A/N- Thought Marleene needed to step out of her dark place for a while.
Raw is bumming me out! The weak storylines, people…I miss the Attitude Era—that shit was full of unexpected nonsense—ENTERTAINING NONSENSE!
So yeah, drop me some PMs or Reviews/Comments…letmme see what ya'll thinking. Enjoy!
From watching Claire struggle to regain her memory on LOST to watching how this chick manipulates the men around her on Rubi to reading about the struggles of Rick Grimes and his group of survivors in The Walking Dead, I find myself not being able to focus on shit for more than 10mins. My train of thought keeps returning to the same station; keeps bringing up my tainted past and the tragedies within them: Noah being the centric thought.
Checking the clock for the 20th time, I groan at it being just 10 in the morning. By me, I would've been at work since long ago but Carlos wants me to 'chill' until 12. Micks returned to her stoic way and in a non-verbal way kicked me out of her room earlier which ultimately left me to the tv, comics, a bottle of cheap liquor, and myself.
My phone vibrates giving my heart jump, almost making me tip over the open bottle next to me. I open it and smile. Colt: Big bootaay! How I miss you ): As for the psychs info…I left it on top of the fridge. G2G though—workout! Having asked him for Betty's packet almost escaped my mind. Now I just gotta find the strength to get up.
Rolling my neck, I throw off my Batman blanket and stand up to stretch my cramping muscles. Looking at the sight around me, I figure that I could waste time productively by actually doing the maid work. You can always just take a little nap…Shaking myself off, I head over to my room and dig under my bed for my stereo. Where are my CDs? After scrounging around the perimeter of my room, I only manage to find a couple of my cassettes.
Lugging my stereo and cassettes over to the table, I place them down and randomly pop in one of the cassettes. A smile graces my face when I hear the all familiar cumbia beat of the oldies band Angeles Azules. Cumbia mix, fuck yes! Feeling the beat overtake my body, off goes my robe revealing that I'm in only a black v-neck and Ninja Turtles undies. Turning up the stereo not giving a damn about the neighbors, I commence my cleaning spree. Let's get shit done…
12 songs later, I'm here in the kitchen multi-tasking: washing dishes, cleaning the counters, scrubbing the stove, and sweeping. My stereo is still on full blast with Sonora Dinamita which makes it difficult for me not to dance or sing along.
Sweeping the floor, I shriek as the first notes of my favorite cumbia starts. Running over, I turn up the volume just a bit more and start sweeping…well more like dancing with the broom. It's a very good thing I'm alone…
"Y yo que te deseo a morir, que importa esta es la última vez, el orgullo puede esperar pero me arrepiento en el piso donde sea y tómame.", I sing and smile at the distant memory of my old man reprimanding me for saying something so explicit.
So enthralled in the music and cleaning and jamming, I'm completely unaware of my observer until I hear the voice directly behind me say, "Don't know what's more sinful, the way you're moving or that voice of yours."
My body jumps 20ft before turning around to face a smirking, sweaty Punk. Clutching my chest, "You asshole! What I tell you about doing that?", I yell both because he nearly scared the piss outta my intestines and from embarrassment.
He laughs, "You were all into the music, I couldn't find it in my heart to interrupt the show."
Pushing past him to retrieve my robe, "I'm happy to hear you enjoyed it."
Hugging my from behind, "Aw come on, don't get all upset…I wasn't fucking, you heated up the whole house dancing the way you were…shit, I need a cold shower.", he says kissing the side of my head.
Shrugging him off, "Sure…what are you doing home so early?", I ask going back to pick up the broom.
Gasping, "What? You're not relieved that I'm home early?", I bite my cheek to keep from smiling, "Now, I know to never come home early…people are so unappreciative.", he says coming over and sitting atop one of the counters.
"NO!", I yell…too late, "that's wet.", I chuckle
Punk frowns, "Thanks for the warning."
"That's what you get.", I reply sticking out my tongue.
Drying my hands, I lean against the sink and look up to the 6ft wrestler who stares at me with his signature smirk. These days as I am usually awake when he manages to sleep, I observe him as he sleeps. His face aside from his scruff is young looking, doesn't even look older than 25. His hair is silky and straight, which makes me fucking jealous. Don't even get me started with his eyebrows 'cus I fucking love them. My weird side adores his nose, perhaps because it's straight and I don't even know. Undeniably, it's his eyes that pull me in and manipulate me like a puppet.
"Woohoo, beautiful…", he signs, waving a hand in front of me.
I blink, "What?"
"I was just rambling and you spaced out…I'm hurt."
I laugh, "Sorry.", I actually look at him and notice that he has a cut lip and a forming bruise on his cheek. I gasp, "The hell? You get yourself into a fight?", I ask standing on my tippy toes to get a better look.
He tucks his hair behind his ear, "Don't get your panties in a bunch…I was just fooling around with one of my guys."
"Get off the counter and sit on a chair.", I command as I stride over to the fridge to get some ice.
"It's nothing big, beauti—"
"Do what I said.", he groans and hops off the counter. Retrieving some wrap and towel, I move over to the wrestler and press the ice to his cheek. He winces, "Playing around you can get hurt…get a concussion or something…", I reprimand.
Punk stares at me rolling his eyes, "May I remind you, I'm a wrestler. Bumps and bruises are part of the job."
"Still, if you ain't in the ring because you have to…I'd rather you not be in it or fuck around like that."
He rubs my arms, "Don't get all worried abou—"
"I'm not worried.", I cut in, "I just don't like and or want to see you hurt.", I correct.
Pulling me down so I'm sitting on his knee, "Why?", he asks with that smirk of his.
"What do you mean 'why'? I'm not sadistic…I don't like seeing you get hurt or hurt in general.", I move the ice to his lip, "You got anymore bumps?"
He lifts his shirt to reveal a forming bruise on his side. I touch it gently and he winces, "Told you…just bruises."
I glare at him, "Still…I didn't like seeing them on you 10yrs ago and I still don't like them today."
Punk's smirk softens up, "Why, huh?"
Rolling me eyes, "Because I care about you, dumbfuck…", I mutter.
"You what?"
"I care about you.", I reply with more sincerity yet embarrassedly avoiding his gaze.
He kisses my cheek, "Ego booster to know such a pretty little woman still cares about me."
I smile, "Be quiet.", staring at him directly, "These are probably kinky sex injuries…BDSM shit…from that hussy of yours."
Punks chuckles until he's out of breath, "I don't think BDSM is violent as fuck.", I raise a brow, "Not that I know from experience…that's not me.", he grazes the sides of my thighs, "The only lovin' I've been getting is from you.", he says with a wink, "You did a number on my back, now that I remember.", he removes me from his knee and rotates throwing off his shirt to reveal claw-like marks along his back. I gasp, "The guys got a kick out this."
Blushing and hiding my face in my hands, "It was intense…", I mumble.
Turning around and gripping my hips lightly, "Then I suppose I fulfilled myself as a gentleman.", he states with a wide grin, "I'd tell you to quit being all shy but…damn, it's fucking adorable especially with these panties of yours…"
Blushing even more, "Great to know you still find my shyness cute…and my great choice of undergarments."
We both laugh, "Everything about you I find attractive…and well, between you and me…", he leans in to whisper in my ear, "I like your underwear better when they're on the floor."
I gasp, "You dirty bastard!", he chuckles, "You're lucky that I don't have time to add to your collection of bruises."
Walking in the direction of my room with Punk close behind, "Do you really have to go?", he whines.
"Gotta make that paper, big boy.", I state looking for something comfy to wear.
He circles my waist, "I can take care of you.", he mumbles into my hair.
"You could, but I like to consider myself independent."
Groaning, "Can I at least make a proposition?"
Raising a brow, "Go ahead…"
Letting me go and sitting on the edge of our shared bed, "So, I was thinking…we've been fooling around for some time now…", already I'm not liking where this is going. I nod, "I also mentioned that I want to get to know you…so, I think it's only appropriate that I ask you out on date."
"Um, we've sort've skipped past first base, honey…what's the point?", I ask going about rummaging through my drawers.
"Point is, we don't know much about each other…at least not anymore. Plus, I'd love to take you out, make you smile, and hopefully get your mind off of things for a while."
Debating on what to say, "You want something serious…"
He shrugs, "Alls I know is that I want you: in every aspect of the word 'want'. For as long as you'll let me have you."
Stopping what I'm doing and facing in his direction, "You've told me a million times but…", my train rolls by.
"I see right through this wall of yours, I do. You're scared as hell, who wouldn't be? After all you've been through; I'm surprised that you even let me touch you. You're all closed up because you don't want to be screwed over but…honestly, if I planned to screw you over, I woulda left months ago because crying over and caring for a 'crazy, fucked up bitch' wouldn't have been on the agenda.", he slides off the bed and crawls over to me, "So, what do you say? Date?", he pulls the puppy-dog eyes.
Between his puppy-dog eyes and convincing speech, I'm all caught up. Face it, the man preaches the truth… He does, I am just scared. I've given and been ripped of parts of myself. Paste, staples, and tape hold me together. You said you want to move on…with him… I do but then come all my insecurities about not being the right girl and his status with Maria. Before he was left, he was readying himself. He stuck with you through all of the happenings… No denying that. You've said time and time again that you feel safe when you're with him…
With my conscience speaking and convincing me, I smile tenderly, "Fuck it."
Punk's eyes brighten up, "Fuck it…what?"
"I would love to go out on a date with you, Phillip.", he scrunches up his face making me laugh, "So…what's gonna be tonight's attire? Fancy, casual…?"
"Semi-formal…doesn't really matter just as long as you're looking decent.", he looks me over, "Which is going to be difficult, considering that you're a walking sin.", he smirks
I laugh, "Fuck you!"
He sits up and pulls me into him, "Now, why would you suggest something so fun when you're running late?"
Immediately pulling out my phone, I groan and sink further into Punk's embrace, "These fuckers lucky I'm so desperate to go in…'cus it's payday…"
"Thought it was your passion and way of being independent."
Shrugging, "Not much these days. After the whole incident with Al—", I clear my throat, "Alfredo…I guess people just think I'm trouble or too messed up or they're just afraid that I'll murders them with the tat gun…", leaning into the subject just fucks up my mood.
Turning me around to face him, Punks kisses my forehead, "They just don't know the progress you're making.", he stands up and lifts me to my feet, "If it makes you feel any better, the patrons, the male ones, sure do love talking about you still.", I smirk at Punk's displeasure, "Ah, I knew you'd love that."
Shaking my head, "Not really…makes me kinda more alert—I mean, it's good for the ego but I'm not sure that male attention is what I want right now.", Phil frowns, "Except, maybe, yours…", I kiss his cheek and walk off to the bathroom, picking up his Pikachu shirt, "You won't getting this one back!" I dash to the bathroom hearing him right behind me.
Standing in front of one of the windows that gives a view of the parlor, I sip some of my mocha frappe while waiting on Punk to get his coffee. My paranoia has gotten the best of me. Ever since Alfredo's visit, I have a tendency to look around the area for potential danger.
Punk walks up next to me, staring out the window, "Somebody catch your eye?", he questions jokingly.
Shaking my head, "Nope. Just trying to brainstorm a mediocre lie as to why I am…", I check my cell, "45mins late."
"Why not just tell the truth? Tell 'em you were getting down and dirty.", he suggests with a shit-eating grin.
Scoffing, "My sex life is nothing they should know about.", I take a sip of my mocha, "Besides, I was getting down trying to steal the shirt from you…cual sexo ni que nada.", I smirk.
Punks pouts, "You're making me look like a pussy for your co-workers."
At his pouty face, I laugh, "I'm a woman. Women don't go around telling todo el mundo que es lo que hacen dentro de cuatro paredes con los hombres que no son sus novios."
"Okay? I only understood something about 4, the world, a boyfriend, and that you're woman who doesn't tell.", after a moment he appears to have pieced them together, "Oh…I like this, very much."
Rolling my eyes, I nod. My phone vibrates, Bree: So Car's fone died…when r u cmin? U got clients! I raise an eyebrow and grin. After all this time doing appointments…it's great to have bodies to tat up. Texting her back, I stare up at Punk who just stares at me, "What's wrong? There something on my face?", I ask using my phone's screen as a mirror.
"Nothing, just enjoying the moment, beautiful.", he replies with a lazy smile.
I nod, "Well, that was Bree…I kinda, really need to get a move on…"
Gesturing to the door, "Ladies first."
"Oh my God, Phillip Jack! STOP! You're scaring the whole street!", I plead in between laughs. There in the middle of the street, one will find a 6ft wrestler attempting to breakdance.
Dusting himself off and jogging to my side, "Just trying to show you wrong, white people CAN dance."
Bursting into another fit of laughter, "Oh dear Lord.", I run a hand down my face to control myself, "Sweetie, that is a great example of my theory being right. Looked like you were having a seizure."
Phil spits out his coffee, "HEY!"
Arriving to my destination, I take a moment to peek through the windows, just in case and turn to a glowering Punk, "I'll give you a point just because that was quite possibly the highlight of my day, yeah?"
He scoffs, "Highlight of your day…for now. We still got out date this evening."
"Oh yeah.", I manage not to let my smile dip. It's not that I don't want to go on it, it's that I haven't been on a date in the longest. With my paranoia and guard up, I don't know how enjoyable it'll be.
Rubbing my hand, "Don't doubt me just yet, alright?", he reads minds…he does.
I shrug, "Nah…just me overthinking…"
He hugs me, "Well just relax. I'm usually a pessimist but I'm feeling quite optimistic about tonight.", he holds me a arm's length, "Maybe it's because I'm taking the one and only Marleene Soto out."
Laughing quietly, "Yeah, maybe…", I double-check my phone, "So how is this going down?"
"Smart question.", he pulls out his wallet, "I know how you women like to primp and pamper yourselves for these things, not that YOU need any of that, so here's a couple bills to cover it."
As he slips some money into my shirt, I shake my head, "No, I can handle that…I'm getting paid."
"Come on, I'm on a gentlemen streak right now…", says Punk with his puppy-dog eyes and pout.
Softening up, "Fine…fine, just so you'll be able to show that streak off."
Smirking, "Good girl. Now, I'll be scooping you up here…at the parlor…around 7ish."
"Sounds good.", I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, "Thanks, for the Starbucks and everything…"
Snaking his arms around my waist, "So no regrets, huh?"
Furrowing my brows, a light bulb flickers on and I gaze into his eyes, "No. Don't let it get to your head but…being with you…I don't know—you're what my Batman blanket is to me."
Thinking on it, "Amazing?", I bury my head in his shoulder laughing, "Geez…Safety.", I nod, "Marleene, oh my dear, Marleene…you are making a softy out of me.", he kisses my nose.
Somebody taps on the glass window behind us and announces, "Wrap it up! This is torture to some of us single ladies!", I laugh knowing that it's Bree.
"Duty calls."
Punk leans in to kiss me. Soft and tenderly; free and carelessly. We let up for oxygen, "I'll let you fly…see you later, missy.", unwrapping myself from him, I nod, "I love you…", he whispers almost inaudibly.
Something about this morning opened the cage to trapped butterflies. Of course, I'm still fucked up, scarred, and damaged but right now…I'm just the innocent Marleene who loved a certain punk name Phil: the one who smiled, laughed, played around freely—Marleene the one who wasn't fucked up, scarred, or damaged.
"Well somebody's all lovey-dovey and smiles today…", sings Bree.
A/N- So how was that? Hopefully worthy of your thoughts! I promise that next chapter will be Punk and Mar's date!