“Lon, I’m sorry I left. I had no choice.” She assumes resentment is his motivation for pushing her away.
“You did have a choice,” he rebukes. Fully committed to her protection from ETNA, by proxy her independence from him, he continues, his cold words at odds with the warmth of his heart. “And you didn’t choose me. What makes you think I want you now? After all this time?”
She rises from his bed, standing in front of him. “Then, what was that?” Her hands motion from the door to his bed, their amiable reunion argumentative of his words. “This?” She gestures back and forth between them, the physical and emotional pull of their bodies thick and undeniable.
“You come to my home. My room. Looking the way you do. What do you expect?” He throws his hands out to his sides, hoping the conviction may add to his false conceit. “I’m a man. I can’t help myself,” he excuses, helping himself to her again.
This time his body and lips unable to rein in their desire to consume her, he kisses her hard, gluttonous in her taste. Brianna’s lips flush and puffy from his vigorous probing, she does not stop him but simply matches him lick for lick, suck for suck and bite for bite, attempting to make up for three years of absence. A guttural moan releasing from his chest, Lon pulls away, his face hovering about hers. He advances and retreats, his lips throbbing, aching to finish what they have started.
“Lon, it’s okay,” she purrs. “I’m not that skittish little girl anymore. You don’t have to be afraid to touch me.” Grabbing his hands, she puts them firmly on her body. “I want you to touch me. All of me.”
He growls, coercing himself backward and away from her, his hands retreating. “You’re right. You’re not the same girl. And I’m not the same guy. Things change.”
She nods, concurring with the ever-evolving element of time. “But my heart hasn’t changed. And at least I’m old enough now to recognize what I want. I’ve waited three years…for you. I
want
you, Lon.” She finds herself strangely on the other end of this debate, juxtaposed to their youth when he was the willing one.
He chokes on his own incoming breath, having bid his entire adolescence waiting for her to figure that out. His formulating reply certainly the last words he ever imagined himself regurgitating to her. His chest grows heavy, his air exchange audible with the strained rise and fall of his shoulders, preparing to force the words he knows he must say.
“I don’t want you,
Jolie Blonde,”
again, he opts for her most unfavorable moniker, lying through his painfully gritting teeth.
Feeling a little weak in the knees, Brianna backs to the door for support. Watching him there across the room, his powerful frame bounds up and down, facilitating his laborious inhalation and exhalation. She surmises the pain she must have caused him to merit such a reply, surely meant to cut her as deeply.
Her melancholy at his cold rejection does not prompt her to cry, having taken care of that emotional turmoil earlier in his arms. Seeing to it that she no longer remains the same docile girl she used to be, mind over matter ensues as she internally morphs the pain to a more comfortable sensation—a slow burn—controlled anger.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
The pounding on the door startles her.
“Break it up, suck faces,” Johnny’s voice penetrates the wooden frame. “You two been at it for thirty minutes.”
“Time to share the love.” Chi O One giggles in her drunkenness.
Brianna flings the door open, letting it slam up against the wall.
“Oh, sorry, bro,” Johnny apologizes, the anguished and pressing looks on Brianna’s and Lon’s faces surely not what he expected. “We’ll come back later.”
“Stay,” Brianna charges. “I was just leaving.” She forfeits one more look at Lon, swiftly exiting his room, taking the stairs two by two.
Johnny sucks air in through his teeth, glancing at Lon, his apology for the untimely intrusion.
“Go after her.” Lon paces his floor. “Make sure she gets home okay.”
“You can count on me, bro.” Johnny jumps at the chance for some alone time with Brianna. Abandoning his post aside Chi O One and Two, he bounds down the stairs.
Chi O One props herself against Lon’s door frame seductively, her hand still locked in Chi O Two’s as her bashful counterpart coyly eyes Lon’s shirtless frame.
“She leave you? Just you and your
hand?”
Chi O One chirps, assured
goody-goody
did not deliver said goods. “We can take care of that for you.” She turns to Chi O Two, kissing her provocatively, another display of their promising ménage à trois.
Lon strides to the door, his foot connecting harshly with its base. He shuts them out, engaging the lock. Returning to his nightstand, his unsteady hands fumble with the paper bag. His euphoric high annihilated with an all-time low, his cluttered mind seeks speedy liberation.
“Brianna!” Johnny calls, trekking behind her short of breath.
“Go home.” She waves him off, her five-inch stilettos pounding rhythmically along the pavement, the added height further propelling her long stride. “I’ll be fine. It’s well lit.”
“If you’d hold on a minute. I’ll get my bike. Have you home in no time,” he pants, finally catching up to her.
“No thanks,” she gripes. “I seem to remember too many oh-so-thrilling rides with you on that thing. I’m safer walking.”
“Where do you live?” His curiosity driven by the fact that he doesn’t walk unless he has to.
“East Campus Apartments.”
“Geez-us!” Johnny laments at the apartments all the way on the other side of campus. “Can you at least slow down so I can keep up?”
Giving in, Brianna slows her pace, her overly slanted foot and splayed toes jammed into the stylish strappy stilettos grow relieved. Her mind still preoccupied with Lon, she seeks Johnny’s counsel. “What happened to him?”
Johnny’s expression enough to apprise that she is
the happening.
“He hasn’t been the same since you left.”
“I get that. I haven’t been the same since I left. You’re not even the same,” she remarks on his uncanny, playful demeanor, a far cry from his stoic bad boy image of old.
“Oh, I’m still the same. Don’t let the ruse fool ya,” he counters, knowing his true and jaded interior simmers just below the surface.
“You still fighting for justice? One illegal maneuver at a time?” Brianna smiles at him, remembering his above the law approach in helping her and Lon years ago.
“Don’t you know it,” he pipes. “Only they’re educating me now. Giving me all of their conscientious and
principled
secrets. If you can’t beat ’em
…
join ’em until you can.” Johnny chuckles triumphantly. “I’m majoring in sociology with an emphasis in criminology. Takes you right to the mind’s eye of evil.”
“Something tells me you’ve already been there a time or two,” she contemplates his abusive father.
“But I ain’t been back,” he speaks figuratively of his resistance to visit his father since having moved in with Lon and his parents.
“Alonzo and Winona are something else, aren’t they?” Her voice softens with the memory of the esteemed Castilles.
“I never imagined there were people like that in the world,” he agrees, still half befuddled by their genuineness. “They took me in. As if I was one of their own. Didn’t treat me any different than Lon. Although I could have done without his curfew and rules.” Johnny chuckles at the difficult transition from raising himself to being reared by the Castilles. “Truth is, I liked it. The curfew and the chores. Least they cared enough to expect something out of me.”
“Yeah. I know the feeling.” Brianna smiles, reminiscing how Johnny was the first of her male peers to treat her as a capable equal, expecting her to deliver in their pursuit of the skull and tire tracks from the river. “Pushes you out of your comfort zone. Lets you find out what you’re really made of.”
“So you’re going to be a big shot lawyer, huh?” He follows up on her career
in the making.
“Prosecutor,” she corrects, pointing out the fact that she is only interested in taking on the most nefarious of criminals. “There is a difference.”
“You got your sights on ETNA?” he asks knowingly.
“All I need is one good, concrete lead.”
“I’m your man.” He offers up his willing participation. “I’ll have the education. And more importantly, the skills. Come on,
rich girl,”
he resorts to his childhood label for her. Although this time his endearing tone is completely opposite that of the former condescending putdown. “Could be like old times. Sneaking into top secret compounds, casting tire tracks.” His voice rises, his body surging with excitable endorphins at the sheer thought.
“How about you let me get through law school first,” Brianna says, her lips curling up at the corners with his enthusiasm. “Speaking of, did you ever have your cousin look at those tracks I took from the river?” The distant memory fogs her mind, unwilling to give up on a future reckoning for her parents’ death.
“Aw yeah. I forgot about that.” Johnny snaps his fingers.
“Some assistant you are,” she jokes.
“Hey. I lost my partner.” Slinging his arm about her waist, he enjoys the feel of her frame and dually uses her posture to hold his up on the long walk. The Louisiana heat, even at two in the morning, surely causes his alcohol-laden blood to detoxify through his perspiring pores.
“So…what of it? The tracks?” she recaps, lightly removing his arm from around her waist, its presence only an empty reminder that Lon’s arms no longer reside there.
“Came up as a vehicle registered under one Dr. Gerald Godfrey. He’s some kind of blood doctor for ETNA,” Johnny marvels at the idea of a modern-day vampire.
“Did you confront him? Follow up?” Her eyes grow hopeful.
Falling back into old habits, her company stirring his youthful reflection,
“Loverboy
did,” he says. Again, the term more playful in his collegiate tongue versus its disdainful adolescent use; however, an underlying jealousy still lingers.
“Lon? You told him?” she scolds, aghast. Not for the sake of secrecy, but simply for Lon’s own good, she hoped he would remain blissfully ignorant.
“I didn’t have a choice,” Johnny defends. “That was his
one condition.
I move in with him and his parents, I tell him everything I know about the skull, the tracks, the river…ETNA.”
“What did he do about it?” She considers Lon’s nature, protective yet law-abiding.
Johnny shrugs. “He doesn’t tell me much. I know he turned in the tracks, but nothing came of it. It’s like those ETNA goons are above the law. Their government level or something. You know all of that shit that the government knows. Then they close the files for thirty years. For the public’s own good,” he huffs. “I know he still has contact with them. He thinks I don’t know, but I do.” Johnny smirks at his own resilience.
“Dr. Godfrey,” Brianna repeats the unfamiliar name, efficiently storing it in her think tank.
“What are you gonna do?” he picks up on the intention in her tone.
“Nothing you wouldn’t,” she says. “Remember that night? At the ETNA compound? When we stole the skull?”
“Still got the scar to prove it.” He proudly offers up his hand, a faint white, beaded line resides on his middle finger.
“Did you notice anything strange about that cut? The blood?” She prods, unwilling to come right out and mention the fluorescent emerald green glow of her and Lon’s palms. Still teeter-tottering as to whether they actually saw what they thought they did and how crazy it would sound to someone who didn’t.
“Nope,” he dismisses, shoving his hand into the pocket of his jeans.
“It’s weird. The scar. Don’t you think?” Her fingertip traces the inside of her palm, palpating the braided track. “It’s not smooth and concave like most scars.”
“Never noticed anything out of the ordinary.” He shrugs, taking the opportunity to divert the conversation. “Whew!” Rubbing the back of his hand off his forehead, he sops up the moisture there. “Is this you?” He points to an apartment complex coming into view.
Brianna nods. “How are you going to get back to the frat house?” She takes in a visibly spent Johnny. Judging from his attractive wiry build, she wouldn’t expect a leisurely walk to take so much out of him.
“I’m not walking back there,” he rebukes, following her to her door.
She looks at him skeptically, wondering if his motivation to stay was preplanned. “My roommate’s out of town for the weekend. You can have her bed.” She turns the lock with her key, pushing through the door.
Johnny fills his lungs with the pleasant aroma, entering behind her. “How do girls’ apartments always smell so good?”
“I believe they call it cleanliness.” She chuckles, walking to the refrigerator. Pouring two tall glasses of filtered water, she offers him one.
He accepts, leaning up against the counter facing her, rather close in his proximity. The moment the cool, refreshing glass hits his lips, he does not stop until it’s empty. “Ahh,” he releases, setting the glass down, his arm taking the liberty at waist level to encircle her lower back. “You look real good, Brianna.” Delivering a most handsome smile, his sky blue eyes peruse her face.
“So do you,” she returns his compliment, her hand subconsciously swiping his disheveled side bangs out of his eye. Momentarily caught up in his youthful, becoming presence, the image of her conflicted adolescent friend lacking of parental love tugs on her heartstrings.
He takes the glass from her, setting it aside his on the countertop. His other hand around the small of her back, he pulls her tighter to his lean frame.
She stiffens against him, recognizing the look in his eyes turning from regard to wanton. “I can’t do this. With you.” She places her hands on his chest, stifling his lips’ progression toward hers.
He nods perceptively, knowing Lon to be the true affection of her heart. Still holding her, a rare vulnerability displays in his expression. “Do you think you could ever love me the way you love him?”
Her eyelashes meet briefly, attempting to find the gentle courage required to let him down. “Johnny, I
like
you, a lot,” she begins, her eyes opening. “You would be so easy to love.” Brianna is sure to let him know his worth, cognizant of a fact he likely doubts given his upbringing. “It’s just that Lon and I…”