Stopgap
by. Poisoned Scarlet
9a
Her papa was scum.
Maka rested her head in her arms, gazing at the steam that rose from her cup of coffee. The street was empty, and the streetlights were circled with glowing halos. The doughnut shop she had turned to for shelter was cramped between an auto-repair shop and a taekwondo studio. The floors were relatively clean and the tables were worn with vandalism and age.
It was a place she didn't usually come to for comfort but it was the nearest coffee place she could find that wasn't closed.
She had caused a scene again.
In her defense, righteous rage had blinded her. She was unable to cope with the thought that even though her father said he loved her, he didn't. How could he when he was saying the exact same thing to every other pretty girl he met? Her fathers word was invalid now. It had always been, she decided, from the instant he'd said those words to her when she was seven and turned to another nameless girl and repeated them.
But she would deal with it.
She was already getting over it, as her coffee cooled.
"Don't worry, I'm okay."
It began when he flirted with the waitress. He always flirted with the waitresses. He flirted with anything that had legs and a vagina, actually. Size didn't matter; shape didn't matter, either, although he had a preference. But so long as he was able to get his fill, he did not care, and that was what disgusted her the most about him. He was shameless and selfish, how could someone not feel ashamed about that? Maka wondered. Although, she was the same in a way, and it made bitter tears well in her eyes.
This waitress had taken the bait and left him her phone number when she brought the check in early, as they ate in strained silence. They thought Maka hadn't noticed their covert looks: the coy curl of her grin and the excited, lewd, twinkle in her fathers eyes. They thought she wouldn't know the difference between a cheery smile and one with hidden intentions, a flippant comment and one loaded with meaning.
They were wrong.
But she dealt with it – even if her way of dealing with it involved cursing him to hell and running out, disappearing around a corner with her fathers helpless cries fading along with everything else.
"I'm okay."
Maka dropped her head back in her arms to stifle the sudden surge of anger. It wasn't as if she could call Tsubaki to vent: her phone had kicked the bucket an hour into dinner. She couldn't get a hold of anyone even if she tried. However, at the moment, she was grateful for this cut-off of her social life.
It gave her time to think.
It gave her time to deal with it like she always did.
"I'm okay."
"So this is where you've been all this time."
"Wha – Soul?" Maka snapped her head up, shocked to find him coming over to her with a black helmet tucked under his arm. He placed it on the table, the scowl profound on his face. "What are you doing here – do you know what time it is?"
"I should be telling you that. Tsubaki's worried sick about you!" Soul barked, and she recoiled at his lecturing tone. "If you're gonna' waste time beating yourself over it, you could at least tell Tsubaki not to wait up for you. It'd save us both the trouble of coming out here to look for you."
"Beating myself up over what?" Maka narrowed her eyes, guarded. "What are you talking about?"
"That's what'd like to know. What were you doing out so late in the first place?" Soul studied her, how she refused to meet his gaze and looked about ready to walk out on him. Maybe it was a dumb idea to say it, but... "You cheating on me or something?"
It was a dumb idea. This was why he got into so much trouble; why he got his ass handed to him sometimes.
Why did he say it when he knew it was a sore topic for her?
Because he had no filter? Because he wanted her to tell him what ate her up inside at night, even if it meant hurting her in the process? Because he was exhausted, sexually frustrated, and he knew what would happen next...? Or was it because he was simply a heartless jerk who somehow got a rise in rubbing salt on wounds?
He decided he wasn't a heartless jerk: he was just a fuckin' idiot.
"Y...YOU JERK!"
He admitted it: he deserved that punch.
"How could you even say that – ugh! I'd be more convinced about you cheating on me with some other girl! You men are all the same – I'd never do that– ARGH!"
But he could fairly say he did not deserve the next two punches or that whack on the head with his bikes helmet. That was just overkill. He got the point after the first punch: he was an idiot, he was a jerk, and maybe he should try other tactics to get her to open up to him.
"Hold it – jeez, Maka, I was kidding! I didn't mean – WATCH WHERE YOU SWING THAT THING!"
"It wasn't funny! I don't even know why you're here! It's none of your business! Just go – away!" She threw the helmet at him, intent on knocking him out cold, but he caught it swiftly and fixed her with a stern stare.
"I'm here to take you back home, what do you think I'm here for? A cup of coffee?" He sneered.
"I don't know! That's why – that's why I'm asking you, you moron!" She shouted thickly, but she bravely kept her eyes from misting over with tears.
"I'm okay."
"I came because I care about you!"
It was a lie.
She knew a lie when she saw one.
"I wouldn't be running around at three in the fucking morning if I didn't!"
Who would, really? They'd wait for a reasonable hour to search for her – it was the normal thing to do, the easy thing to do. They'd make up excuses (oh, she just got held back, that's all), they'd convince themselves into thinking she was okay and she didn't need help because Maka was a tough girl and she could deal with it by herself.
She always dealt with it by herself.
"I'm okay."
Always by herself.
"... I'm okay. You didn't need to come get me." Maka quietly said, resigned. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
Who else had told her that?
Oh, yeah.
Tsubaki, the only other person who knew why she really wasn't okay.
9b
Thinking back to it, perhaps he hadn't lied when he said he cared about her. The words had come unbidden; healing words that could mend the singed edges of her heart. He'd mulled over them as he drove her back home, struggling to decide if he meant them or if he was only going to end up as another scar in her soul because he lied.
He decided he did care about her.
He did.
Just not in the way friends did.
And that was what stumped him, because in what other way could he care about this girl?
"Maka—!" She pushed her mouth against his, pushed her body against his in silent pleading. Her hands grabbed his stunned ones, guiding them under the hem of her skirt; her breasts. Outside, a crescent moon surrounded by indigo clouds cast a weary sheen upon the land. It made her skin glow a porcelain white, light her hair a soft blonde as his fingers combed through them.
The doorknob of her apartment dug into his lower back.
It was distracting but not as distracting as her soft lips, his growing excitement at what would come next.
She ripped off his jacket, tossing it somewhere by his feet.
His hands slid up her shirt, broke past the border of her bra to fondle the soft flesh underneath. Her soft whines enticed him, made him want more. Soon enough, he was attacking her mouth just as desperately as she was. But was he being dumb again? Making another mistake, hurting her again? She sucked in those tears, refused to shed them, and now she was kissing him with a feral hunger that did not match their previous mood, which had been strained and gloomy.
"Wait..."
Maybe the cool thing to do was go with it. Tsubaki was right: their relationship was warped. It relied on their attraction for each other and nothing else. Their communication had been strictly restrained to ensure estrangement, but he knew more about her than he was allowed to now. It had been safe before, maybe he could've gone with it if Tsubaki hadn't told him a fraction of her life, but now he knew too much. He knew she was hurt and he knew she was not okay, no matter how many times she said she was.
She wasn't okay.
So this wasn't okay.
Nothing that happened within the past thirty or so hours was okay.
"Stop."
Trying to be cool right now... would not be okay.
"You...you don't want it?" Maka whispered, holding back stung tears. Their shaky pants cleared the still silence of the night. "You..."
"...Not like this." He whispered, heart calming. His throat felt tight. "Using me to feel better – that's not cool."
She didn't reply for a few seconds. It was dark in her apartment despite the moonlight that filtered through the blinds. He couldn't see her face but he wished he could. "Then – I guess you should go." She pushed back, searching the floor for answers as to why the rejection had hurt so much. "It's late. Thanks for driving me back..."
He reached down to pick up his jacket but didn't move.
"Go." She turned away from him, placing a tremulous hand over her mouth to muffle her hitching breaths every time she held back sobs.
The door was right there.
All it took was a step, a twist of a knob, and he was home free.
No strings-attached, right? That was what they'd decided upon? It was a fantastic agreement: he could have her all he wanted and he would have no obligation to her. Then what was all this talk about cheating and caring and refusing her when she was only too willing – even if it was for the wrong reasons?
If he was a real cool guy, it wouldn't matter, because cool guys didn't bother themselves with such finicky emotions; situations. They didn't bother with troubled girls, they didn't bother with anything but themselves. To do otherwise would be, well, uncool. It was a simple ideal to live by, that was why he liked it.
"Come here." He rested his cheek against her head when he pulled her back to him, not minding that she was moistening his shirt and her sobs sounded more like breathless squeaks because she was too prideful to admit defeat. Her fingers wrinkled his shirt, dug into his chest and into the scar that ran down to his hip.
He never did follow norms, he mused.
His cool was something of his own creation.
"...I brought this CD for you." Soul told her blankly as she cried, remembering he'd left it in his jacket and forgot to give it to her while they had been at the basketball courts. "You can listen to it when you have time." And she seemingly didn't hear him, gasping in breaths as if she were drowning. "Since your taste in music sucks." And he decided she really wasn't listening to him because she hadn't hit him on the head yet. Somehow, that made his mood plummet even more. If she'd at least reacted, it would have given him some relief that she wasn't too caught up in the throes of pain.
So he slid down the wall by the door and made himself comfortable, pulling her protectively close to him and observing the ceiling that danced with car headlights while she sobbed into his chest for all the things that weren't okay.
And the gap that separated them shrunk.
A.N: Okay, this is the end of this arc. I decided I'm going along with my first plan, which was to make three mini series: Quicksand, which is more of an introduction; Stopgap, which is developing some level of familiarity between them; and, finally, Freefall, which will deal with the rest and answer why Soul has that scar on his chest :D Freefall will be published tomorrow.
Scarlett.