Authors: Sophia Kenzie
Beautiful PRICK (9 page)
“Good God, Johnny. You do know, you can take it a little
easier on me, right.”
I pick myself up from the floor, checking to see if all my
limbs are still in tact, but while I’m looking away, he knocks my knees out
from behind me, causing me to fall to all fours. He then swoops in, locking up
my head and my one arm in an Anaconda hold, before he rolls me on my back and
takes his spot directly above me. I double tap his arm, asking him to release
me before he flexes his bicep in order to strangle me. Judging by the look in
his eye, I wouldn’t put it past him.
“If I take it easy on you, then you’re not going to learn.” He
pushes me deeper into the floor.
“If you don’t take it easy on me, then I’m going to end up
dead.” I growl through my teeth.
“Well, at least you won’t be lying unconscious in an alley
somewhere.” He remarks a little louder and a little more pointed than I
appreciate, but he finally stops ignoring my arm tap and helps me to my feet.
I can’t help myself: I lose it. “What is your incessant need
to bring that up every three minutes? Can’t you drop it? Believe me, I remember
what happened. I don’t need your constant reminder.” I snap at him as I brush
the dirt and dust off my backside.
I turn around to face him, but he’s already right there, in
front of me. His look is cold and determined, and I can feel his power fill the
room. I have to catch my breath as his fingers wrap around the back of my neck
and draw me into him. My eyes instinctually close and my lips slightly
separate.
But he doesn’t kiss me.
Instead, he whispers.
“I’m giving you a reason to fight, a reason to not give up. It’s
too easy to forget.”
I stay there, even though he lets go of his hold on me. I
stay there, staring at him: staring into his deep, dark eyes.
They’re almost black, almost evil. And yet,
I can’t tear my own eyes away from his gaze.
He lowers his face to mine until our lips are practically
touching. I know I should pull away, but my body doesn’t allow me to move. And
honestly, I don’t want to.
I want him to kiss me. I can admit that pretty freely. I can
also admit pretty freely that I want him to throw me up against that wall over
there, before he tackles me to the ground and has his way with me. Hey, we’ve
been rolling around on a wrestling mat for an hour and a half. These desires
were sure to arise. I’m only human.
And it doesn’t help that every moment that I’m not fantasizing
about him thoroughly ravaging me, I have such ridiculously strong feelings of
hatred toward him. That hatred I feel can easily be misconstrued for passion,
and it only makes my fantasies that much more believable. There’s a fine line
between love and hate, and while I
mostly
hate him and everything he
stands for, physically attacking each other for ninety minutes while wearing nothing
much more than underwear really does make that line very blurry. I mean, come
on, it’s extreme foreplay at its finest.
So I stand here, with our lips practically touching and even
tasting his breath on my tongue, willing a movie star to kiss me.
I really don’t know how or why I thought that was going to
work.
“So, do you have a reason to fight, Caroline?”
“I do.” I subtly nod.
“Good.” He drops the tension by stepping away from me, grabs
the strap of his bag, and walks toward the door, without looking back. I’m left
there, in the center of the mat, just wanting. “Then we’ll pick this up
tomorrow.”
“Awesome.” I whisper sarcastically to myself.
“Is something wrong, Caroline?” He calls back over his
shoulder.
“Not at all, Johnny.” And then just to myself: “Not at all.”
I shake off the feeling of utter disappointment, and chase
after him.
“Hey slowpoke.” He teases when I finally catch up.
“First of all, I’m not slow.” I fight, even throwing my
finger up in the air to show him that I have a prepared speech that he’s about
to hear. I’ve learned around him that I need to have all my rebuttals ready to
go.
And by that, I mean that I practice them at home.
“You’re pretty slow.” He laughs.
“Eh, eh, eh!” I shut him up. It’s my turn to talk and I’m
not letting him take that away. “I am not slow. You are just so tall that your
giant behemoth legs cover twice the amount of distance than mine do. So, if you
look at it on a more even scale, the fact that I’m keeping up with you actually
proves that I’m twice as fast as you.”
“So you want to race?” He slyly raises his eyebrow at me.
“No I do not want to race. Where in that monologue of mine
did you hear the slightest notion that I might want to race?”
“So you
might
want to race?”
He’s playing with me and I know it. And I’m pretty sure he
knows that I know he’s playing with me. And yet, he’s not about to drop it.
“Johnny, no. I’ve been tossed around and choked and pinned
to a mat for ninety minutes. The last thing I want to do is race.
“Well that’s too bad. Ready, set, go!”
Johnny takes off at the speed of light.
I’m getting a flashback to high school, where the cool kids
all challenged me to a race and said if I won, I could be their friend. Not
only did I not win, when I got to the finish line, they dumped chocolate
pudding all over me. Just in case you’re wondering, that stuff is surprisingly
hard to get out of your hair.
That happened again, and again.
Don’t feel bad for me. I should have been smarter than that.
The last time, they actually let me win. But I still didn’t
get to be their friend. What I did get was a pelting of sour patch kids.
Just in case you’re wondering, sour patch kids are also hard
to get out of your hair.
So anyway, that was the flashback, and here I am again,
running a race that I know I can’t win with a popular boy.
As I round the lot, Johnny has completely disappeared from
sight, and I find myself actually fearful that he’s waiting by the trailer with
a bucket of pudding. I’m so fearful, that as I cross the imaginary finish line,
I even brace for impact by covering my head.
“Why are you covering your head?” Johnny raises his eyebrow
at me when I finally look up. He’s not holding pudding, and he’s not holding
sour patch kids. He’s just casually leaning against the trailer, waiting for
me, like an adult. Wow, being an adult is way better.
“High school flashback.” I shy away from continuing by
kicking the ground.
“High school flashback?” He opens the trailer door,
motioning for me to enter.
“Do you not see me kicking the ground right here? That means
I don’t want to elaborate.”
“My mistake.” He throws up his hands as he follows me
inside. “One day I’ll figure out how to read you.”
I turn around to raise my eyebrow right back at him. “You
don’t think you can read me?” I always assumed I was one of those people who
couldn’t hide a thing, an open book. At least Melissa always makes it seem as
so. Hey, maybe my book is closed?
“Well, for instance…” Johnny turns on the shower and peels
off his shirt while I stand there trying desperately not to let my jaw hang
open. “Judging by your reaction right now to me taking off my shirt, and some
interesting glances I caught while tossing you around during our little
training session… and well, how you still have not yelled at me for how we woke
up this morning… I would say that you’re attracted to me.”
Never mind about that closed book thing. Apparently I’m as
easy to see through as a piece of glass. Clean, freshly-Windexed
glass, actually.
“But,” he continues, “You keep making it perfectly clear
that you will never sleep with me, so obviously, my radar here is wrong.”
He just stares at me-no smile, no frown-just a blank stare. I
don’t know if he’s serious or if he’s trying to point out that I can’t hide
from him. Either way, I have no idea how to continue. So I awkwardly scratch my
nose.
“Yeah,” I kind of laugh, “I mean, keep dreaming. It’s never
going to happen.”
I am now very aware that I am not believable as a human
being.
“Oh, believe me,” he shakes his head, “You’ve definitely
drilled that in enough. I’m not going to keep dreaming. I actually have a date
tonight.”
“What?” I say a little too quickly.
“See,” he points to me, not able to hide the small smile
gleaming on his face, “right there, I could’ve sworn I just saw jealousy.”
“Nuh-huh!” I sound like a child: a jealous child.
“Hold this for me?” He winks as he hands me his towel and
steps into the shower.
I sit outside the shower, like I always do, trying
frantically not to blush at my jealousy. “So, who… are you going on a date
with?”
“One of the extras. Super hot.” He calls over the sound of
the running water.
“What’s her name?” I try to sound interested and supportive,
but inside, I’m fuming. If she’s super hot, then, well, she’s obviously got one
over on me. I wonder if he’ll fire me and make her his personal assistant. That’s
pretty much how I got the job-because he’s a misogynist pig.
Okay, I digress.
“Her name is Cara… Carly… or maybe it’s Cassie?”
“That could get pretty awkward.” I kind of laugh.
“Neh, I always play it off the same way.”
“Always?” Why am I getting more jealous? He freaking doesn’t
even know her name.
The water turns off and Johnny’s hand shoots out from behind
the curtain. “Towel?”
I swallow the lump that won’t seem to leave my throat and
toss the towel into his open palm. He emerges, still dripping, but his lower
half is wrapped in terrycloth.
“Johnny, you still have soap suds there… and there… and…” I
start to point them out, but stop when I realize he’s still completely covered
in soap. “And you have shampoo in your hair. You failed at that shower.”
“Oh,” he shakes his head, “I’m not finished.”
“Then…” I confusedly furrow my brow. “Why aren’t you still
in the shower?
“You know, I just couldn’t stop thinking how much better
that shower would feel if you were in there with me. So I thought I’d give you
one more chance. Want to help me get this shampoo out of my hair?”
His devilish smile makes my stomach queasy, and I’m going to
be honest, I seriously consider his offer.
He lowers his dark eyes, bites his lip, and holds his hand
out to me.
“And her name is Georgia! Not Cara, not Carly, not Cassie…
it’s Georgia.”
I pace Melissa’s living room, instinctually making a funny
face each time I pass Austin in his playpen.
“So you’re upset Johnny’s on a date?” Melissa sits on the
couch with her legs crossed, following my movements with only her eyes.
“No, I’m not upset he’s on a date!” I yell too loudly. “I’m
upset for Georgia who doesn’t know that only three hours before their little
‘date’…”
Melissa stops me to point out that I just air quoted the
word ‘date’, and then lets me continue my rant.
“He propositioned me!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa… why didn’t you start with that?” Melissa
sits up straight, now clearly interested.
“Well,” I tease, “if I started there, I wouldn’t
have been able to build up to that wonderfully
dramatic moment you just got to experience.”
“Always the writer.” She smiles. “How’s that going by the
way?”
I just shake my head. “I don’t have time to write. I’m too
busy de-fuzzing peaches, mixing black and herbal teas together, and of course,
getting mugged.”
Melissa’s face twitches at my last comment.
“How are you doing with all that, Care Bear?”
“Surprisingly much better.” It’s the actual truth. I hadn’t
even thought about it since I found out Johnny’s new date’s real name was
Georgia. That’s progress. I think.
I’m just not quite sure if it’s the kind of progress I was
hoping for…
“Okay, so now that we covered that, and I completed my best
friend duties,” Melissa slyly smiles, “what did you say to Johnny?”
I unloaded. I told her everything: about how I couldn’t
sleep, about asking him to teach me to fight, and about waking up wrapped in
his arms. She came back with her normal “mmm’s” and “ooo’s” and then came the little
giggles.
“What?” I throw my glare in her direction.
“You like him!”
“Correction: I hate him.”
“Not at all, Care Bear.” She smiles so big that her dimples
cut through her cheeks.
“Just because I think about him in maybe not the most
appropriate manner doesn’t mean I like him.” I just keep shaking my head. I’m
not quite sure why, but for some reason, I think it’ll help prove my point.
“Then, pray tell, what would you say it means?” She’s not
buying it for a second.
I go on to tell her that the pure, unadulterated hatred I
have for the man is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and the only way my
subconscious is allowing me to deal with that amount of hatred is by forming an
unhealthy attraction. Because I so desperately hate conflict, somewhere, deep
down, I hope that if I can form some sort of physical bond with him, maybe that
hatred will squander away.
I’m impressed with my analysis. Melissa is not.
“Bullshit.”
“What? No!”
So she says it again. “Bullshit.”
I tilt my head to the side as I contemplate sticking out my
tongue at her. “Then what do you think?”
“I think he’s not that bad.”
“Ha!” I laugh out loud. “Not that bad?”
She goes on to say that she thinks I’ve
had such a big crush on him for God knows how long
that I built him up in my head. Then, when I realized he had flaws, my entire
world was shattered, so I blew those flaws out of proportion. I tell myself I
hate him only to make the child inside of me accept the fact that my fantasy
will never play out.
“Huh…” Okay, there might be something to this.
Without taking more than a single breath, she warns me that
I have to be careful. “But, to play the devil’s advocate, maybe you might not
have feelings for him.”
“Hold on, what?” She’s making my brain hurt.
“I don’t know.” She scratches her nose. “I’m wondering if
somewhere inside of you, you feel like you
have
to fall in love with him
because that would be the best ending to your fairy tale. So then you’re
fighting that tiny desire by hating him, but then that hatred is making you see
all the passion there.”
I shake my head. “You suck, you know that?”
Melissa shrugs as she offers me a smile. “Sorry, Care Bear. I
don’t know.”
“Meh.” I haphazardly brush my feet against the ground. “I
don’t know either.”
She lifts her little finger up into the air. “But now you’re
more aware!”
“Or more confused.” I combat. “Why isn’t this easy?”
Melissa takes a deep breath, sighs, and then smiles. “Nothing
worth fighting for is easy.”
It should be a nice moment, one shared between long time
friends. It should be the answer I am looking for, finally letting it all make
sense. It should be the culmination of the conversation… but real life isn’t
that easy.
“So now he’s worth fighting for? I though we weren’t even
sure if I actually liked him!” I throw my arms up in the air.
We laugh about it as I take a second to calm myself down.
“I missed this.” She holds her hand out.
“Me too.” I sit down next to her, take her hand, and lean my
head on her shoulder.
“So where does this leave Nick?”
I chuckle to myself, not moving my head from her shoulder. “I’m
surprised you remembered his name this time.”
This is going to be another one of those times when I say
I
love Melissa, but…
She’s an amazing girl, an amazing friend, but boy, she is
manipulative. She puts on a good show… it actually took me a bit before I
realized that she didn’t care for Nick. It started with little jabs like:
He’s so funny… if you like that kind of humor.
Or
He’s so good at what he does… if you can stay awake long
enough to listen to him talk about it.
At first I found it funny, because I honestly thought both
of those things. But then it turned real. Melissa kept bringing up the things
that I thought were hidden from the outside world. We were really comfortable
with each other-maybe too comfortable to care. We liked different things-which
I convinced myself was healthy. At least it was healthy until I realized we
truly hated those specific things the other person liked. And then it was the
comments we made to each other when other people were around. I’d say something
along the lines of him gaining weight and he’d say something about how my
career goals are nothing more than a pipe dream. And then we’d laugh and
pretend that it didn’t hurt.
But it was all for pretend. Why did we feel the need to put
ourselves through that for so long?
Melissa was the one who asked me that question, and then I
asked Nick that exact question the night we drunkenly broke up. Neither of us
had an answer.
I can tell that Melissa is trying to hide her excitement
when I finally tell her what’s been going on with Nick. For some reason, we
have moved to her stairs. She’s sitting three steps above me, close enough to
Austin’s door where she can hear him if he wakes up from his nap, but far away
enough where our conversation won’t wake him up.
“So is it over, for real?” She gives me a face, knowing the
answer even before I give it to her.
“I think there are still a few more conversations in the
wind. But,” I shrug, “we live on opposite sides of the country. Out of sight,
out of mind, right?”
“Or,” Melissa gives me a half-hearted smile, “absence makes
the heart grow fonder…”
Damn those contradictory phrases.