"Why, you jelly, bro?" I tried to laugh, but the remnant of my emotional state choked my throat. I laughed, a little too high and clipped.
"Oh please, girl," Alex replied. "Elijah's not my type. I'm talking about this, what the guys and I just watched happen - in silence - during that last song. You know he's taken, right? Not just taken, hon, he's engaged. And he's getting married next week. Rochelle, what're you doin'?"
"Oh, come on, Alex. We're just friends. We've always been friends; you should know that, you went to school with us."
"And I knew back then ya'll weren't friends. There's something about you two..."
"Well, he's a good friend, and we're not interested in each other," I protested. "Besides, you know he's only into athletic people. He'd never be ..."
"Interested?" Alex interrupted. "Yeah, because he loves Alicia! I've seen it," he dropped his voice. "Don't get hurt, Ro. He's not worth the tears."
"I'm so tired of people harassing me about this," I said. I dropped his hand as the song ended. "No more, do you hear? I'm done. He's my friend." I spun on my heel and walked to the ladies room.
God, I needed to get a hold of myself.
Elijah
The problem with journalists is we like to have too much fun. We never do anything half-assed.
Nope, it's balls to the wall when it comes to us.
In my case, that didn't happen often.
Bottoms up, bottoms, up.
I thought about the dancers at the "gentleman's club" before coming to Ricky's Bar. Of course, this damn town was so small we only had one strip club. Some of the girls dancing there I went to high school with, and I had never wanted to see them naked back then. And I hated seeing girls dance – Rochelle knew that I found it insulting to women of all size and age – but she'd made us go anyway.
But Rochelle made it great. Her excitement, enthusiasm, she turned a boring night in a small town into one of thrill. I smiled as I slugged probably my 5th beer of the night – I don't know, I'd lost track somewhere between Alex's hilarious uncomfortable tuck of a dollar bill in a g-string and the dancing I'd done with Rochelle.
It was good to dance, but kinda creepy when it was with a girl who for all intents and purposes, was my brother. Still, she did all this for me, she deserved to feel great for once.
Ever since Matt... she'd been the only thing I had in the world. I remembered Matt and I as kids, curled up on his bed reading sports scores, playing Nintendo way after bedtime, swinging too high at the park by the lake, and pulling extra time at the gym as he prepped for boot camp. High school years when he'd chase off the bullies in the hall, and our video conferences from the base when he joined the Army.
God, I missed him so much.
I cursed those insurgents for the 100th time in the last 2 years for taking him from me.
I drained the rest of my beer, in time to watch Rochelle stalk across the dance floor before the song had even towards the bathrooms, leaving a bewildered Alex to return to our table. I chuckled, knowing there'd be a line – always was with women.
"Way to go, man," I saluted Alex with my empty beer as he returned to our table. "You pissed off our chaperone. Now I have to buy my own beer, what the hell?"
Alex flipped his chestnut hair out of his eyes, a useless effort when it just fell right back into its original place. "Whatever, Elijah," he rolled his eyes. "She's always pissed off."
"Observant" I tried to say. What I heard had a curious lack of vowels: "Obsvnt..."
I couldn't decide if I needed another beer or not. My world was pretty cloudy already. I vaguely remembered dancing with Rochelle. Had I put my hands around her waist? She had murmured some dude's name. Hopefully it was her new boyfriend; she needed one, it had been a while. I couldn't even remember the song that was playing; I was concentrating on not falling on my ass.
Yeah, I think it's time to call a... that thing with a driver...
Tim looked pretty uncomfortable. I had a hard time figuring out if he even liked girls, or if he fit in better with Alex's side of society. Our resident web designer was dressed in a t-shirt that said "Computer geeks do it on a desk" and wrinkled cargo pants with too many pockets that looked full. His dirty blond hair was messy, but he looked wide awake, despite it being at least one or something in the morning.
He was still a party pooper. I actually think he was sober, but whatever.
I must have swayed then, because Aaron gripped my upper arm and said, "Whoa, buddy. How much have you had?"
A voice that didn't sound like mine said, "Um... teen."
"Yeah, you need a cab, man." He nodded at Alex, and let me go. "I'll get ya one."
Alex was smirking at me. "Drunk is so not a turn on, E."
"Neither is bein' a homo, but you try pretty hard," Was I seriously slurring? I was not that drunk!
"Speaking of hard..." he said, and pointed at a blond woman that was walking over to me.
"Hey, are you drunk?"
It was Alicia! Wait, Alicia had grown some boobs. Well, cool. I wanted to touch them. Oh crap, she wasn't supposed to know where I was. I told her we had been at the Caberat for dinner and a show. Bet she's pissed.
"Aaron called a cab for him," Alex said. Dammit, was he giggling at me? Why, I...
Alicia laughed at me, and downed the beer I swear I had just been holding. She grabbed my arm. "Come on, buddy, let's get some air."
I don't remember leaving the club, but I still felt pretty good. I mean, my stomach was a little... woah...
But Alicia was there, her hand on my shoulder, and in my hair, holding my head as I heaved the contents of my stomach on a nearby bush.
Oh man, so fuckin' embarrassing. I swore I'd never let her see me like this. She was a good woman.
Then, a shiny yellow thing pulled up, and blinded me with round headlights when it stopped at my feet. Everything was blurry and watery, and my head was pounding. My bed sounded fantastic. Alicia pushed me in, but it was so hard to sit up straight. So tired.
My head found her lap. Her warm hand tousled my hair gently and her other arm draped over my chest. "I haven't seen you this drunk since... Matt..."
Matt, oh god, I did not want to talk about Matt. But all I managed was "No..." I turned and looked up at her. Her face was blurry, and I swear her eyes were bigger than normal. Pretty sure she got a hair cut too because it used to be pretty long and now it barely brushed her shoulders. And her hair was lighter. It wasn't bad, actually.
"You're pretty," I told her. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen.
A few tears dropped onto her cheek, I could literally hear them splash on the front of her shirt, just above my forehead.
"Hey, now," Was she angry enough to cry about it? I was in so much trouble. I racked my brain on how to solve it.
I pulled myself into a seating position, and pulled her into my arms. She struggled to resist. Was she that mad? She fell limp, heavy, in my arms. Her bare arms were so silky against my fingertips. I placed a gentle kiss on her upturned cheek, where the tears had fallen.
"Don't be mad," I whispered, praying to God I wasn't slurring too much.
"I could never be mad at you," she said, and lifted her head to meet my lips.
Her kiss was new, and fresh. She was minty, and soft. She pressed so lightly it was like being kissed by an angel. I tried to tell myself to ask her later where she had learned to kiss like that. It was so unlike her normal hard and passionate kisses, so awkward and inexperienced, even after three years.
I kissed her back. In my inebriated state, it was wonderful. I had never been kissed like this before. The clumsy kisses of high school were uncomfortable, and many of my girlfriends had been all teeth, or all tongue - one even drooled. This was simple, sweet, and elegant.
I made a mental note that if I hadn't been drunk, and we hadn't been flying down the highway in the back of a cab, I could have taken her right then and there.
But the kiss faded, and she snuggled her head in my lap. And all around me, mint, softness, and her lips.
Rochelle
You're a piece of work, Rochelle, I said to myself.
I clenched the sides of the sink, willing myself to look into the unfamiliar mirror. My hair was disheveled, with bits of dried pink vomit that clung to my blond tresses. My make-up had run, leaving me with dark black circles under my eyes and remnants of gold paint at the corners. My eyes were dark, so dark, like a thunderous day about to burst with a humid downpour. The lipstick had long ago smeared, the light magenta hue ringing my full lips. My shirt blouse was ruined, missing a few buttons from where he'd been so eager to get if off, and smelled faintly like my stained hair. My skirt was rumpled and refused to hang right.
I look like I'd just been hit by a train.
Or a train had hit me.
What had I done?
Home wrecker, my reflection yelled. Her eyes were closed and her fists were wrapped in her hair. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. You know you're just a fucking home wrecker.
I couldn't take her piercing gaze anymore. I sat on the closed toilet with my head in my hands. I didn't dare leave the house like this, but did I have any other option? I glanced at my phone, and saw that I still had enough time. I had more than enough time.
I had to take the time, because I couldn't go out looking like this. What if people knew? What if they could tell? I imagined walking into the office, and wondered if they'd all be talking behind their hands, whispering about what happened Saturday night. Telling each other what a weak person I was, how I couldn't say no. "She'd never been able to say no," Aaron would say, and as I thought about it, he sounded a lot like James. "How could you?" Marion would say, so disappointed. And worst of all, Alicia's gaze burning into me. Would she slap me, punch me? Or just pull her pitiful self and run away?
I felt naked even though I had thrown my clothes on in haste. God, I was so ashamed, I felt like I was in the bathroom with James all over again, and I was rushing to hide my internal agony.
But, if there's one thing James had taught me, it was better to look like I had just arrived then I was just leaving. I shed my clothes, and tossed my ruined shirt in the small garbage. With it buried under a few layers of toilet paper, I started the shower. As the steam filled the bathroom, my shoulders slumped. I wanted to cry, or scream, or feel anything. I stepped into the shower and let the water rush over me, stinging my skin with the warmth. I longed for the hot water to wash it away, but I was so numb. The guilt just consumed me. I stood under the stream so what seemed like hours, waiting for it to cleanse me, but it never did.
And then as if my soul had betrayed me, a smile crept onto my lips. I touched them gingerly. He had kissed them. My hands rubbed my bare arms. He had touched them. The memories flooded in then, and I was consumed with the passion we had shared. It was all I had wanted for so long.
It was just the worst timing in the world.
Worst of all, it was all my fault.
Elijah
I woke up the next morning, embarrassingly snuggling Alicia's giant stuffed panda, Mr. Fluffy, that she insisted share our bed. Chico, her little dog, was curled up at my feet, and I nudged him off the bed.
Oh my god, my head was pounding. I grabbed my phone off the nightstand to check the time. Noon?! I hadn't slept until noon since high school final exams. The envelope symbol told me I not one but TWELVE text messages – and 15 missed calls! All from Alicia.
Where are you?
Then, I told you no later than midnight were followed by, You're an asshole, it's 1am and I am still here alone. WTF.
Finally: Got called in, pulling a 12'er at the ER for Nancy, she's sick. Be home about noon.
I tossed the stupid panda aside. I quickly called her, but big surprise; it went to her machine, which meant her phone was dead. Typical.
I pulled her up on speed dial, ready to apologize my ass off to a machine, hoping it would save me a tongue lashing when she got home.
But then it hit me: Alicia had taken me home last night. Clearly, she had been upset, found me, and got me home in a cab.
The details were foggy. Had I puked? Pretty sure I had puked. Shaking my head at the horror; that one I'd actually not like to remember, thank you very much.
But, I remembered her tears. When Alicia was mad, it was like a tornado – fast and furious, and some shit usually got destroyed in the end. I loved that spark about her, it kept things interesting. What could have upset her so much that she would have been so quiet, so tearful?
I remembered I had kissed the tears away, and she had kissed me back. It was one of the best kisses of my life. We had held each other, and probably more after I had passed out in bed. God, I loved that woman, she never ceased to amaze me!
I dialed her number. "Hey, it's me," I told the machine, "I had a lot of fun last night, love you, baby." Then, I sent her a text with the same message, in case she didn't get a chance to check her voicemail.
I decided to needed coffee then, and made my way down to the kitchen.
As I passed the hallway bathroom in our tiny duplex, I realized the shower was running. I opened the door a crack, and steam hit my face, wet and humid. Alicia must have thought I was still asleep and had just jumped in the shower. After an all-nighter at the hospital, I knew she'd want to do nothing but shower and crawl under the covers.
But last night still lingered on the corners of my brain, and I wanted to surprise her. The thought of her steaming, naked, finely muscled body had me breathing raggedly as I stepped in the bathroom and shut the door without a sound. I shed my clothes as quickly as I could, and stepped in the fogged-up shower door.
"Elijah! Oh my god!" A voice shrieked. "Get out!"
No glasses, no contacts, I couldn't see shit.
Rochelle?
Holy.
Shit.
I couldn't even move. Why in the world was Rochelle in my house, my shower...