WrongorWriteBoxedSetstripped

by Sky Corgan

  “No. No. Truce. Truce. Please,” he begged as I whacked him a few more times.

  “Jerkface. I haven't seen you in five plus years, and you tell me I got fat. I bet that's just fat under that shirt there. You probably got all puffy too and are just telling me it's muscle.” I threw the pillow down on the bed and returned to the boxes, taping the bottoms, so they wouldn't bust open when it was time to carry them downstairs.

  Darren was making no move to help, and when I glanced back up at him, I was surprised to see that he was unbuttoning the front of his shirt.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, completely dumbstruck. My expression was shocked, but my eyes followed the buttons as they descended down his body, each one revealing rippling muscle beneath. Oh my God, this is so not the Darren I used to know.

  “You think it's fat. I'm showing you it's not.”

  “I don't need to see.” I averted my eyes, though my peripheral vision couldn't be dragged away from him as he stood up and shrugged the shirt off, revealing a body that was all chiseled man.

  “Come here.”

  “Why?”

  “Just come here.”

  “No.”

  “Tara,” he gave me his warning voice.

  With an overly dramatic sigh, I stood up and shuffled over to him, feeling like a small child about to get chastised by their parents. In reality, I was acting like a brat. Stupidity had kicked in the second the shirt had come off.

  He reached out and grabbed my hand, placing it on his chest. The skin to skin contact made my body go into heated overload. I suddenly felt weak. What was he doing? What was he doing to me? Why was he doing this?

  “See, all muscle,” he said, his voice completely gentle.

  I felt paralyzed, not sure of what to say or do. He placed his hand on top of mine, guiding it down his body and across his stomach. Each time my fingertips fell into an indention, my heart skipped a beat, my mind going crazy with all sorts of inappropriate images that I never thought my brain could ever conjure about Darren. Something inside of me was raging with a desire so strong that I thought it might consume and kill me where I stood. It wasn't right, but I couldn't fight it.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked, perhaps seeing the nervousness on my face.

  “No.”

  “You should be.”

  His words caught me off guard, and when I looked up at his face to try to find the meaning, all I could see behind his blue eyes was a lust that burned as brightly as my own.

  “Why?” I asked weakly.

  “Because you're in a bedroom alone with me, and I want you desperately.”

  When he bent to press his lips against mine, I didn't move. His kiss was warm and comforting and everything I needed in that moment. He waited for me to reciprocate, lingering. My heart pounded in ears, almost deafening. Everything around me disappeared. It was just our lips, the soft feel of them contoured to each other.

  Think of Lawrence, my mind screamed. This would be a betrayal. You don't know this guy anymore. He's been fucking other women. Think of Eleanor. Yes, Eleanor. What about Eleanor?

  “What about Eleanor?” I stepped away from him, letting my mouth echo what my brain had said to me.

  “What about her?”

  “You're with her now.”

  “She means nothing to me.”

  “And me? Do I mean anything to you?” I looked into his eyes, wondering if he'd lie to me or tell me the truth.

  “Do you want to mean something to me?” he asked.

  I thought about it for a moment. Yes. No. I was so confused. Why did this have to happen when I was so emotionally vulnerable?

  I was about to open my mouth to reply when Darren took a step back and put his hands up in surrender. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come on to you like that. I know what this is, I really do. Once you're done with this house, you'll leave again. So, let's just get on with business. I told you I wanted to help you with this room, and I meant it. I didn't mean to over-complicate things.”

  I sighed in relief. “Thank you, Darren. That really means a lot to me.”

  “Best friends to the end, right,” he mimicked something I had once said to him long ago, and I thought I heard a twinge of pain in his voice.

  “Um. I'll take the closet. You can start on the dresser. Just wrap up everything you find and stick it in the box. I'm going to move everything to storage. I'll go through it later,” I told him, wanting to get back to work as quickly as possible. Things had gotten really weird really fast. The sooner we were done, the sooner he would leave.

  “Sounds good.”

  I retreated to the closet, opening it up to the wonders left behind. In the corner was a box filled with old photo albums. I knew better than to go through them with Darren around. Most of the pictures in them were of him and I, though there were some of Krista and my other friends as well. What clothes that were left on the rack were too small for me to wear. That thought was a bit depressing. Then again, my style had changed a lot since high school.

  I decided to close the box with the pictures and tape it shut before Darren had a chance to get his hands on it. Then I went downstairs to get a plastic trash bag to put the clothes in. They would get donated on my way back into town. When I came back upstairs, Darren was busily wrapping some of my knickknacks. He didn't even bother to look at me, which I was completely fine with. The less contact we had, the better, though I must admit I did enjoy stealing a glance at his shirtless back every now and then.

  The top shelf of my closet was lined with various junk: a backpack, an old lava lamp, a lanyard making kit, some children's books that had been up there since I was an infant. Why I never got rid of this stuff when I was living at home, I didn't know. The closet was used just as much for storage as it was for clothes.

  “Look at this,” Darren said from the bedroom, and when I emerged to see what he was talking about, he was holding up an old notebook.

  “What is it?” I asked, taking a few steps out of the closet for a better look.

  “It's the notebook we used to play hangman with.”

  “Wasn't that originally yours?”

  “It was. I don't remember leaving it over here.”

  I smirked at the memory that came racing back to me. “You didn't. I stole it from you.”

  “You stole it from me?” He looked surprised. “Why would you do that? It was my lucky notebook.”

  “I don't see how it was possibly lucky.” I quirked an eyebrow at him.

  “It just was.” He shrugged.

  “The only thing I remember about that notebook is that I dreaded seeing you pull it out.”

  “Why?” he laughed at me.

  “Seriously? Playing hangman with you was horrible. Your vocabulary was always so much better than mine.”

  “What does that have to do with you stealing my notebook?”

  “Because you were anal about using every single page in that stupid thing. Every time you brought it over you wanted to play hangman. And I always lost, which wasn't very fun for me. I thought that if I stole it from you, you'd stop asking to play.”

  “Did it work?”

  “For the most part. You did ask one time after, but I shot you down, and we never played again. I consider stealing it from you one of my childhood victories.”

  “We should play again, after we're done.” He waved the notebook at me.

  I grabbed it from him and smacked him on the arm with it before tossing it in the box he was working on. “Get back to work.”

  “I'm serious. I'm sure your vocabulary has gotten better over the years.”

  “Says the author. I already know I'm no match for you,” I replied, stepping back into the closet to finish up.

  “I promise I'll use small words,” I could hear the humor in his voice, and I couldn't help but grin.

  “No. I hate that notebook. I should burn it.”

  “Well if you're just going to burn it, then I'm going to take it back.”

&
nbsp; “Why?”

  “Because it brings me good luck.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Dork.”

  I finished packing the closet with a smile on my face. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, it was really starting to feel good having Darren around. He reminded me of home and happier times, and despite the awkward kiss, I was still comfortable around him.

  When I finished with the closet, I started taking all the posters off the walls. Darren helped, and we laughed and talked about all the memories that had been made in the room. All the non-sexual memories, of course. We didn't really need to talk about that memory. Every time I glanced at his shirtless frame, I thought about it, still unable to believe this delicious man used to be the scrawny boy who I gave my virginity to.

  “What now?” Darren asked when the room was completely packed up.

  “I guess we're done,” I said, standing beside him to gaze upon the now barren walls.

  “There's still a lot of work to be done. I wouldn't mind helping out some more. I like going through all the old memories.”

  “I wouldn't mind that either,” I replied, thinking about how lonely I would be once he had left.

  We parted ways, and each took a bathroom. I gave him the guest bathroom while I went through my parents' bathroom. It was no surprise when he finished way before me. He stood in the doorway of my parents' bathroom, his back to me, staring at the unmade bed. I could almost feel what he was thinking, sense the depression rolling through him.

  “Maybe you should go work in the garage, on my dad's things. I know you guys were close, and to be honest, I really don't know what most of that stuff is. In fact, if there are any tools you want, just go ahead and take them. I know he'd want you to have them,” I told him, sounding as sympathetic as possible.

  “I appreciate that,” he replied solemnly, and then he was gone.

  Being alone gave my body a chance to cool down from the heat that Darren's presence caused, but it also gave me time to think, which isn't always a good thing. I liked having Darren around. I liked it too much. And, to be honest with myself, I had liked it when he kissed me. I wanted more, wanted to give myself to him, wanted to feel the man he had become.

  Had his words meant anything when he asked if I wanted to mean something to him? Perhaps I did still mean something to him. Maybe I meant more to him than I did to Lawrence. It was a strange thing to think, and the thought filled me with guilt.

  My needs were shifting. They had been for a while. I was tired of being alone. I wasn't getting any younger, and the truth was that the older I got, the more I did feel the need to get married and have children. Being back in Castroville, thinking about the lives of my parents, the lives of Darren's parents, hell, even the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Wallace, I realized that I wanted something like that too. Would I ever have that with Lawrence? Could I have something like that with Darren? Or was it all just wishful thinking? Was I being selfish again? I had thrown Darren away, and now I was thinking about . . . Holy crap, what was wrong with me?

  I tried to push such thoughts out of my mind as I continued working into the night. Instead, I focused on what I would do with the money from the house. Maybe it was time for Alice and I to start thinking about having a house of our own. A house of our own. It made us sound like lesbians. That's not how things are supposed to happen. You don't buy a house for you and your friend. You buy a house to have a family. I sighed, my mind back on thoughts of what my life was lacking. Perhaps I should use some of the money to take a vacation and get my head on straight again.

  At around eight o'clock, I stopped working to heat up the pie. Darren would probably be hungry, and I figured there was no better way to thank him than to let him have dinner with me, if he even waned to have dinner with me. For all that I knew, he had plans with Eleanor tonight.

  When I finished heating up the pie in the oven, I went out to the garage to retrieve Darren. He was sitting on one of my dad's old tool boxes with a magazine in his hand. It looked like he had gotten a lot of work done. All the shelves were clear, though most of the stuff was piled into a corner. There were three boxes that had already been packed and taped, and another box that was half full of what looked to be Christmas decorations.

  “Darren,” I said softly.

  “Oh.” He looked up at me, startled. “Well, that's embarrassing. I offer to help, and you catch me taking a break.”

  “No, it's fine. It looks like you got a lot done. I was thinking we should quit for the night anyway.”

  “Did you know your dad was subscribed to Car and Driver?” He held up the magazine.

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “Neither did I. But, it's a new issue, so he must be.” He tossed the magazine down onto the floor before standing up, his gorgeous body glistening with a light sheen of sweat. I found myself biting my bottom lip as I gazed upon him, though as soon as our eyes met, I turned away, blushing.

  “I thought we could eat some of that pot pie your mother had you bring over, if you're hungry, that is.”

  “I'm famished.”

  “Good.” I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear as I led the way into the kitchen.

  Darren lined up behind me to get a slice of pie and a glass of water, then we took our plates to the dining room table and ate together in near silence. By the pace at which he was consuming his food, he hadn't lied about being famished. It was amusing to watch him eat with such enthusiasm.

  “What?” he asked when he caught me grinning at him.

  “Nothing. You just look very hungry,” I giggled.

  “I am. Haven't eaten all day.”

  “You should have told me. I would have fed you sooner.”

  “It's fine. You still owe me a game of hangman after this.”

  I groaned. “Please, no. I thought you were kidding. I'm really not in the mood.”

  “It's the least you could do after I helped you. I promise we won't play for long.” He gave me puppy eyes that I couldn't resist.

  “Fine. Only two games though. I get one word. You get one word. And yours better not be hard. I'm exhausted, and I want to go to bed soon.”

  “Fine. Fine. You sound like an old woman,” he teased me, getting up from the table to take our plates to the sink and run upstairs to retrieve the notebook.

  I rested my head on the table, upset at myself for giving in. It was already almost nine o'clock, and all I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. Still, a quick game wouldn't hurt, and after everything he'd done for me and all I'd put him through, I felt like I did at least owe him that much.

  He walked down the stairs, slid back into his chair, and flipped the notebook to its first blank page, quickly marking out the spaces for four letters.

  “You ready?” he asked, practically wiggling with excitement. It was hard not to grin at how adorable he was being.

  I sighed, playing the part of the brat again. “I suppose. Let's get on with it. T.”

  “Nope.” He drew the stick man's head.

  “I.”

  “Man, you're so bad at this.” He drew the body.

  “R.”

  He drew an arm.

  “Fuck my life. This is a word I don't know, isn't it?”

  “You know it,” he insisted.

  “P.”

  Another arm.

  “W.”

  A leg.

  “J.”

  Another leg.

  “F.”

  The noose.

  “I give up. What is it?”

  “That's not how the game is played.”

  “Darren, I'm tired and I'm getting frustrated. Have mercy.”

  “Fine,” he sighed, obviously disappointed.

  I watched as he filled in the letters. Love. The word was love. My heart sank, though I didn't know why.

  “It's your turn,” he told me, passing the notebook over.

  I scratched out eleven spaces.

  “I thought we agreed no big words.” He quirked an eyebrow at me.r />
  “And I thought you had a big vocabulary.” I smirked at him.

  “I do, but this hardly seems fair.”

  “It's not a hard word.”

  “I'll take your word for it. Q.”

  “What in the world would make you start with the letter Q?” I laughed at him as I drew the hangman's head.

  “Because I remember that when we were little you always used to try to trick me by using words with weird letters.”

  “It truly amazes me how you retained so much about our childhood.”

  “It was a special time to me. The best in my life.”

  His words made me feel guilty, but they also caused warm stirrings. It was some of the best times of my life as well, I was just too prideful to admit it. How could I possibly tell him that? Sure, life was good now, but it wasn't the best. It wasn't as good as it could be.

  “S,” he continued with the game.

  “There are two s's.” I penciled them in at the end of the word.

  “The word is forgiveness.”

  “How did you know?” I looked up at him in surprise.

  “Because I know you, Tara.” His expression was serious. “It's late. I should go.”

  I sat there dumbstruck while he pulled himself up from the table, and I listened to his footsteps as he ran up the stairs to get his shirt. It wasn't until I heard him walking back downstairs that I found the strength to move, meeting up with him to show him to the door. What a strange night it had been. And what was even stranger was that I didn't want him to go. Somehow, it felt like I was losing him, like if he walked out that door, it would be the last time I ever saw him again. Everything in me didn't want that, but I knew I couldn't stop it. We were different people now. Soon, I would have to go back to living my life, and he would have to go back to living his. Still . . .

  Darren turned to me as I held the door open for him. His attention was split between buttoning up his shirt and giving me a charming smile. I wasn't sure why he had bothered to put the shirt back on. He was absolutely filthy beneath it. We were both in need of a shower.

  “Well, I'd say that I'll see you around, but I'm guessing that's probably not true,” he said.

  “Who knows? I didn't expect to see you today, and here you are.”