by Russo, Jessa
“But he was a good guy in Con Air, and a bad guy in Face Off. So how do you explain that they’re the same character?”
“You’re missing the point,” I said around a mouthful of greasy, buttery goodness. “It doesn’t matter what movie it is, what role it is, good or bad, Nicholas Cage will still be Nicholas Cage.”
“Matchstick Men.”
“Nicholas Cage.”
“Wicker Man.”
“Ugh, a terrible movie, but no less Nicholas Cage being Nicholas Cage.”
“Captain Corelli.”
“Oh, come on! That’s just Nicholas Cage with a bad accent.”
“Hmm,” Mick said as we took our seats in the empty theater. “Oh! I’ve got it. A chick flick this time…City of Angels.”
“Ooh, a good one yes, but still just Nicholas Cage being Nicholas Cage.”
Mick shook his head and laughed. “You’re not going to waver on this, are you?”
“No, so you might as well just agree with me. And don’t even get me started on Will Smith.”
“Oh?” Mick’s eyebrows shot up into his scalp. “You don’t like Will Smith?”
“No! I mean, yes, I do like Will Smith! But he’s always just Will Smith, you know? I think he’s great, but he’s never not Will Smith, regardless of the movie or the role.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll have to just take your word for it, Holland.”
“That’s probably a good idea, Mick.”
I looked over at him, catching him staring at me. My heart skipped a beat, and I wondered what he was thinking. He licked his lips, and I couldn’t help but move my focus to his mouth. His lips were full and slightly heart-shaped, with the bottom lip sticking out ever so slightly—the softness a sexy contradiction to his defined chin and cheekbones.
I wanted to kiss him.
Gah!
I shook my head slightly and inhaled a breath, forcing my attention back to Mick’s eyes as I swallowed the gigantic lump in my throat. His eyebrows were drawn over squinted eyelids—his eyes flicking back and forth between mine. His mouth pulled down slowly into a frown.
I quickly turned my head to avoid further scrutiny. Could he see the grayness that slowly seeped into my eyes?
The lights dimmed as the previews began, and not a moment too soon. I welcomed the blackness. If the theater was dim, I could forget about the darkness looming just beneath my weakening façade. How much time did I have before some unknown switch flipped, and the grayness in my eyes revealed something terrible inside me? How much longer could I ignore the change, the feeling of wrongness in my body? Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Not with how off I felt.
Mick’s leg rested closely to mine, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like if we touched, if the energy running through me would shock either of us. I couldn’t fathom focusing on the movie, not with that kind of acute awareness of every move he made and every centimeter of empty space between us.
A thrill shot through me every time our elbows bumped.
I hadn’t felt this jittery in a long time, and for some stupid reason, I kind of welcomed the feeling. That excited swirling in the pit of my stomach had been too long dormant.
By the end of the movie, I was sure Mick would agree with me on the whole Nicholas Cage thing. He’d be crazy not to, seeing how this was just one more example of Nic Cage being Nic Cage.
When the credits began rolling up and off the screen, I started clapping. It only took a few claps to realize that once again, I was the only one. The Lone Clapper.
“You know that was a movie, right? Not a live show with a cast who can actually hear your applause?”
I rolled my eyes. Like I hadn’t heard that one before.
“Humor me, okay? My mom says everyone always used to clap at the end of shows—live plays, regular movies—it didn’t matter. I guess she just raised me this way. I clap at the end of a movie. I know they can’t hear me.”
“Even at home? When you’re in your living room? Do you clap then?”
“No.” Sometimes?
Mick shook his head and laughed, then stood to leave.
I grabbed his arm. “Wait! I like to see if there’s any bonus material,” I said, somewhat sheepishly. First the Lone Clapper, and now the Bonus Material Girl. He was going to run away from me soon for sure.
Mick smiled and sat down. I released my grip on his arm, but as my hand fell away, his hand found mine, and he wove our fingers together, sending my heart to pounding away in my ears. He rubbed his thumb back and forth over mine. I couldn’t keep the smile from my face. I leaned back and watched the credits roll up and off the screen, thinking of nothing else but the way his hand felt in mine. Warm, strong, safe…I didn’t want him to ever let go of me.
The lights were on. Huh. I didn’t remember them coming on. I’d been too focused on the way my body reacted to touching Mick. In fact, I couldn’t even recall if there’d been bonus material.
Crap.
“So, I guess I’m starting to get the whole Nic Cage thing.”
I turned to look at him, a smile pulling at my lips. “I knew it—”
The closeness of his face stopped the words from coming out of my mouth. He released my hand and placed his fingers on my cheek. A hint of numbness surfaced across my cheek as every nerve-ending reacted to the slight trail of his fingertips as he ran them over my jaw. Then, he slowly cupped his hand to cradle my face. My eyes widened as he brought his face closer to mine.
He licked his lips, and within seconds—before I could form any rational argument—his mouth was on mine…warm, soft, gentle. He kissed me lightly, gently sucking my bottom lip in between his lips, then letting go before doing it again. The way Mick kissed me was the most thrilling sensation I’d ever had, and so unlike the way Rod used to kiss me.
Ugh. This was no time to allow him to pop into my head.
Taking his time, Mick kissed me slowly and deliberately, causing my body to break out in excited goose bumps. I didn’t feel anything outside the places our mouths connected. I closed my eyes and, against my better judgment, permitted myself to relax into his kiss. I didn’t want to be with Mick—or any guy, for that matter—but something about the way he was so tender with me, so kind, caused all my muscles to relax.
I leaned further into him, allowing myself to let go, to give in.
Mick moved his hand from cupping my cheek to settling at the base of my neck. His thumb rested gently near my collar bone, while he moved his other hand to the soft spot above my knee, and all coherent thought went out the window. Every nerve in my body crackled and rushed to the places where our bodies connected—the light pressure of his fingertips pressed into my leg, the movement of his mouth on mine—and I didn’t want to ever not kiss him.
The lightness of his lips on my lips sent tingles through my cheeks, as if he woke up parts of me that had long been dormant. I nearly sighed into his mouth, the feeling of relaxation almost too much to take. He gently nipped at my bottom lip with his teeth, and I thought I’d melt right into him, right there in that movie theater.
Here lies Holland Briggs.
Completely undone by the best kisser she’d ever met.
At least she died happy.
Well, I could think of worse fates. I wondered at the idea that just a few months ago I’d thought my depression would be the death of me. Convinced myself that maybe I’d wanted that. Had I succeeded then, I wouldn’t have been here today, kissing Mick for the first time. As his fingers moved up into my hair, I realized how very wrong I’d been, and for the first time in a long time, I felt thankful. Really, truly thankful. I’d tried to die that day, and I’d failed.
The best failure of my life.
Clearing his throat to alert us that we were no longer alone, an usher entered the theater, clanking his trash collector loudly and making his presence known.
I pulled away from Mick, horrified.
“The movie’s been over for almost ten minutes,” the usher sn
apped. “If you’re staying for the next one, you’ll need to purchase additional tickets.”
I was too humiliated to think about how rude the man was, but I caught Mick smiling, obviously not at all uncomfortable after being caught making out. I, however, was probably ten shades of red and couldn’t even look at the theater employee as I stood up to gather my things. I grabbed my purse and my empty popcorn carton, then made for the door. Keeping my head down and my eyes on the floor, I tried in vain to hide my humiliation.
I didn’t say another word until we were safely inside Mick’s truck.
“Oh my God, um, that was mortifying.”
“Huh. You were embarrassed? I couldn’t tell.”
I shot Mick a glare but couldn’t keep a straight face.
“You’re really cute when you’re embarrassed.”
I looked down. “Oh, please. Do you say that to all the girls?”
“Not all girls are cute when they’re embarrassed, Holland. So,” he said as he turned the key in the ignition, and the old F-250 grunted and growled to life. “What do you want to do next?”
Kiss you again. “I don’t care. I’m open.”
“Okay, then. How about we head toward my old neighborhood? There’s a killer little hole-in-the-wall pool hall by my old house. Sound good?”
Without my permission, my gaze focused on his lips when he spoke, and I couldn’t recall anything he’d just said. I looked up into his eyes, and swallowed the lump in my throat.
I wanted him to kiss me again.
“Sounds perfect.” I whispered, almost throatily.
“Yeah,” Mick said, as he held my gaze a little longer than necessary. “Perfect.”
My cheeks flushed as I realized he intended the word for me. Perfect. I was far from it. I couldn’t help but turn my head away. If he only knew.
“Why do you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Why do you turn away like that? What’s so wrong with someone looking at you?”
“Nothing,” I said, not really having an answer for him. I’m afraid you’ll see it didn’t seem like an appropriate response from a sane girl. “Can we just go now? Wait…where are we going again?”
“Look at me, Holland. Seriously, what’s wrong? You just agreed to go to a pool hall with me. I happen to have it on good authority that you despise pool.”
Pool hall? Huh. I must have really been daydreaming.
“Will you look at me? Please?”
I took a deep breath, and pulled my gaze away from the wet asphalt of the movie theater parking lot. When I brought my attention back to Mick, the expression on his face was so tender, so full of kindness. For the slightest second, I could almost relax; almost see what he saw in me. Almost let him in.
But then his eyebrows scrunched together, and he stopped his hand from reaching up to my face, allowing it to plop into his lap.
“Holland, don’t panic—”
Holland
I bolted out of the car and ran back into the theater before Mick could even finish the sentence.
Oh my God! What had he seen? Don’t panic? I knew nothing good could come from a sentence that started with don’t panic.
I flew past the guy asking for tickets, hoping he’d recognize me from earlier and not hassle me about buying a ticket, and not caring either way. I had to get to the bathroom. Had to see a mirror.
My stomach knotted, and my mouth watered as my heart pounded, threatening to explode.
I almost knocked a woman over on my way in, and didn’t think she was fond of my half-ass mumbled apology, but again, I didn’t really care either way. Something was wrong.
I stopped in front of the mirror, hesitating for only a second. Look up, I urged myself. Something was happening to me whether I addressed it or not, so I might as well see for myself.
With reluctance—and fear—I lifted my head, my eyes settling on my reflection.
My heart beat harder and faster, thumping away in my chest. I gasped, then clamped a hand over my mouth. Tears pooled in my eyes.
The grayness had finally replaced the blue of my irises. Completely. The color reminded me of storm clouds. No, not just the color, but the actual grayness in my eyes seemed to move and shift like roiling clouds during a storm.
Gray lines laced my skin. They weren’t like wrinkles; they were in the skin, or maybe even under it. I watched in horror as the lines—cracks?—stretched out from my eyes, spreading all over my face. They coated my skin, reminiscent of the way a crack spreads so quickly over the ground in those crazy earthquake disaster movies.
My heart raced faster, harder, and I suddenly realized how abnormal the beat was. The usual cadence of buh-bump, buh-bump was no longer there. Instead, it was a heavy and erratic beat. Pain trickled from the center of my chest, stretching out along my skin. I pulled the baggy cowl-neck of my brown sweater down, only to discover more gray lines winding out from my heart, covering my skin and rising in all directions.
As I watched the lines morph and stretch across my skin, they connected with those originating from my eyes, covering my skin completely until no tan flesh remained. The color reached up into my hair, eliminating the spun-sugar blonde I’d been born with as quickly as fire might consume a dry bush.
I was entirely gray.
As if doused with chalky gray paint, there was no vibrancy to me anymore, besides my clothing. No blonde hair, no bright blue eyes, no sun-kissed skin. I pulled my sweater down over my shoulder. Even the sprinkling of freckles there were just another shade of ash. I opened my mouth. Not even my tongue was pink anymore.
Just gray.
I was the statue I thought I’d seen in the mirror earlier. I was the hallucination.
A knock on the bathroom door startled me out of my terrified examination of myself, and I quickly ran into a stall. The main bathroom door opened a little, just as I slammed and locked the door to the stall I’d hidden in.
“Holland? Is everything okay? What’s going on?”
Mick? Dammit.
“Nothing! Everything is fine! I’m just not feeling very well.” I’m fucking gray!
“Oh? Okay. Can I get you something? Some Sprite, maybe?”
“No, just go on home! I’ll be fine!” I tried to sound cheerful, but tears poured from my eyes, making my mouth thick, and my words come out choppy.
“Holland?”
“Yeah?” Still failing miserably at cheery.
“I don’t know what kind of guy you think I am, but I’m not going to just leave you here without a ride.”
I stared down at my hands, knowing I couldn’t possibly let him see me like this. But what could I do? How could I make him leave? What could I say?
How was I getting home?
What would I do when I got there, anyway?
I was screwed.
“Um, yeah, well, I already called my brother to come get me, so it’s cool.”
Lies.
“What? Why…?” His voice was softer than it had been a moment ago. He probably thought I was blowing him off. “Okay, well…um…do you want me to wait until he gets here?”
“No! No, just go ahead home, okay? I’m fine. He said he’s right around the corner, so it won’t be long. Thanks for the ditch day!”
I waited to hear the door close, but nothing happened.
“Mick?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he said on a sigh. “Trying to figure out what’s going on, I guess. I’m leaving now. I’ll talk to you later, Holland. Call me if you need me.”
I closed my eyes. “Just please go, Mick. I’m really not feeling well.”
“Whatever you say. Call me later, okay?”
I nodded my head, even though I knew he couldn’t see me. I couldn’t muster a response. His voice sounded so deflated. So sad. I knew I shouldn’t have let him into my life. What was my mom thinking? What was I thinking?
The main bathroom door swooshed clos
ed, and I exhaled the breath I’d held for who knows how long. My shoulders sagged, and I leaned my head against the stall door.
Now what?
I’d lied about calling my brother, obviously, since I didn’t even own a freaking cell phone. So Cam wasn’t coming to save me. I’d have to get out of the theater and find a payphone. Did payphones even exist anymore? Oh God…how would I do all this without letting anyone see me?
I shook my head at my situation and closed my eyes, wishing for an answer to come. I rubbed my face with my hands, but the action reminded me that both my hands and my face were gray.
Since I didn’t have a phone, and I had no car, I couldn’t just sit here in the bathroom hoping to get rescued like some damsel in distress. Eventually, I’d have to leave the theater.
I opened the stall door, peeking out into the bathroom to check that I was in fact still alone. I bent down and looked under the long line of stalls. No feet. I pulled my sleeves down to cover my hands and yanked my cowl neck sweater—wish I would have worn a hoodie!—up over my head, covering my face as much as I could. I knew I probably looked ridiculous, but I just had to get outside without anyone seeing me.
I made it to the main bathroom door, then pulled it open just a hair and peered into the theater lobby. To the left, a short line of people waited to buy concessions. To the right, the long hallway with closed theater doors. My options weren’t great, but if I headed through one of the theaters, it would most likely be dark, and I could slip through a back exit and end up behind the building. This option was really the only option because I couldn’t chance bumping into so many people and scaring them all half to death.
Because I’m gray!
After that, I’d have to somehow find a phone and call Mom.
Hopefully she’d know what to do, though I had absolutely no idea what the hell I was supposed to tell her.
Hi, Mom! Guess what? You’re never gonna guess!
The particular theater I picked to sneak out of wasn’t dark, but it was empty. I thanked my lucky stars and headed for the exit at the front of the large room. I slipped out the door, holding my breath—I’d always wondered if an alarm would sound if someone opened the exit door in a theater.
