"That's what you are, Marleene," that's all I've been mumbling to myself since I let myself sink and sulk on the cold tiled floor. I hate how I'm upset over shit like that. It is what I am anyway. I guess it that it ticked me off was that it was him who was about to say it. For all intents and purposes, I am and if he remembers, he'd remember me as just that but I don't want to know – I've already beat myself over it. Those eyes though, sent uncomfortable shivers down my body – accusatory eyes.
Sobering up, I pull out some guest towels from the sink, undress, and enter the shower. Perhaps the soothing trickles of water will help me unwind. Yeah, that sounds nice.
Closing my eyes, I turn the knob to medium and just revel in the sensations of mini masseuses massaging my body.
Obnoxious pounding on the door disturbs my nirvana, "Marleene, open up!" ode to fucking joy, just the person I wanted to see, Phillip.
My eyes threaten to bulge out of their sockets and a feel a vein in my temple ready to burst. Can't a girl get some peace around here? I try to ignore him but his steady knocks throw me off, "You may not know this but I happen to be taking a shower!" I shout over the drizzle.
"I don't care! You can't be alone in their, Micks's specific orders!" he retorts.
Fucking tap dancing Jesus, that bastard has it out for me. I put it on my grams, Dolores. It must be his way of reining his wrath over my sinner ass, "Fuck that shit!"
"Either you open the door or I ram it down!"
Retaliating with anything else would be futile; he will definitely ram that bitch down. Banging my head against the shower tile, I turn off the water, wrap a towel around myself, and shimmy to the door, "Maria won't enjoy that!" I shout as a last resort.
"It's a damn good thing she and the clan went out for some grub!" he replies and I know, damn it, I know he's smirking.
Huffing out a defeated sigh, I do as I'm told. The door reveal a rather impatient, foot tapping, arms crossed Phil. He eyes me with surprise. What'd he think I was doing? Narrowing my eyes, "As I said, I was taking a shower not on a pill hunt."
"I can tell…"
"How am I supposed to shower in comfort?" he quirks a brow and I bite myself, "Let me enlighten you, honey. In this house, I am a human being. I get the right to privacy and whatever else. Outside, I'm all the variations of 'slut' and 'whore'. I'm inhuman during the hours that range from twelve and an hour before the sun rises in the secrecy of rundown motels and backseats. Last time I checked, this is my home," I raise my towel to show how fucking modest I can be, "I love my damn privacy," I spit. Outside I don't get to choose who can see me the way I was delivered into the world but I'll be damned if I don't take advantage of the choice I have here.
Digesting my words, the man nods. His lips quirked upwards as if he's had some kind of realization, "You're still mad, aren't ya'?" I keep a stern expression, "Well, keep on getting wrinkles. I am not kissing your ass. What's said was said and done was done. I speak my mind and barely filter it, but don't mind me. I'll keep my mouth shut for the duration of your shower and I'll even turn so you can enjoy your privacy," to shove it in my face, he twists around. He's gloating at the fact that, yes, I'm bothered, "Go on, enjoy 'cus soon it'll be midnight."
Resisting the urge to beat the life out of him, I shuffle back into the shower and purposely throw my towel at him.
The water comes back on but I'm still touchy over the fact that there's an unwanted guest in the room. I don't feel safe – sue me. Men are capable of the vilest things. Goosebumps rise along my arms. Biting my lip, "Are you still turned around?" I peep.
"Yeah, why?"
"Just…you're not going to be slick, right?" I ask, fuck the timid sound in my voice.
"I'm the epitome of a gentleman; of course I'll stay glued like this," he replies in his matter-of-fact tone.
Nodding, convincing myself, I take hold of Dove bar and rag and go about rinsing and lathering the day's dirt.
ΔΔΔΔ
Before abandoning the shower, I take the time to comb through my hair. Spurts of dye mean that I still have to rinse some more but I'm curious of Micks and company's whereabouts, "Where'd you say they went?"
"They said food but I think they're around town, I haven't heard them. Something tells me that Little Miss Nosy overheard our little rumble."
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I mutter a string of cusses. That girl, that girl and her antics, "That's not awkward…" I resume to brushing and towel-dry my hair. It hits me, I forgot the robe. I'm naked with a towel turban and no robe. Fuck me. Seeing as there's no other way, "Punk?"
"That's me!"
Frowning, "No shit! I need my towel," I cringe at the awkwardness.
"Oh. Come on out then," he says as if there's not seriously wrong with that. I die a little inside, "I won't look. I'll close my eyes."
Coaxing myself into thinking nothing of it, "Those eyes better be closed, so help you…" I slip out and quickly pat myself down. I throw on my undergarments, toss on my borrowed shirt, and wrap the towel around my waist.
"You offend me, really, you do."
Passing by him to get in reach of the sink, I notice that signature smirk of his and that his eyes are closed. No signs of peeking whatsoever, "Oh yeah, what you said wasn't anything of that kind," I mutter as I stoop down to search for shaving blades. I push myself to still be mad but the simple gesture of keeping his eyes closed…I'm soft, that's just it.
Finding what I need, I stand up only to bump into him and his hands instinctively grab onto my hips. My throat parches and I can't find a way to breathe. I tense up, looking into his eyes, "Can you…? I need to shave…"
Phil doesn't react. His lips move, "Uh, ye…no. No."
Confused, "I. Need. To. Shave," I enunciate.
My green eyed guest spasms back to life, releases me, and pats the sink, "Sit."
Even more confusedly, "Why?"
He throws a rag onto his shoulder and takes hold of my razor, "I shall be your leg barber this lovely evening."
Stifling my laughter, "Has the steam gotten to you? Hell no, give me the rag and razor. While you're at it, leave so I can do this with dignity," I reach for my belongings but he raises them above my reach, "Stop it, I'm not playing!"
"No can do, beautiful," I let out a frustrated growl, "I can't risk losi-can't risk you pulling something funny."
Tell me you didn't catch that, kid. Of course I caught it. Toning down, "I don't know, Phil," he needs to leave, like, now. This isn't right. Nothing's right. What if he knows? What if he's being sly while everyone is away?
"Plant it and let me do this. I shave my face, why would shaving legs be any harder?"
Reaching for the supplies once more without a win, I obey and slump over the sink as Punk soaks the rag and applies my peach smelling shaving cream. His fingers glide over my leg, feeling like satin. My breath hitches within me and I can't thank my female anatomy enough. If I'd been born male…things…things would be extremely awkward.
Phil props my foot against his hip, hold my leg, and glides the razor along it. All prior feelings dissipate leaving nothing but embarrassment. The man has got a full view of my panties and probably the fact that they're practically sheer. Still he continues without any funny moves.
"If I really wanted to end it, I wouldn't use a shaving razor…" I comment to ease the silence.
"I'm not inside that head of yours, am I?" he replies, grabbing the rag to rub off excess cream. His fingers graze my newly shaved leg, "Not bad, huh?" I shrug, "Do you shave the above the knee?"
Giggles, unwanted ones, file out my mouth. The question and this mind of mine. Phil gives me a funky glance, "I'm sorry. I do but I can do that myself," I try for the razor once more.
"Just tell me up to where. Trust me, honey, I've seen it all before. Unless, your lady bits smell like fish, I'm following Micks's orders," if looks could fucking kill, "Yeah, yeah act all offended. So, I suppose I'll go from here," his hand lands on my knee, "To here," his hand slides up all the way before my own holds it down.
Lifting my gaze, "Respect me," I mutter.
Punk leans in, looking me dead in the eyes, "It was a simple question."
Squeezing his hand, "That totally wasn't called for," I answer, "What if I did this?" and I place my hand over his crotch. How I went for it, God knows. I wouldn't do this even in another life. To my disgrace, he groans and jerks slightly forward. I retract my hand and face downward. And there you have it, the lack inhibitions in a whore.
Wordlessly, I hop off the sink and high tail out of the bathroom. I'm unbelievable. My hand tingles as well as my leg and for the fuck of it, I'll throw in how turned on I am. Fuck hormones.
ΔΔΔΔ
Predicting that the company will barge in at any given moment, I rummage through my clothes for something suitable. First impressions gotta be the best impressions, especially if I'm meeting people that are a part of Punk's life. If my long forgotten ex remembers me, he surely would've spent some time ranting about me – not being conceited or anything, I mean, I would've given the circumstances.
Coming down to it, I think my babydoll dress and flats will suffice. I should probably add pantyhose or stockings to cover my mismatched legs. Yeah, I will. Dabbing on some concealer and coating the lashes with mascara, I check the face off. The hair, au natural, is worthy of a commercial – must be the burgundy.
Ghosting through the living room, I find Punk laid out on the couch, fully engrossed in whatever movie AMC is streaming. Having no desire to encourage any more awkwardness, I slip into the kitchen.
Drumming my finger across the appliances as I scrounge along sink cupboards, I look for a relaxant. In three days, the woman of the house couldn't have dried it out, right? I look over to the stove's clock and nerves escalate a bit more. For all they know, Maria and Colt will be meeting a bitch that's fallen off her rocker, "Where are you, damnit?"
Another couple of cupboards down the road and I find the 'X' that marks the spot. Come to momma! My meds have been found, except the more distilled kind, wine. I frown a fraction but uncork it. My lips attach themselves to it and I go through it like I've been a desert castaway without any source of water.
The distinct sound of the front door and ruckus of human laughter alarms me and sends me into a mode. Showtime! Pasting on a demur smile, I walk out into the living room. Everyone quiets down as if they're facing a real life ghost. Talk about awkward.
"Auntie!" yelps my nephew as he flies into my arms…well, legs.
Bending down to smother him in kisses and whatnot, "Papi, donde te metiste? Feels like I saw you last year."
The little man shimmies out of me and mumbles, "Maria's watching…"
My face drops, "Your point?"
"She's nice and pretty and I like her!" he replies, abashedly.
"Oh…" I smile because there's really nothing else to day without being a bitch. He runs off to Phil either way.
Smoothing my dress, I smile in the direction of the only new face in the room, Maria. When they say that the TV doesn't do anybody justice, they ain't lying. This woman is walking, talking sex on legs. It's like the infamous diva doesn't even try. Internally, my blood simmers. It's a wonder why Phil would ever decide to dump her and because he probably hasn't, it must mean he's got a good head on his shoulders. Five star bitch, she is.
"You really are as beautiful as they say," I mention as a way to kick start this little shindig.
The bombshell bats her lashes and shakes her pretty little head, "That's so nice of you. Who told you that lie?" Honey, if it were a lie, I'm pretty fucking sure the WWE would've cast you aside…
"Who do you think? Phil, of course," it's true, give or take some words. Call it paraphrasing.
The man in question comes around, "What'd I say?"
Now, I could just stow away but I figured that we'll be co-existing. The whole shower thing best remain a hidden, "Oh, you know, just mentioning to Maria how pretty she is. You did her justice, Phillip," I grin at him. He and I reflect our true feelings with the eyes.
Punk nods, not sure whether to flat out call me out or go with it, "Yeah…"
Oblivious to the tension under staged smiles, Maria smiles bright as light, "Babe, that's awfully sweet. I didn't think you talked about me!"
The owl eyed diva leans up to plant one on Punk but he gives her the cheek, "Yeah, I do, sweet tart," Sweet tart? Pet names…wow.
"Well, it's grand to finally meet you, Marleene. You're the artist that did the memorial piece on Punkers, right?" I nod, "Punk was right when he said you were a beautiful woman," she states with that unwipeable smile. In a peculiar way, it's unnerving.
Rubbing my arm, "That's flattering. Punk must've been playing with ya'."
She clicks her tongue, "Nope. He was talking about you," if I'm not seeing shit, her smile falters for a millisecond.
Not knowing what to say, I turn to observe both of my best friends, Micks and Wes, who're gushing over some ultrasounds. Somebody clears their throat, "How about we go say 'hello' to Colt?" suggests Punk. Well, suggests while steering me out the door.
"Hands off!" I growl as soon as we're out of hearing range.
"Quit being a grudge ridden bitch," he spits back.
We near the car in which the OVW wrestlers and WWE diva have been cruising in. A dark figure, only visible by the orange butt of his cigarette, leans up against said car. The closer we get, the more the film noire feel rises. I can't see his face but can see that he's a fucking tree.
"Put that nasty shit out, man," says Phil to which the other gentleman, Colt, shakes off with a chuckle but obliges, "This, here, is Marleene," he nudges me forth like I'm some kind of show pooch.
Colt opens the car door to lighten up his view and I immediately recognize his old mug, thus making my eyes narrow, "It's you…"
A/N- I feel like a tease, lol. So things are pretty tense with all these new people coming in. I don't know how important they'll be but we'll see! To all my readers, step out the dark! Letmme see what's on your mind!