
I paced across my living room, chewing angrily on my thumbnail.
I hated this. I hated it.
I hated how my stomach was twisted into knots.
I hated how my eyes constantly flicked toward the door.
I hated how it took me an hour to get dressed, and how many outfits I tried on before I finally pushed my wardrobe over and put on sweats.
I hated how I pulled my hair this way and that, trying to get it right before I gave up and mussed it with my fingers.
I hated how I couldn't concentrate on anything except the last thing I wanted to think about.
If my plan worked as I'd hoped, I looked like I'd just rolled out of bed. Like I'd forgotten that he was coming. Like I didn't care.
Because that was me. That was Courtney Alvaro. I was too damn stubborn to try to care.
And I hated it.
Because if I rooted deep in my heart, past the barbed wire and bramble bushes and brick walls, I would be able to see that I actually did care. A lot.
Or did I?
Or was I just nervous on how to handle rejecting him and seeing that crumpling look in his eyes? Did I ever really like him? Or did I just delude myself because I was tired of running? Was I only so upset over the Gwen fiasco because it meant that Duncan didn't like me anymore? Was I so conceited that I got bratty and angry when I wasn't the center of someone's world?
Augh! Shut up, shut up, shut up! I stopped, bare feet sinking into the carpet of my duplex, and smacked my head a few times to try and clear the tangled mess inside.
I'd put up so many barricades and guards around my heart to keep people from reading it that I couldn't even read it myself anymore.
Wasn't the whole 'figuring yourself out' phase supposed to happen as a teenager? Hadn't I already gone through this once? But Duncan's call, three days ago, had changed everything.
Because that's what he does. He takes a perfectly normal, calm life and turns it upside down without even trying. Whenever he gets involved, I always second-guess myself. My carefully calculated plans turn to dust. My defenses crumble.
I was perfectly content in my own world, before him – but it was only when he showed me the world outside that I realized how small and cramped my own really was.
Like a bottle of soda – it will stay flat until something shakes it up. Well, I've fizzed over the top now.
Or did that already happen; years ago?
Ding-dong!
My heart leaped in my chest before settling down to nearly a thousand beats per minute.
Hadn't I prepared for this? I thought. Wasn't I listening for a car engine or footsteps on the sidewalk? And then, I'm surprised Duncan would actually use a doorbell.
I waited almost a full minute – until he rang it again – and then a few more seconds. That's right, I'd forgotten. I just rolled out of bed and am rushing to the door to see who it is.
Finally, I stepped into the square of linoleum flooring that sat in the corner with the door; the chill shocking my toes and making me wish I had put on socks.
Then I opened the door, faking a yawn that might have been overkill. The winter wind that rushed through the door made the linoleum insignificant, and my skin braced it with goosebumps. My head ducked down, one arm wrapping itself around my torso – which meant my observations began at his feet and worked their way up.
It had been four years – I didn't realize how much he could've changed, and it made me re-think how much – or little – I had changed as well.
Of course, he was an adult now – I couldn't have expected him to hang on to the goth/punk look.
He was wearing Tombstone boots and grey cargo pants, both caked with snow in places. The lower hem of a dark blue shirt was visible below a cotton Bedford coat that was that strange rustic color between green and grey. Snow was melting off his shoulders, leaving damp patches that seemed too large for the short time he had been standing outside.
His cheeks, his lips, the tip of his nose, and his ears were all flushed red from the cold. How long exactly had he been out there? Had he been pacing, just as I was? Nervous to see an old flame after so long – and over such unusual circumstances.
Or maybe I was imagining things; creating situations that suit me best.
Most of the piercings were gone – all but the two in his left ear. The Mohawk was no more, as well. His close-cropped black hair was ungelled and dusted with snow, making him look older than he was.
But there were two things that had stayed absolutely the same; the things that assured me that yes, this was Duncan, the one that I knew, the one caught between boy and man.
That scruffy goatee still decorated his chin, and I was suddenly caught up in the memories of the stubble scratching my cheeks when we kissed. It was one of the many things about him that I grew to love.
And, not that I had expected them to change, his pale blue eyes were still there, staring, digging up feelings and thoughts I never knew I had. Frozen-lake eyes that should have been cold, but smoldered with a kindling warmth that I had indulged in again and again.
It didn't take a soul-search to know that I was glad for those things.
As for me; no dramatic changes. My plain brown hair, though highlighted, was just longer – down to the bottom of my shoulder blades – and I normally wore it curled into those sexy, loose waves that Viola the hairdresser calls 'business casual', but other than that I was still tan and freckled and preppy as hell.
Though, right now, my hair was probably tangled and frizzy and so not sexy.
Suddenly, I was way too aware of the tea stain on the knee of my sweatpants that I sort of got out but could still see if I looked close enough. I was also aware of how dumpy my college hoodie made me look, and how it rose up my neck and choked me.
Why, oh why had I dressed like a slob?
Why did I always have to be so damn proud?
Duncan broke the silence first – another thing that had changed. He adored silence; I was the one who couldn't go ten minutes without talking. Is that what annoyed him? Is that why...?
Stop it. Concentrate on what he's saying and for the love of God, don't stammer or twirl that piece of hair around your finger.
"...that you forgot I was comin," he was saying, a hand reaching up to scratch the back of his head.
That I remembered. He does that when he doesn't have a plan; when I've caught him off guard and he has to struggle for something to say.
And that little familiar understanding, if anything, gave me the strength to respond in a smart and independent and oh-so-Courtney way.
"Oh, right. Was today the third? I've just been so busy lately; I suppose I haven't been keeping track of the days." I responded smoothly, stepping back casually to let him in like a good little hostess.
Liar. You always know what day it is. And you haven't been working at all – you have vacation until the fifth, and you finished your essay on the ethical irrelevancy of defense attorneys early.
Duncan stepped inside like he was supposed to – though he didn't wipe his feet – and I closed the door behind him.
"Right. S'okay." He murmured. Okay, where was the smart remark? The smirk? The raised brow? This wasn't the Duncan I remembered.
Then I realized: of course it wasn't. Smooth, flirtatious, teasing, Bad Boy Duncan was left behind in the teenage years. So maybe this newer, mellower Duncan would be easier to deal with. Once I could get past how discerning it was, of course.
"Go ahead and sit down. Do you want something to drink?" I was amazed at how calm, how casual and cool my voice was coming out when my insides felt like a wasp nest had been angered within. What also amazed me was at how easy it all was; to separate my mind and my emotions. Yes, I would make a great politician.
Obedient guest, Duncan sat on the couch nearest the door, the same one I had been sitting in when I got his call on New Years' Eve. The irony did not escape me.
"Uh, nah. I grabbed some breakfast before I came, so...I'm not thirsty, thanks," he bit out awkwardly, eyes darting about the room to take in details – looking everywhere but me.
Duncan, I realized, was not as efficiently detached as I. I felt a twinge of satisfaction, but also a prickle of unease. The Duncan I know is never stumbling or uncertain. He was always confident and so sure of his own actions that he would never even admit when he was wrong, even if it was obvious.
No matter how I composed myself here, he was going to make this awkward.
"Okay, just let me go get dressed." The words were out before I had even thought them. Of course! Why hadn't I thought of this before? If I had really been caught unawares, would I not want the time to get dressed?
Without waiting for his answer, I turned tail and took off down the hall at a fast clip.
My bedroom felt warmer than usual. Or was it just me?
I stood against the door for a few moments, thinking of nothing in particular, just staring at the clothes strewn across my floor and tumbling from the open drawers of my turned-over wardrobe.
You thought I was kidding. No, I had actually pushed it over. My temper was that bad.
But how the hell was I supposed to handle this now? I could barely even look at him.
This was a mistake. Duncan was a mistake. He had always been a mistake.
But it was too late now.
And by the time I realized that I had been standing there far too long, I still had no answers.
I returned to the living room in a carefully formulated casual walk, body dressed in designer jeans and a cardigan and hair swept hastily in a ponytail.
Duncan was in that same spot – I don't think even the position of his hands had moved – and his pale eyes flicked up to mine when I entered.
A moment of lightning, and then it was gone. Just like us.
"So," I began, sitting regally on the couch beside him – but not too close. "How was your hangover?"
How much did that sentence weigh? Enough to break the ice.
Duncan huffed quickly in surprised laughter, the familiar sound tingling in my memory.
"Pretty radical. I'm surprised I remembered anything in the mornin'." He replied with a smile, those straight white teeth flashing hypnotically at me, mockingly reminding me of the times my lips would brush against them while...
Whack!
That was me giving myself a mental slap in the face. Reminiscing about a guy you used to date while he's sitting right in front of you is not a good idea.
He was looking at me, a question in his eyes. And suddenly I realized; I'd seen that look before, too. And I'd never even bothered to learn to read him. Maybe it was me who had been the bad girlfriend.
That thought had circled with thousands of others after our breakup, but never before had I considered it a strong possibility.
The striking look faded, and he grinned hesitantly. "Good thing I did, huh?"
A hope. A lingering hope in his voice that pierced at my insides with its pure, honest emotion. Never before had he laid himself so bare, for me to see. He was waiting for me, walls down, eyes shining through the fog to form a clear path for me to follow.
"And why exactly did you want to come here, Duncan? What did you think you could accomplish?"
The clipped, almost rude, words tumbled out before I thought them.
He looked surprised for a moment, looked away, looked back, opened his mouth, closed it, looked away again for a long time, and looked back again.
"I don't know."
I raised a delicate eyebrow, crossing my arms across my chest. "You don't know? Really?" I asked him dryly.
He shrugged, right hand moving to rub the back of his neck again. "I was hoping you would tell me. You're the one who said I should see you in person," he mumbled.
It was my turn to bob my jaw like a fish. I had said that, hadn't I? I could tell him his alcoholic memory was faulty, but I doubt he would believe it.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, trying to think of something suave to shoot back. I didn't come up with anything, so my mouth shot off by itself again.
"Well, why don't you tell me what you want, Duncan?" I snapped sharply. He looked startled; I, too, wondered where that came from. "You never tell me what you want! It's like you just expect me to read your mind!" Hey, that was true. I should shoot my mouth off more often. "What do you want from me, huh? Do you want me back? Do you want to be friends? Do you want closure, catching up, a coffee date, what? Tell me what you want, Duncan!"
He looked a little blown away, eyes darting around my face as if searching for the right answer. I knew there wasn't one. I didn't know what I wanted his answer to be; only that he better not want to be friends. We'd tried that before.
Duncan shifted to face forward on the couch, his face shifting from shock to confusion in a heartbeat. He rocked forward, leaning his elbows on his knees as he seemingly mulled over what he was supposed to say.
The old-fashioned grandfather clock in the kitchen groaned out a few tolls, adding to the pressure of the situation. I jumped slightly, but Duncan didn't move. He didn't move for a long time. It was when I began to seriously consider checking his pulse that he sighed, eyes closing momentarily before fixing on the far wall.
"I want you back, Court."
My breath caught, and I'm sure he heard. But he wasn't smiling or making a move or even looking into my eyes. In fact, he looked downright...hateful.
Duncan ducked his head down to run his fingers through that soft-looking jet black hair. He sounded defeated, repentant, and a little angry. "But I know you're not gonna take me back. You've got too much damn pride. You can't even think of any way you could ever be wrong about anything! Even if you wanted me, you'd be too proud to admit it, no matter how far I put myself out there."
I didn't say anything. What could I say? I couldn't say he was right, even though he was. I couldn't say he was wrong, because he wasn't. I couldn't even counter with a declaration of my own, because words had failed me at last.
"What, now you've got nothin' to say?" he snapped, anger winning out in his emotional tumble, as it usually did. "Did I hit a bullseye, huh?"
I shifted, letting a free lock of hair cover my eyes. I couldn't look at him, and I couldn't speak. It was more than a physical manifestation.
I'd never been paralyzed before, but I imagine this was what it felt like. Utterly useless, pinned by nothing more than an angry pair of eyes I couldn't see.
Statuesque; frozen; stationary; immobile.
"Hey, look at me," he demanded.
No.
"Look at me!"
I can't!
"Look at me, Princess!"
At the same moment that his hand tugged at my upper arm, swinging me around to face him, the words registered, finding us both surprised.
Princess.
Our eyes met, locked, and held. He was closer than I thought he was. My mind went foggy.
"I mean..." he breathed, trying in vain to cover his mistake. But his voice ebbed away, warm emotions swimming like fish through his cyan eyes. His hard edges seemed to melt away, leaving him soft and vulnerable; I could see straight through his tough skin. I could see exactly what he was thinking now.
But how to put it into words I couldn't even begin to conjure.
Suddenly the hand around my arm loosened, sliding up my shoulder to my neck. The feel of his cool fingers sent a rush across my skin, and I shivered. This should not be happening.
So why was I leaning into his touch? Why did my own hand reach out to cover his? Why was I leaning forward? Why was he?
Those round blue eyes were coming closer, filling my vision and glazing over with desire.
"Princess..." Duncan whispered again, the husky timbre of his voice shuddering through my body. His heat was closing in, the colors of the room melting to grey as his other hand slipped along the sliver of skin showing at my waist.
The need traveled through my lips, down toward my chest and spread out through my limbs, sparking at my fingertips where they met his chest. Everything was hazy, uncertain, tinged with a reddish-pink and dots of blue.
I could feel my eyes begin to flutter closed, my lips part to greet his, the logical part of my brain shutting down as I let emotion take over.
Because suddenly I was no longer Courtney Alvaro, twenty-one years old, law student and legal resident of Gatineau, Ontario. I was sixteen, ambitious, and standing on the porch of the Gopher cabin, feeling a delinquent press against by back.
But, instead of pulling him toward me and crashing our lips together in a flash of sugar and hormones, I quickly and hurriedly turned my head.
The kiss, stolen from its moment in time, fell through the air, never existing for me to regret.
AN: Ta-da! I've decided it will be a three-shot, since this one was getting pretty long. The conclusion will be up (fairly, possibly, maybe) soon, so hang on to that cliff!
Read and Review, please!