by Nora Flite
He's lying, like Greg, but somehow it feels different. My grin was out of my control, my fingers rubbing my upper arms. “Haha, thanks, but you don't need to puff my ego, I know better.”
He laughed, arching an eyebrow. “Everyone deserves a little ego boost now and then. It wasn't that bad, though.”
“It was pretty bad.”
“Okay,” he admitted, shaking his head while he chuckled, “you're right, it was pretty bad. But I still liked it.”
My heart felt like someone had given it a squeeze, I had to resist grabbing at my chest. “You did?”
“Sure, it was obvious you were trying your best. There was something just genuine about it.”
Staring at him, I wanted to remind myself about what I had been trying to avoid, warn against this evolving infatuation, but my mind was blanking.
Luckily, Vanessa appeared at my side.
“Hey,” she said, looking between us the way a mother would with misbehaving children, “what's up, guys?”
“Um, nothing,” I sputtered, laughing nervously, rocking on my heels. “I was going to ask Deacon if he wanted a drink.”
“Actually,” he said, drawing the word out, his accent stronger than usual, “thanks, but I'll pass. I'm driving home, don't need to be all tipsy for that.”
I opened my mouth, but Vanessa cut me off. “That's fine, Greg and I were about to leave. Come on Leah, we need to go.” Her hand grabbed the strap of my dress, starting to tug me away. Inside of me, something burned, my mouth filling with a taste like battery acid.
Who does she think she is? I thought, fuming, pulling away. Her eyes widened, disbelief melting into furious disdain. “What are you doing?” She asked, sounding like she knew full well.
“I'm not leaving yet,” I said, taking a step back. She can't tell me what to do. The alcohol made me braver, enough that I could meet her eyes and not flinch away. It felt like we were in a bubble in the middle of a crowd of strangers.
Vanessa stared down at me, seeming to battle with her desire to fight, or to walk away. “Good luck getting home,” she finally muttered. Turning briskly, she stomped off, not once looking back at me.
“Wow,” Deacon said, causing me to look into his surprised face. He was clearly uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to my own humiliation. “I've never seen her get so mad before.”
Why did he have to witness that? Regretting my miniature stand off with Vanessa, I folded my arms, glaring at my feet. “I hope she gets over it. She's been very stressed out and snapping at me lately, I don't even know why.” I gave a weak laugh, peeking back up into Deacon's face.
Lifting his hands, palm up, he shrugged lightly. “I can give you a ride.”
“Really?” I asked, lighting up, feeling so much better it should have worried me. “Um, this will sound terrible, but I actually don't remember where exactly Vanessa lives. I'm not the best with direction sense.”
“Luckily, I've been to her place, so don't worry.” Smiling, he looked up at the stage, then over his shoulder at the exit. “You know what, maybe I will take that drink after all.”
Thrilling with delight, I nodded my head while following his eyes. There, staring at me as she slipped out the front door, I saw Vanessa. Greg placed his hand on her shoulder, trying to guide her out, but she brushed him off and hurried ahead of him, leaving without another look at me.
My stomach felt full of shrapnel, yet still, I tightened my jaw, fixing a forced smile on Deacon. “Yeah, that sounds perfect to me. The night isn't over yet, why act like it is?”
****
There was a good chance I had drank too much.
By the time Deacon had finished his beer, I was downing my third tequila sunrise, feeling the effects intensely. To my defense, I was extremely nervous to be talking to the southern boy all on my own. There was no one to interrupt us, even the friends that knew him only stopped by occasionally to say hello, or explain they were leaving, saying goodbye.
At some point, we had moved out into the alley again, though this time we were surrounded by smokers, their clouds of white causing my lungs agony.
Leaning close to Deacon, I laughed far too loudly at his joke, unclear what the punchline had even been. Instantly, I started coughing, my hands waving frantically in front of me to block out the smoke.
“Are you alright?” He asked, looking concerned, examining my red face. Nodding, I covered my mouth and nose, eyes watering, though I willed them not to spill over. Deacon frowned mildly, looking at the small crowd, then reaching out to touch my shoulder. “Let's get out of here.”
Grateful, I nodded, following him as he drifted his grip to my wrist. He guided me after him, taking us through the alley and its twisting back streets. The sound of the bar was still in my ears, living in my belly, pounding, but the further we got away, the more I was sure that thumping was not from the music, but from my heart.
Where is he taking me?
Dizzy, exhausted, my feet that had been borderline tortured all night finally gave out. My scream was brief, my heel catching on a crack in the ground, sending me tumbling. Covering my face, I expected to smash into the concrete, breaking something important.
Warm, firm, his arms caught me around my shoulders and chest, rescuing me at the last second from a broken jaw, or worse. Crouched there, half-sprawled in the alley, embraced by the person I was certainly getting too close to, ruining my good sense, I looked into his shocked face and spoke.
“Holy shit!”
It was not my most eloquent moment.
Luckily, Deacon laughed gently, helping me to my feet as I trembled from the rush of adrenaline. “That was close, are you alright?”
“Y—yeah,” I breathed, trying to control my intake of air, attempting to calm down. Taking a single step, I almost crumbled again, but Deacon grabbed my shoulders once more with a little shout of surprise.
“Nope, you're not alright. Take those heels off, you're going to snap an ankle.”
“I can't walk barefoot around here,” I mumbled, far too aware of the warmth of his palms on my skin. His eyes met mine, gold instead of green. Abruptly, he knelt on the ground in front of me, gripping my lower leg softly. “What are you doing?” I gasped, confused.
“Taking your shoes off, give them to me.”
“I already told you...”
“I know,” he said, peering up at me, his gaze dark in the evening, his voice calm and without room for argument. “I'll give you a piggy-back ride to my car from here.”
Stunned, I placed my hand gingerly on his shoulder, balancing there while he slid my shoe off. Cradling my bare foot, I felt his thumb on my heel, shivering from the intimate contact. Never had a guy touch my feet before, is that weird? This whole situation just really weird. Deacon placed my leg down carefully, pulled my other shoe off, then flashed me a grin.
“There, now climb on.”
“But, I...” I'm in a dress, this is a terrible idea. Unsure how to explain my problem, I blushed so hard I didn't feel I even needed a jacket. From toe to scalp, I was pink, losing composure.
The young man turned, peering over his shoulder at me, crouched low so I could hop onto him easily. “Come on, it's getting cold out, last thing either of us needs is to get sick.”
Bending forward warily, I wrapped my arms around his neck from behind, hoping against hope he wouldn't feel the staccato of my breathing, or how my body was shaking. Lifting my shoes, he offered them to me, so I took them wordlessly. His hands reached down, hooking around my thighs, hoisting me easily as he stood in one smooth motion. None the less, I cried out in exhilarated anxiety, laughing uneasily while I clung on.
He smells like cinnamon. Closing my eyes, I swallowed the lump in my throat, feeling him take the first rocking steps across the street. “My car isn't far,” he assured me.
“Good, I mean, I'm sorry you have to do this. I must be heavy, I'm seriously sorry.”
“You're not heavy,” he chuckled, “but you should be sorry, wear
ing shoes like those. Your feet will hurt tomorrow.”
“They hurt now,” I admitted. Deacon carried me without any complaint, my chin resting on his head as we went. His hair was soft, I couldn't control the way my blood was rapidly flying through my veins. How did I go from 'don't get involved' with this guy, to letting him carry me through an alley? Unsure how to feel, I battled between guilt and delight.
All too soon, he stopped beside a vehicle in the road, the paint bright white in the dim light. “Here we are,” he said, setting me down carefully. I did my best not to pout, the ground chilly under my feet. When he opened the car door for me, I stared more than I maybe should have.
Seriously, a southern gentleman in the wrong time period. “Thanks,” I said, my smile hurting me as I ducked inside. Settling on the seat, content to be out of the night air, I leaned back, stifling a yawn.
“Tired?” He blinked, climbing in the driver's side, clicking the key so the engine roared to life.
“Oh, no,” I blurted, my fingers gripping my dress hem. “I mean, maybe a little. It is kind of late.” And I did drink a bit too much, I thought, refusing to admit it.
“Don't worry, I'll get you home soon.”
Home? I wondered silently, feeling the car move into the street. Is that where I'm going? We didn't speak for some time, I just balanced watching out the window with covert glances at the side of his hard jaw. This is awkward, I need to make conversation. New Leah is supposed to be social and friendly!
“So,” I began nervously, “I heard you were good at art.”
“Haha, art?” He asked, peeking at me before staring out at the road. “Who told you that?”
“Greg,” I answered, debating if this conversation was the right course.
Deacon grinned, reassuring me before he even went on. “That's nice of him. Art is such a vague term, though. I paint, I'm a painter. Vanessa and I went to college together. Didn't I tell you that earlier, actually?”
Nodding, I toyed with the end of my long hair, twisting it absently. “Yeah. I almost went with her, too.”
“Really?” He asked, turning at a corner, slowing down. I was starting to recognize the area a bit, that fact made my belly ache like I'd eaten too much. “For what, fashion, like her?”
“Painting,” I muttered, my voice almost a whisper. Talking about this was a bad idea, why was I letting myself go down this route? Is it the alcohol, is it making me talk too much? Or... or is it him, do I want to tell him this?
Deacon was quiet, the sound of the car filling the empty air. Then, he pulled down a street I knew was near Vanessa's, parking smoothly. Twisting in his seat, he looked at me intently, those gold-green eyes all curiosity and disbelief at once. “You're telling me you paint?”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling the car was suddenly too cramped. He's so close, I can see the stubble on his cheeks.
“I'd love to see your work sometime,” he smiled, his lips so perfect they made my heart squeeze. Right then, warmed by infatuation, dazed and muddled from alcohol, from emotion, I wanted nothing more than to kiss him.
Please, I begged him, willed him, mentally. Please kiss me, can't you tell how much I want that? It was a terrible thing to desire, but I was hopeless with it. Casually, I bent forward, biting my bottom lip, trying to draw his attention there. I was sure at this angle that he would have a view of more than just my collar bone, enough skin to make most men distracted.
Still, he did nothing. He stared into my eyes, breathing slowly, seeming to gather his thoughts.
Kiss me, kiss me kiss me!
His hand moved, reaching forward, a motion that set my heart thrumming, a bird that wanted to break free. I'm sure I gasped, but my ears were rushing with blood, no sound coming through.
His fingers didn't touch me, not a hair or hint of skin. They grabbed the back of my car seat, stayed there. “I think I should get you out of here, so you can go to bed. It's really late, now, and Vanessa is probably worried.”
Thinking about how she hadn't called or messaged my phone, I doubted she was concerned. Deflating, deeply dejected by the lack of results I wanted, that I also knew were a bad idea, I nodded glumly. “Yeah. Sure.”
Maybe he picked up on my vibe of frustration, yet he said nothing about it. Holding my shoes in one hand, I slid out the door, then gave him a half-hearted wave. “See you sometime, I guess.”
“Yeah,” he grinned, leaning across the seat towards me in the fashion I wished he had done while I was in the car. “I can't wait to see your paintings sometime. Take care!”
With that, I closed the door, watching him drive off into the night.
I'm such an idiot, I thought angrily, standing there in the cold with my heels hooked on my fingers. Why didn't he kiss me? And why do I even care? This... this is better, it's safer. I should be relieved.
Stumbling down the sidewalk towards Vanessa's apartment, I was anything but.
****
Knocking softly on the apartment door, I listened for any movement inside. It was dead quiet, I felt immense relief when I twisted the knob. I was sort of worried she might lock me out. My moment of rapture was ruined when I stepped inside, seeing Vanessa sitting at the kitchen table.
“Hey,” I said stupidly, not sure what else to open up with.
She was still dressed in the same long blue dress from earlier, her make up smudged around her eyes. I saw her glance at the shoes in my hands, then my bare feet. “Have a good night?”
“Yes,” I mumbled, dropping my heels, moving towards the kitchen. I didn't want to go near her, my brain was tingling with spikes of warning, familiar and disconcerting. Still, I desperately needed water, the alcohol combined with the long night leaving me thirsty.
“What'd you end up doing?”
“Nothing,” I sighed, pouring a glass from the tap, enjoying how cool it felt on my throat. I hadn't noticed how sore I was from singing and cheering. “Why does it even matter? Why are you waiting up for me?”
She turned in her chair, adjusting it so that she almost blocked my way out of the kitchen. “It's my business when you're staying with me, when you're hanging out with my friends!” The fury in her voice was bubbling, a volcano ready to erupt, I had no where to escape the oncoming fire.
“They're your friends, so I can't become friends with them, myself?”
“You shouldn't be hanging out with them without me!”
“Why?” I could hear myself starting to yell, the tension in the small apartment rising, making me tingle with anticipation, the well known enemy called fear. “Why do you get to decide that?”
“Because!” Vanessa screamed, jumping to her feet, standing over me. Her arms were lifted, the fight or flight starting to kick in as I couldn't help but imagine her hitting me. “Because you don't get to do that! You don't get to come here and just start hanging out with other people! You're visiting me, we're the ones who are supposed to be friends! Not you and Deacon,” she said his name like it was a mouthful of rotten food.
“There's nothing wrong with me trying to be his friend,” I scowled, my resolve breaking as the confrontation escalated. Something hard touched my spine, I had backed into the counter without noticing. In my hand, the glass of water shook, threatening to spill.
“You want to be more than just his friend!”
“I—no, I don't--”
“You do! And he clearly isn't even into you, so just give up!” Vanessa leaned in close, eyes white around the edges, her voice breaking with her rage. Grimacing, I turned my face away, tensing for the attack.
Something else hit me. It hit me as I stood there, trembling and terrified of this person I called my friend.
What the hell am I doing? Why am I letting her do this to me, after everything I already promised myself?
Inside of me, I felt my stomach twist, the fear clicking over to numbed surprise.“You don't get to yell at me. And, you don't get to decide this stuff for me. I... I left Owen to get away from this kind of thing!” Slammi
ng the glass onto the counter, I pushed past her, fueled by my own defiance. That's right, I said no more. I won't put up with it, from anyone, ever.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her move. The flicker of worry returned, but I bit my lip, kept from showing it. Vanessa didn't jump at me, or swing a fist. Nothing like that at all. Walking past me to the front door, she grabbed her coat off the hook, hoisting her purse. “I'm going to Greg's for the night. I'll see you tomorrow.”
The door slammed as she exited, leaving me to stand there with a mounting sense of despair. I'd stood up to her, and the result had been her taking the route that I had always thought was reserved for me, and only me.
She ran away.
Chapter 8.
The argument with Vanessa haunted me all night. In my head, I kept running over the conversation, taking apart her words from her tone and actions. I felt terrible that I had let myself get so scared of her, yet mildly proud that I had managed to stand up for myself.
The image of her running out the door, cutting off the discussion, taking control in the end... I couldn't get it to leave me alone, it kept repeating.
Was she right, though? I wondered, dejected, sprawled on the couch as the early morning light began to drift inside. Does he not like me, after all? Am I being more of an idiot than ever, playing this game where I'm not even sure I want to chase him, but unable to realize I'm just wasting my time?
Thinking about how close we had been in the car, how easily he could have kissed me in that moment, it made my heart flicker, my skin bristle. Maybe she's right. Why else would he not go for it?
I fell asleep as the sun began to rise. In my dreams, I was dancing in a crowd, weaving through, chasing after someone. Faster and faster, I pushed on through the bodies, unable to make out faces, the torsos stretching high above like trees.
Everything was dark, green and purple, but the burst of red ahead of me caught my eye. I opened my mouth, trying to shout, but I had no voice.
