Bad Boy Blues

I freeze.

It’s like all of these feelings inside of me that were churning and expanding and ballooning, all of them come to a sudden halt, pressing against my chest in a painful way.

“Please?” Art says again, turning on his side and cupping his hands under his cheek. “It would be so much fun.”

I’m so rattled that I don’t know what to say. Or how to say it.

I can feel Zach, again, standing at the threshold. As if this is a different world from his and he’s not allowed to enter.

I cover Art up with the blanket and decide to make an excuse. “Uh, you know, Art, Zach –”

“Not tonight, buddy.” Zach’s voice cuts me off.

“Why not?” Art’s face is about to crumple and that pain in my chest intensifies.

For Zach.

“Because I gotta go.”

“Oh.” Then he beams sleepily at Zach. “Next time, maybe?”

“Yeah.” Zach clears his throat. “Next time.”

He’s lying; I know that. I can feel it. In fact, I think he’s been evading, lying, avoiding this thing for a very long time. Probably all his life.

A second later, I hear him leave. Third time this evening and all I can think is not yet. He can’t leave yet.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” I tell Art, who looks kinda surprised at Zach’s abrupt departure.

I rush to the dresser, pick up the first book I see, and all but throw it at Art. “Read this until I come back.”

I run out of the room and find Zach at the door. “Wait!”

Zach stops before slowly turning around and facing me.

It’s a little scary to say the things I want to say to him when he looks like that. By that, I mean his usual self. Arrogant, cruel and like he wants to crush me with his bare hands.

“Oh!” I jump in my spot. “I’ve got something for you.”

I run into the kitchen and with shaking hands, I open one of the drawers and retrieve what I want to give him. When I turn around, he’s right there. In my personal space, trapping me between him and the counter.

This is the closest he’s been to me tonight. But he’s not close enough.

Not like he was last night.

I extend my arm toward him. “Here. I bought this for you.”

He doesn’t even look at what I’m offering him. “You bought something for me.”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“A few days ago.”

“A few days ago.”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

I glance down at my hand. “You can look for yourself.”

“I want you to tell me.”

Keeping my head down, I set my offering on the counter and fold my hands in front of me. “Chewing tablets.” I stare at my bare feet and his booted ones.

“Chewing tablets.”

His boots are big, large. I wiggle my toes. They feel small and vulnerable against his boulder-sized shoes.

I feel small and vulnerable.

“Yeah. Tobacco chewing tablets. I stole your pack and so I kinda wanted to replace it. But then I remembered that I’m against smoking. So I bought these. It’s supposed to help you with the cravings.”

I’m still looking at the floor, fiddling with the hem of my loose, off-the-shoulder t-shirt, tucking the strands of my hair behind my ear.

“Are you saying you bought me these because you wanted to make my life easier?”

I nod. I heard that he was going through some pretty intense headaches and I wanted to… help him.

But that’s not the reason I stopped him from leaving just now, obviously.

Okay, Cleo, ask the question. Ask him if he remembers. Stop wasting time.

I’m almost done gathering my courage to just come out with the question that’s been bugging me since last night, when I feel his hands on my waist: bare waist, and I jerk my head up.

Then my feet leave the floor and he’s sitting me up on the counter.

“You need to stop manhandling me,” I pant but there’s no heat in my words.

Zach keeps his hands where they are, under my shirt, on the naked skin of my waist, and wedges his hips between my spread thighs.

“Start talking,” he growls and it goes straight to my lower tummy.

We mirror our position from yesterday. His hands on my waist, mine on his shoulders. My thighs around his hips and our chests punching each other with every breath. Only we were horizontal and he was drunk, and today we’re both in full possession of our faculties.

“About what?”

His jaw ticks. “You smile at me. Then, you invite me to have dinner with you. I eat the food. It was fucking delicious so I eat some more. Meanwhile, you’re blushing. You can’t look at me. But every time I try to leave, you stop me. So I’m asking you why the fuck are you acting like a bad rash I can’t get rid of?”

He liked the food.

I want to smile but I bite the inside of my cheek to stop. Instead, my fingers become claws at his neck. “That’s incredibly mean and offensive.”