Author's Notes: Thank you all for your kind comments.
As always, I hope you find entertainment in this and I hope people reading this feel I am dealing with Maeve's currently-heightened emotions and Eric's perspective respectfully.
Chapter 23
Day 7
Otis and Eric walked their bikes out through the gate of the school grounds.
"I am going to smash you," Eric said with determination. "Smash you. Smash you."
"I am going to smash you into oblivion," Otis said. "I am going to smash you into so many little pieces they'll never be able to glue you together."
"I am going to smash you into atoms. Then I am going to smash those atoms into littler atoms. Then I am going to smash those littler atoms into even littler atoms. Then I am going to—"
"Oi, piss-flaps." Maeve's voice came from behind them.
Otis and Eric turned to see Maeve leaning against the wall near a cluster of bushes, watching them with a gentle smirk on her face.
"You two bragging about being the world's biggest cavemen?" she asked.
"It's Super Smash Bros.," Eric said, plaintively.
Otis began wheeling his bike toward Maeve as she pushed away from the wall to saunter towards him.
"Eric's coming over to play a little Smash Bros. You don't mind, do you?" Otis asked.
"Of course not," Maeve said as they reached each other, lifting her head so they could kiss.
"Oh, you two are so cute," Eric mock-swooned.
When Maeve gave him the finger without her lips breaking from Otis', Eric wondered if it was normal to be afraid of his best friend's girlfriend.
When their lips broke apart, Maeve glanced down then back into his eyes. "You don't seem as excited to see me this afternoon. Maybe I really am losing my appeal."
"Of course not, but, uh… I think I might be getting them under control."
"Oh?"
"I only had my morning one. I was starting to get some during the day but I short-circuited them."
"Alphabetised your music collection?"
"Thought of Eric beating me at Smash Bros."
Maeve laughed. "You and your fucking video games."
"Do you play?"
Maeve scrunched her nose and shook her head. "Nah. Tried a few different ones that Sean had. Not my thing."
Otis nodded sadly.
"I don't mind you playing them, muppet."
"No, I just thought it might be something we could share."
"We've got plenty of other things we can share. It's good having something just for ourselves."
"True," he said then gently kissed her again.
"Are you two going to play tonsil hockey all afternoon or are you going to let me smash him?" Eric called across to them.
They broke apart and Otis called back, "I don't know why you're so impatient to get smashed, Eric, but if that's what you want, let's go."
Otis took his spare helmet from his backpack and gave it to Maeve who began putting it on.
"Hah!" Eric exclaimed. "You are a smashed man walking, Otis Milburn. Smashed man walking. Riding," he corrected himself.
Maeve clambered onto the back of Otis' bike and put her arms around him. "I thought you were supposed to be in detention this week," she said to Eric.
A cloud flickered across Eric's face for a second then he replied, "Mr Hendrix cancelled detention yesterday because he was going to some speed-dating thing and today he's got an actual date."
"Who would date Mr Hendrix?" asked Otis, surprised.
"Someone really desperate," said Eric as he straddled his bike.
"Or lonely," Maeve murmured.
"Is that why you're dating me?" Otis asked, hoping she could hear the smirk in his voice.
"Yeah," said Maeve, smiling to herself. "I mean, Frankenstein's monster can't be choosy, can she?"
Otis started the bike moving and Eric watched as they rode past him, Maeve leaning her head against Otis' back.
"You two look so gorgeous like that," Eric said.
Maeve gave him the finger and he wondered if his best friend's girlfriend was the type of girl who had a hatchet and a good place to hide a body.
Maeve lay curled upon Otis' bed, watching the two boys sitting at the end of it as they focussed their competitive attention on what seemed to be a fighting game. She had a book in her hand, pages kept apart by her fingers inside it, but her gaze was on Otis.
"You are going, my friend," Eric shouted. "You are going. You are seconds away from oblivion."
"In your dreams, Eric. I have you. You are going down. You are going so far down you will be coming out the other side of the planet."
"Take that, dreaming boy," Eric cried. "And that."
"You are going down. You are going to be smashed into so many pieces that you will be ashamed to ever—"
"Yes!" Eric cried, letting the controller fall from his hands as he leapt to his feet, shaking his booty in triumph.
"No!" Otis groaned, dropping his controller and throwing himself back on the bed, covering his eyes with his hands.
"Who is the Smash Champion?" Eric cried. "Me! I am the Smash Champion. Smash Champion. Smash Champion."
Smirking, Maeve shuffled down the bed so her head was close to Otis' and asked, blandly, "Did you lose?"
"Lose?" cried Eric. "He was pulverised. He was broken into little pieces and scattered to the four winds. He was smooshed so badly I don't think he'll ever be able to get it up for you again."
Otis removed his hands from his eyes and raised his head to look at Eric.
Maeve raised her eyebrows, gazing at Eric with as neutral a gaze as she could manage.
Eric noticed the eyes upon him and stopped dancing, shuffling his feet nervously.
"Um, I mean," he began, subdued. "Get up again. He'll never be able to get up again."
Maeve leaned closer to Otis and murmured, "How much did you tell him?"
"Nothing," Eric said, quickly. "He didn't tell me anything."
Maeve turned her gaze back to Eric, gently touching Otis' arm and hoping he understood not to say anything.
Eric looked at Otis, his eyes pleading for help. "I mean, he said you kissed and he touched… um… he…"
"Touched what?" Maeve asked blandly, hoping she was concealing her smirk.
"Arm. He touched your arm and… I need to go wash my hands."
Eric hurried from the room, closing the door behind himself. Maeve and Otis heard the muffled closing of the bathroom door seconds later.
Maeve turned back to Otis, smirking. "Well, you told him you touched my boob."
"You said I could talk to him—" Otis began, softly defensive.
"Did you tell him you fingered my pussy and got me off so many times?"
Otis studied Maeve's gently smiling gaze and then nodded. "And I said we engaged in oral gratification."
"Did you tell him about your mum catching us?"
Otis nodded, sheepishly.
"I bet he pissed himself laughing."
"He wondered why I wasn't in a pine box."
Maeve snorted. "I'm glad you weren't. I don't want to also be known as the girl with the pussy that killed a guy."
Otis smiled gently, then Maeve noticed uncertainty flicker across his face.
"What?" she asked.
"He knows you swallowed," Otis said after a moment.
Maeve raised an eyebrow.
"I didn't tell him," he said, quickly. "Well, I confirmed it, but he guessed."
Maeve silently studied Otis' face.
"He was going on. Asking questions. Did you deep throat? Did you swallow? And it was written all over my face."
"And he thinks I'm a slag," Maeve muttered.
Otis rolled over, placed his hand gently upon her arm. "No," he said, quickly. "He doesn't. He thinks you're the coolest girl in school. I told you, he was the one always pushing me to tell you how I felt."
"Did he ever say anything about me?" she asked quietly.
Otis was silent but knew the answer was written all over his face.
Maeve nodded sadly to herself. "What did he say?" she asked in a murmur.
"It doesn't matter," Otis said quietly.
"That I banged twelve guys in a row? That I let the entire rowing team spray my face? That I took it up the arse in the guys' locker room after lacrosse practice with the coach and the team cheering me on?"
"None of those," said Otis earnestly, dismayed by the shit she had to put up with. "But whatever he said, he sounded proud of you. Impressed by you," he amended.
Maeve looked at him sceptically.
"He just says these things. He doesn't judge you. He's really so glad you're with me. He even says you have magic powers because you've made me do so much in such a short time."
Maeve wandered her gaze away from him and carefully studied his room.
Otis pondered for a moment then began, "When I was trying to give the money back to Jackson, Eric was telling me I should just take it and tell Jackson all the wrong things. Then when I did tell Jackson to go for the Biggest Romantic Gesture he could think of, Eric said I wasn't supposed to be listening to him."
Maeve turned back and wandered her eyes across Otis' face.
"I'll tell him not to say anything more," Otis murmured. "But he just says these things without thinking and he doesn't mean anything bad with any of it."
Maeve sighed and nodded and gazed into his eyes until the door opened and Eric walked in, waxing enthusiastically, "There. Hands all clean. Personal hygiene is so import—"
Eric stopped as he saw the intimate closeness of the couple on the bed and their eyes staring at him.
"Have I interrupted? Are you two-?"
Maeve forced a smirk onto her lips. "I was just asking Otis if he had anything that tasted of pineapple that I could swallow."
Eric froze for a moment then said in a strangled voice, "Ears. I need to clean out my ears."
Eric turned and hurried from the room, certain he was never going to survive if Maeve remained Otis' girlfriend.
Otis placed his open laptop on the kitchen bench and displayed the screen to Maeve who was leaning against him. Eric stood a couple of metres away, sipping a double chocolate Nesquik.
"These are the ones that are easy enough to make," Otis explained. "I've had mum run through the list to see if there's anything she's not interested in, so it's up to you."
Otis pushed the laptop closer to her and as she straightened and reached for it, he stepped back.
"There's a mixture of light and heavy dishes because I didn't know what you would prefer while… at this time," he said.
Maeve glanced at Eric then into Otis' eyes and murmured, "Thanks." She started studying the options Otis had bookmarked.
Otis noticed her absent-mindedly rub her lower back then he walked over to Eric. "Do you want to stay for dinner?" he asked. "You've tried most of them and liked them and you said you'd try anything once."
"No, I… it's you two," Eric protested.
"It's not a candle-lit dinner for two. Mum's here as well," Otis said.
"Don't let me stop you staying if you want to," Maeve said. "My bark is worse than my bite."
"That's not what I've heard," Eric said cheerfully without thinking.
"Eric," hissed Otis, annoyed.
Maeve pressed her lips together and continued searching the selection of meals Otis had presented to her.
Eric swallowed then sipped more of his double chocolate Nesquik, wondering if it would have been easier for him if Otis had chosen the girl he took to the dance instead of Maeve.
An awkward silence lay over the trio for a moment then Maeve spoke. "That one."
Glaring briefly at Eric, Otis walked over to Maeve and looked at the item onscreen that she was pointing at.
"I like the look of that one. That'd be nice," she said.
"You'll love it, Eric. Pan-seared cod in white wine tomato basil sauce," Otis said.
"Is it going to take long?" Maeve asked.
"If we start in about half an hour, should be ready by the time Mum's finished with her last client," Otis said.
"Great," Maeve said. "I'm just popping out for a ciggy, then I think do a bit of homework."
"Ugh," Eric muttered to himself.
Maeve looked at him, neutrally. "I have to finish an essay so Otis can give it to Miss Sands tomorrow. You two can smash each other while I'm doing that."
Otis studied Maeve's face carefully then turned to Eric. "Do you want to, Eric?" he asked.
Eric sighed. "I've got maths homework to do. I'll do that. But when am I ever going to use differential equations?"
"If you're a botanist," Maeve said. "Or an economist."
"Or an engineer," Otis said.
"Physicist. A chemist."
"If you're trying to figure out the spread of a disease during a pandemic."
"Alright," Eric said, giving in. He walked over to his bag which was still sitting on the kitchen table next to Maeve's and Otis'.
When Maeve noticed his back was turned toward them, she rose and kissed Otis quickly and looked meaningfully into his eyes.
Otis nodded in return and she gave him a quick smile of appreciation then walked over to her bag, not glancing at Eric as she took her pack of cigarettes from it.
As she stepped through the door onto the balcony, she heard Otis quietly saying, "Eric, I need to talk to you about something."
Maeve leant over the balcony and watched the smoke slowly drift away as she exhaled. She gazed down toward the river, trying but failing to see the bench Otis and his mother had mentioned.
She would have to get him to take her down there one day when they had the time. Maybe this weekend. They wouldn't do anything – probably wouldn't do anything – but it would be good to see if that would be a suitable place for their first time together.
She knew it was probably a mistake but she had already been collecting a list of places where they could have their first time together. Real places – not the pool or the bridge like in her imaginings – but places like his bed or her bed or down on the bench by the river or up at Llyn y Fan Fach or in the old toilet block or behind the bus stop after they had come back from dancing and he was Casual Hamm and she was in that dress that he thought was so gorgeous or in the classroom where he held their first clinic session or maybe, even better, in the-
"Maeve…?" She was dragged out of her reverie as Eric's voice broke the silence behind her.
Maeve turned and saw Eric nervously standing a few paces away. She kept silent, watching him with what she hoped was a neutral gaze.
"I'm sorry," he eventually said. "I never meant anything. I just…"
Maeve nodded silently.
"I mean, when I heard you sucked off twelve guys in ten minutes I was just amazed. You must give incredible blowjobs. I never thought anything bad about that."
Maeve's mouth dropped open and she stared at Eric in disbelief.
Eric felt his stomach drop through the balcony boards as the realisation washed over him.
"That's the sort of thing I'm not supposed to say, isn't it?"
Maeve expelled a furious breath and shook her head and turned away to gaze at the river again. She heard Eric's footsteps hurrying across the floorboards then sensed him leaning on the railing beside her.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I just don't—"
"Have you ever actually given a blowjob?" Maeve asked, annoyed.
"No," Eric said after a moment, subdued.
"The odds that twelve guys are going to be that trigger happy in the space of ten minutes… you'd need a differential equation to work it out. It ain't gonna happen."
Maeve took a puff from her cigarette as Eric waited beside her, unsure how to react.
"And it's the sort of shit that hurts, Eric," Maeve continued.
"I never meant—" Eric began.
"When Adam calls you – what's that name he calls you?"
"Tromboner."
"That hurts, doesn't it?"
"It was a French horn," Eric said, plaintively.
"What?" snapped Maeve, turning to him.
"I was playing a French horn."
"What do you mean?" she asked, face scrunched in a frown.
"I was on-stage in front of the whole school playing my French horn and I got a semi."
"Did you?" she asked, blinking in surprise.
"Four years ago. You don't remember?"
"Must have missed it."
"I wish Adam had," Eric said and Maeve sensed an undertone in his voice that she couldn't recognise.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" she asked. "There was actually something to it, but it still hurts."
"Yeah," Eric murmured.
"So how do you think it feels when I get called cock-biter and it's all bullshit?"
Eric startled in surprise. "You mean you didn't—"
"Would it matter if I had?" Maeve snapped.
Eric recoiled in the face of her anger.
She threw her cigarette onto the floorboards and stamped on it. "I mean, what if I started telling people that Anwar wanted to be fucked by you and you couldn't get it up? Would that hurt even if it's bullshit? Would it not hurt if it was true?"
"Anwar wouldn't want me to fuck him. I'm not his type."
"Not the point, Eric," Maeve snapped.
Eric stared at Maeve as she studied the incomprehension on his face.
She released an almost-snarl of frustration. "Otis and I joke about it because he's my boyfriend and we can do that but being around him is a safe place for me and when I hear that shit from someone else here where I don't expect it, it hurts. You say you're joking but you act as if it's true and it fucking hurts."
Eric slowly breathed out, wondering if this was how and where and when a friendship would end.
"I was thirteen," Maeve continued. "I was invited to Claire Tyler's birthday party. Simon Furthassle tried to kiss me. I didn't want him to so he told people I'd sucked him off and bit his scrote. When I was fourteen, I fucked Mark Johnson 'cause I thought he was my boyfriend. He still tells people that he was the first in.-"
Otis watched Eric and Maeve through the gauze of the window curtain, concern swirling through him. He had barely paid attention as he heard his mother and her client emerge from her consulting room and head toward the front door.
He started to walk toward the door to the balcony then stopped as Maeve hurried inside and he didn't think he was imagining tears brimming in her eyes.
"Maeve-?" he began, then stopped as she held up her hand, looking away from him.
"Five minutes. Please," she said with a raw voice and hurried up the stairs.
Otis was paralysed for a second, torn between following her and demanding Eric tell him what had been said, then his mother's voice came from behind him.
"Otis, what's going on?" Jean asked, concerned.
"I… I don't…"
"Are they fighting? I thought they were getting along."
"They were… it just…"
"What?" Jean asked, her tone urging him to answer.
"Eric just said…" Otis glanced at the stairs, longing to follow Maeve.
"Said what?" Jean asked, surprised that Eric would say anything to upset anyone.
Otis sighed. "Maeve has… Maeve has a reputation at school. It's all bullshit but Eric… you know, he just says stuff without thinking about it and he said… he said something that hurt Maeve and I asked him to apologise and…" He waved his hands around, helplessly. "This."
Jean sighed and spoke as softly as she could. "I'm sorry, Otis. I have another client in five minutes."
"I know," Otis murmured.
"I can't allow them to disrupt my session. If they're going to continue this, you'll have to tell them to go home or take it elsewhere. But if they want to talk after my client's gone-"
"I'll talk to them," Otis promised.
Jean studied her son's face and nodded. "Give Maeve her five minutes and count to ten – twenty – before talking to Eric."
"Okay," Otis said, then turned back to look at Eric who remained standing on the balcony, staring at the floorboards, seemingly in shock.
As Jean walked to her office, Otis counted slowly to twenty, not certain if the emotions swirling within him had abated by the time he reached the final number and stepped onto the balcony.
Eric looked up and asked, "Where's Maeve?"
"Eric, what did you say to her?" Otis asked, trying to keep his anger under control.
"Where is she? Has she left?" Eric asked with near-dismay.
"She's upstairs. Eric, what-?"
"I need to talk to her." Eric walked forward, attempting to push past Otis who put his hand on Eric's chest to stop him.
"Let her have time to herself. What-?"
"I need to talk to her. Look, you can tell me to get out afterwards. You can tell me we're not friends anymore. But I need to talk to her."
Maeve sat on the toilet in the upstairs bathroom, blowing her nose on some toilet paper before tossing it into the bin.
She tried to ignore the gentle knock on the bathroom door.
"Maeve…?" came Eric's muffled voice through the door.
"Fuck off," she snapped.
"Can we talk, please? I'm sorry."
"Fuck off."
There was a long silence and Maeve hoped that meant Eric had gone away.
"Why did you tell me all that?" Eric's muffled voice asked.
"Because I'm getting my fucking rags, all right?"
There was a long pause and it was too much to hope that he had gone away this time.
"You really love him, don't you?" he eventually asked.
"What makes you think that?" she sneered. "Fucking genius."
"Because my opinion seems to matter to you," Eric said.
Maeve glared sharply at the door.
"Can we talk, please, Maeve?" Eric pleaded. "Then you can tell me to fuck off and I'll go."
Maeve kept glaring at the door for a few moments then stood and unlatched it and returned to sit on the toilet seat.
The door slowly opened and a very subdued Eric stepped through, closing and latching it behind himself.
Maeve silently watched him as he sat on the side of the bathtub, close but without touching her.
"I'm sorry, Maeve," he said quietly. "I never meant to say anything to hurt you."
Maeve glared at him. "Why the fuck would you think your opinion is important to me?"
"Because you didn't ignore me or tell me to fuck off. You tried to explain things to me."
Maeve blinked in surprise.
"I have four sisters," he continued. "I know the way you're feeling isn't because of your period."
Maeve snorted. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be in this mess if I wasn't getting 'em."
"I know those feelings are real. I know that words can hurt. Fuck all that sticks and stones bullshit."
"Yeah," Maeve muttered after a moment of silence.
"I've been out nearly four years and I've been black for seventeen and I've heard really shitty things about me being either or both. From people I didn't know. From people I cared about. From people I trusted. Not Otis," he said quickly at Maeve's look. "But from people who I thought were better than that."
"That's worse than the strangers, isn't it?" Maeve murmured after a moment.
"Yeah," Eric muttered, contritely. "I was just saying shit but I never made the connection between how I felt when people said things about me and how you would feel when I said those things about you. I'm sorry."
Maeve nodded, breathing slowly. "It must be worse for you. You get attacked just for who you are."
"Don't, Maeve," said Eric, gently.
"They mostly attack me for what they perceive as the things I do."
"It's not a comparison of which one of us has it worse. They both hurt."
Maeve nodded in acknowledgement.
"I don't think before I speak," Eric continued. "Otis has said it a few times. He's the thinker. He's the planner. I'm the spontaneous one. I just blurt."
"Yin to his yang," Maeve murmured. "Or is it yang to his yin?"
"What?"
"Doesn't matter."
"When I got beaten up, I called Jean because this was always a safe place for me. And when Otis got back and things went pear-shaped between us, I didn't feel safe anymore."
Maeve looked carefully at him.
"I don't want you to feel that way. I want this place – and Otis – to be your safe place." he continued. "I'm sorry, Maeve. I'll try never to do it again but if you can't forgive me, I'll understand."
Maeve studied his face and let it last until she could see he was beginning to become uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry about your birthday," she said quietly.
"What?" asked Eric, puzzled.
"I'm sorry I ruined your birthday. I'm sorry for—" She waved her hand around her cheek. "—what happened to you."
"You didn't ruin my birthday," Eric said, firmly.
"Otis should have been with you. I knew he was supposed to be with you."
"No, Maeve. That's not on you," Eric protested.
"I played the emotional blackmail card. I was so glad he stayed with me."
"You loved him and he loved you. Even if you were both too stupid to know it. I didn't get it at the time. I do now. He was where he wanted to be and he was where he probably should have been."
"It was your birthday. You'd planned to celebrate it together. You wouldn't have been beaten up if he was with you."
"We've celebrated other birthdays. He's never been in love before. And it would have been alright if I hadn't put my jacket down."
Maeve was quiet for a moment then said quietly, "It wasn't a date between us, Eric. It wasn't us just hanging out. It was important."
"It was about the hairy vagina photo, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"Whose was it?"
"I'm not telling you that," said Maeve, affronted. "The girl in question is the only one with the right to tell you that."
"I'm going to my grave never knowing, aren't I?" Eric said, wistfully.
"Yup," said Maeve, almost smirking at his tone.
Silence settled over them for a few long moments then Eric asked quietly, "Are we okay?"
Maeve was silent for another few long moments then said in almost disbelief, "I just told you everything about my sex life, didn't I?"
Otis watched with concern as Maeve walked slowly down the stairs, Eric close behind her.
Maeve reached him, gave him a wavering smile and a tender gaze through puffy eyes and put her arms out to let him embrace her.
"Are you okay?" he gently asked her.
"I'm fine," she murmured against his chest.
"Fucked-up, insecure, neurotic and emotional?"
"I'm okay," she murmured and he hoped that was a glimpse of a smile in her voice.
"I'm sorry, Otis," Eric said and stood firm against the glare his best friend gave him. "I didn't understand exactly what you were telling me."
"What did you-?" began Otis.
Maeve lifted her head. "Don't. It's okay, Otis. We've sorted it."
"I'll go if you want," Eric said quietly.
"No, Eric," said Maeve quickly. "Stay. I should… I should probably quarantine myself when I'm like this."
"Don't blame your period," said Otis and Eric in unison.
Maeve blinked in surprise then smiled softly to herself.
"Do you want anything?" Otis asked her quietly.
"You got any strawberry Nesquik?"
"Yeah," Otis nodded.
"I'll get some of that. Do my homework until we're ready to start cooking."
"I'll make it," Otis offered.
"I'm not helpless, Otis. I can make it myself. You talk to Eric."
Maeve started walking over to the fridge then stopped and turned to Eric. "You can tell him about my sex life, if you like. Probably better coming from you than me."
"What?" asked Otis, stunned.
"I told him my entire sex life," Maeve said, shrugging.
"Why?" asked Otis, turning to look at Eric.
Eric shrugged, shaking his head. "I still don't understand," he said, plaintively.
"Well, if you were going to talk shit about me at least it would be true shit."
Maeve sat at the table in the kitchen and ran her eyes down the page of the book held in her hand, seeking the exact quote she needed.
When she heard the front door slam followed by hurrying footsteps she looked up to see Otis dash into the room, grab Eric's bag off the table and hurry out again, saying, "He's not staying."
She sat back, absently rubbed her lower back and sighed. Fuck! She shouldn't have come over this afternoon.
When Otis returned to the room a few minutes later and sat down beside her, she was finishing a sip from her strawberry Nesquik before clutching the cold glass to her chest.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly.
"What for?" asked Otis, genuinely puzzled as he tenderly watched her.
"I don't want to come between you and Eric."
"Oh, no, he's fine," said Otis, realising. "He just thinks it should be us tonight."
"You're still friends?"
"Yes. I was just upset seeing you upset."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. I'll see him at school tomorrow. We'll be friends like always."
Maeve relaxed, took another sip of her strawberry Nesquik and placed the glass on the table.
"Did he tell you what he said?" she asked.
Otis shook his head. "He was too ashamed."
"Just that thing of me sucking off twelve guys in ten minutes."
"Ohhh," Otis groaned, shaking his head.
"The thing is, he actually believed it," Maeve sighed in disbelief. "He said he was impressed at my blowjob skills."
"I told him that definitely wasn't true."
"You heard that one?"
"Yeah," he said, ruefully.
"You're right. He does say things without thinking and he really wasn't meaning to hurt me. I'm just…"
"A person with valid feelings who deserves more than the world is giving her."
Maeve tenderly ran her gaze across his face.
"Have you asked Eric to my party yet?" she asked.
"Not yet."
"Ask him tomorrow. But tell him it's me asking him. Not Aimee."
Otis smiled gently at her. "I'll ask him."
"So did he tell you about my sex life?"
"No," Otis said, blandly.
"Did you ask him about my sex life?"
"No," Otis said, blandly.
"Did he offer to tell you about my sex life?"
"Yes," Otis said, sheepishly.
"You don't want to know?" she asked in a quieter tone.
"That's not us. That was before us. It's not my business."
Otis noticed a cloud flicker across her eyes.
"Unless you want to tell me," he said quietly. "Do you want to tell me?"
Maeve shook her head. "Nah."
Silence settled over them and Maeve studied her homework spread across the table.
"Oh, I can't focus on that tonight," she sighed. "I'll do it in the morning. Do you mind meeting me at lunch tomorrow so I can give it to you and you can give it to Miss Sands?"
"Ooh, let me check my calendar," Otis said, flicking through an imaginary diary. "I might be able to squeeze you in."
"You better be able to," Maeve mock-threatened.
"On one condition."
"Conditions?" asked Maeve, surprised.
"That you let me read it before I hand it in."
"Why would you want to read it?" she asked, scrunching her face in puzzlement.
"I like reading your writing."
Maeve smiled softly to herself. "Okay," she said.
"Thanks," he murmured.
She gazed at him tenderly. "You never give me any of your writing to read. Except that letter."
"That would be like asking a Cordon Bleu chef to take a bite of the burger I made."
"Oh, come on, Otis. You're really smart. You'll have lots of really interesting things in your writing."
"Maybe," he said, sceptically, "but it's not just what I'm saying, it's the way I'm saying it. My writing's functional. Your writing sings."
Maeve looked at him, her eyes studying his face. "That letter wasn't functional," she said quietly. "That was poetry."
Otis blushed. "That was different. That meant something to me."
Maeve straightened, leaned closer to him. "It meant everything to me."
Their lips met in a tender kiss then Maeve leant back, grimaced slightly and Otis noticed her hand reach around to her back.
"Sore?" he asked.
"Uh-huh," Maeve said, gently massaging her tender muscles. "Just a little bit. I don't think it's going to be bad this time."
"Mum used to take a warm bath when she was getting her period. I asked her and she said it would be okay if you wanted to have one."
Maeve felt a raw tenderness in the back of her throat. "Maybe when I have a really bad month."
"Okay," he said, nodding.
She reached out her hand to him and he took it.
"Thanks for thinking about it," she murmured.
"She also has hot water bottles or wheat bags if you need one."
"What are we doing after dinner?"
"We could watch a movie. Only this time, actually watch a movie."
"I might have a wheat bag then."
"I'll get one out."
Maeve let go of Otis' hand and stood, stretching a little. "Speaking of dinner, shouldn't we start preparing?"
Otis nodded and stood and started walking to the fridge. "Okay. You read me the ingredients and I'll get them out."
Maeve walked over to the bench and looked at the laptop screen. "Ready?"
Otis opened the fridge and said, "Uh-huh."
"White wine."
Otis leant over, started reaching for the wine bottle then straightened, turning to look at Maeve.
"Why on earth would you tell Eric about your sex life?"
"I don't know," said Maeve, sheepishly defensive. "I was just going to tell him about Simon Furthassle and it all came blurting out. Bleurgh bleurgh bleurgh. I'm hormonal. I'm not thinking straight."
Author's Notes: The argument between Eric and Maeve was originally longer but what reads fine at one in the morning does not read so well during the light of day. I didn't change the structure but pulled back on some of the things that were said. I hope it worked and made sense.
I'll get the next chapter out as soon as I can.