jezebel1386
in
__vam
Did I disappoint you? Or leave a bad taste in your mouth?
Title: The Wind Blows Backward: Chapter 7
Author: Miss Jezebel.
Pairing: Bam and Ville. Previous Bam/Missy.
Rating: PG.
Summary: “You still love him, you never stopped. He’s treated you like dirt for almost four years and you forgive him the minute he’s nice to you. How naïve can you get?”
Disclaimer: Bam and Ville own me, but they share with Jyrki and Andreas..
Warnings: Original idea came from Mary Downing Hahn. The Vammification is all mine.
Authors Notes: I know it has been a while. I apologize.
Previous Chapters
“I have to go home,” Bam whispered in my ear. “I don’t want to, but my mother will kill me if I get the van back late.”
We were parked at a dark end of Mayfaire Court near the dumpster. We’d been making out so long the windows were opaque with condensation, and the van had a warm, musty smell, a combination of wool and hair and shampoo. My legs were weak from kissing and I wasn’t sure I had the strength to open the car door, let alone climb three flights of stairs to my apartment.
“I had a wonderful time, Ville.”
“Me, too.” I kissed him again. On the nose, on both cheeks, on his ears, on his forehead, and, last of all, on his lips.
“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” Bam asked.
I drew back, embarrassed. What could I say? I hadn’t learned it. It came naturally.
Bam tipped my face up. “Did I say something wrong?”
I shook my head. I wanted to tell him I’d learned just now, from him, but maybe it would be better to let him think I was a man of experience. More mysterious.
He kissed me again and again. The winter wind nudged the car, shook it a little, and we slowly let each other go. “My mother,” Bam said. “I have to get the van home.” His voice was slow, husky, sexy; his eyes were shadowed, his lids heavy.
I opened the door, and the cold air slapped my face. I turned back to say goodnight again. Bam leaned across the seat. “I’ll see you in school,” he said. “Sit next to me in Walker’s class.”
While I watched, he backed out of the parking space, turned, and drove away. As the van’s taillights flashed red over the speed bump, I ran upstairs to my apartment. I was thinking I’d talk to Mom-maybe I’d ask her how you knew you were in love, maybe she’d explain him to me-but the first thing I noticed when I opened our apartment was the smell of dinner cooking. Not something nuking in the microwave, but real food.
“Ville, is that you?” Mom poked her head out of the kitchen and beckoned to me. Kari looked up and smiled when he saw me, then returned his attention to the pot on the stove. “Vegetable chili,” he said. “My specialty.”
“Kari’s been telling me what horrible things they do to cattle before they slaughter them,” Mom said. “I’m so glad we gave up meat.” I knew she was reminding me that we were vegetarians, so I smiled and tried not to think about the hamburger I’d eaten. Could vegetarians smell meat on your breath? To be safe I lingered in the kitchen doorway and watched her and Kari. Everything he said amused her; everything she said amused him.
Making an effort to be included, I said, “Poor little vegetables-how do you know potatoes don’t suffer when you yank them out of their bed in the warm, dark ground and throw them into pots of boiling water?”
“Don’t be silly, Ville” Mom glanced at Kari to see if I had offended him, but he laughed.
Making a menacing gesture with his knife, he hovered over the cutting board. “Watch out, zucchini,” he said to the helpless vegetables huddled there. “No one gets out alive.”
At the dinner table, Mom gave most of her attention to Kari, leaving me free to think about Bam. I imagined him at home, surrounded by his family. His brother, mother, and father, the dog I’d seen in the car once. They were sitting at a big table, lit by candlelight, laughing at a story that Bam’s older brother was telling. The dog was mooching food from the father.
And Bam-what was he doing? Was he laughing like the others or was he sitting there silently, his hair hiding his eyes, poking at his food?
The imaginary scene reminded me of a puzzle in a kid’s magazine: “What’s wrong with this picture?” At first glance, everything seemed perfect, but then you noticed little things. The curtains didn’t really match, a portrait was upside down, a bird was in the fish bowl, and a fish was in the bird cage, and so on.
“Did you have fun in Philly?” Mom asked.
My mouth was full of corn bread, another of Kari’s specialties, so all I could do was nod. The moment for telling Mom about Bam had passed. I wanted to keep him to myself, not share him with anyone. Suppose he changed again? What if he ignored me at school?
“Oh, before I forget,” Mom said. “Linde called three times while you were out.”
“Did you tell him where I was?”
Mom nodded. “Hee asked who you were with, but all I could tell him was some boy from school.”
After dinner, I left Mom and Kari in the kitchen. They said they’d wash the dishes, but the radio was turned to a golden-oldie station, and, from the sound of it, they were dancing to “Crocodile Rock.”
******
When Linde answered the phone, the first thing he said was “I knew you’d like Dico.”
For a moment I stared at the receiver. Dico? What was he talking about?
“I saw you making out with him,” he went on, “so I figured he took you home. You didn’t get picked up by the cops, did you? I was scared when I saw the lights. Dunn and I were still in my car, and it was like ‘holy shit, let’s get out of here.’ Have you ever tried to drive and button your shirt at the same time?”
When Linde stopped talking to laugh I said, “Dico is a total jerk.”
He must not have heard me because he wanted to know where we went. “Your mother said the Science Center, what a joke. I can’t imagine Dico going there; it’s much too intellectual for him. What did you really do?”
“Linde, will you shut up and listen for once? I yelled into the phone. “I didn’t go anywhere with Dico. If you hadn’t disappeared with Dunn, you would’ve seen him puking into the bushes and me walking home.”
“You walked home? Ville, are you crazy?”
Overcoming the temptation to lie and make Linde feel guilty, I admitted I’d gotten a ride.
“With who?”
Toying with a string that had come loose from my bedspread, I wondered what to tell him. How much? How little?
“Are you still there, Ville?” Linde asked.
“Bam picked me up,” I said casually, “just about the time the cops arrived.”
“Bam Margera?” Linde paused to inhale. When he exhaled I could almost smell the tobacco smoke. “I should have guessed. He was staring at you the whole time he was in the food court.”
While I doodled Bam’s name on a piece of notebook paper, Linde said, “So, you went to Philadelphia with the prince himself?”
Before I could stop myself I was telling him about the Science Center, the seals, the balloon. While I talked, I saw Bam’s face, his eyes, the clouds blowing across the sky, the gulls wheeling over our heads, the balloon floating free. How could I make Linde understand what it was like to be with him, to hold his hand, to kiss him?
“The way he talks, Linde, the things he says, the way he listens-- I’ve never known anybody like him.” It was inadequate; I couldn’t put my feelings into words without sounding corny and dumb.
Linde took a long drag on his cigarette and I drew a pattern of fancy B-A-Ms up and down the margins of my paper-something I hadn’t done since eighth grade. I wanted to tell Linde I was in love, really in love. I wanted him to be happy for me, I wanted him to say Bam was great, wonderful, handsome, kind, sensitive. Instead, he launched into one of his Dr. Phil routines. He didn’t think it was such a good idea to get involved with Bam. Slow down, take it easy, be careful. I knew what he was like, how he treated girls, dated them and dumped them and moved on to someone else. Why should I be any different? And then there were his grades and his general attitude.
“Do you know what Dunn calls him?”
Before I could tell Linde I didn’t care what a dumb jock called Bam, he said, “You know, it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that he’s got problems, Ville. I don’t know what they are, but I wouldn’t rush into any big romance.”
Linde went on talking about something Dunn had told him, but I wasn’t listening. One word hung in my ear-- problems. Bam had problems. Everyone thought so, including his best friends.
“You don’t know Bam,” I said at last, “and neither does Dunn. He’s not like Novak and Glomb the rest of his crew. He’s-he’s, well, he’s different…” My voice trailed off. Suddenly I was tired, too tired to talk to Linde, too tired to worry about Bam, too tired to listen to Mom and Kari in the kitchen singing “I Want to Hold Your Hand.”
Linde sighed into the phone. “You still love him, you never stopped. He’s treated you like dirt for almost four years and you forgive him the minute he’s nice to you. How naïve can you get?”
Holding the phone away from my ear, I glared at it. From far way, Linde was warning me-I’d be sorry, I was asking for trouble, and so on and so on and so on.
Finally I said, “Are you finished?”
“I’m telling you this for your own good!”
“Thanks, but I have to study.” Hitting the end button on my phone, I threw it across the room, secretly thankful it landed in a pile of laundry. I sat on the floor and stared at my notebook. Like my eighth grade scrapbook, it was covered with Bam’s name. Loops and flourishes linked it with mine. Bam and Ville, Ville and Bam, over and over again.
Embarrassed by my immaturity, I tore the sheet from my notebook, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it towards the wastebasket. It fell to the floor several inches short of the target, and I watched the wad of paper slowly open with a secret rustling noise. Bam and Ville, it said, Ville and Bam.
The happiness I felt earlier was wearing off like anesthesia after surgery. Linde’s unwanted opinions clouded my thoughts, made me doubt and worry. When I’d been with Bam, I’d believed every look, smile, word, kiss-but suppose Linde was right and I was just naïve and lonely, unused to attention from a boy like him. Maybe all he wanted was a place to keep his motorcycle.
My phone rang and I jumped, fumbling through the dirty clothes before I finally found it.
“I can’t talk long,” he said, “but I wanted to tell you again how much fun I had today.”
I heard Cradle of Filth in the background. I pictured him lying on his bed, his dark hair drifting cross his face. What was his room like, I wondered. What color was his blanket?
“I had fun, too,” I whispered.
“You have the sexiest voice,” he said.
Even though Bam couldn’t know what I’d been thinking, I felt my neck and chest prickle with embarrassment. What was the matter with me?
“I wish I were with you right now,” he added, “kissing you again.”
By the time I hung up, my knees were weak. Maybe it was going to be all right. Strange as it sounded, maybe Bam really liked me. He’d spent a whole day with me, he’d asked me to sit with him in English, he’d called to say goodnight.
What did Linde know about someone as complex as Bam? He might have had more boyfriends than I had, more experience, but he’d never dated someone like Bam Margera. He was unique. Even if he broke my heart, it wouldn’t matter. A boy like Bam didn’t dance into a person’s life everyday.
Opening my Spanish book, I stared at a page of irregular verbs, but Bam’s face floated between the text and me. With my head cradled in my arms, I fell asleep at my desk thinking about love.
Author: Miss Jezebel.
Pairing: Bam and Ville. Previous Bam/Missy.
Rating: PG.
Summary: “You still love him, you never stopped. He’s treated you like dirt for almost four years and you forgive him the minute he’s nice to you. How naïve can you get?”
Disclaimer: Bam and Ville own me, but they share with Jyrki and Andreas..
Warnings: Original idea came from Mary Downing Hahn. The Vammification is all mine.
Authors Notes: I know it has been a while. I apologize.
Previous Chapters
“I have to go home,” Bam whispered in my ear. “I don’t want to, but my mother will kill me if I get the van back late.”
We were parked at a dark end of Mayfaire Court near the dumpster. We’d been making out so long the windows were opaque with condensation, and the van had a warm, musty smell, a combination of wool and hair and shampoo. My legs were weak from kissing and I wasn’t sure I had the strength to open the car door, let alone climb three flights of stairs to my apartment.
“I had a wonderful time, Ville.”
“Me, too.” I kissed him again. On the nose, on both cheeks, on his ears, on his forehead, and, last of all, on his lips.
“Where did you learn to kiss like that?” Bam asked.
I drew back, embarrassed. What could I say? I hadn’t learned it. It came naturally.
Bam tipped my face up. “Did I say something wrong?”
I shook my head. I wanted to tell him I’d learned just now, from him, but maybe it would be better to let him think I was a man of experience. More mysterious.
He kissed me again and again. The winter wind nudged the car, shook it a little, and we slowly let each other go. “My mother,” Bam said. “I have to get the van home.” His voice was slow, husky, sexy; his eyes were shadowed, his lids heavy.
I opened the door, and the cold air slapped my face. I turned back to say goodnight again. Bam leaned across the seat. “I’ll see you in school,” he said. “Sit next to me in Walker’s class.”
While I watched, he backed out of the parking space, turned, and drove away. As the van’s taillights flashed red over the speed bump, I ran upstairs to my apartment. I was thinking I’d talk to Mom-maybe I’d ask her how you knew you were in love, maybe she’d explain him to me-but the first thing I noticed when I opened our apartment was the smell of dinner cooking. Not something nuking in the microwave, but real food.
“Ville, is that you?” Mom poked her head out of the kitchen and beckoned to me. Kari looked up and smiled when he saw me, then returned his attention to the pot on the stove. “Vegetable chili,” he said. “My specialty.”
“Kari’s been telling me what horrible things they do to cattle before they slaughter them,” Mom said. “I’m so glad we gave up meat.” I knew she was reminding me that we were vegetarians, so I smiled and tried not to think about the hamburger I’d eaten. Could vegetarians smell meat on your breath? To be safe I lingered in the kitchen doorway and watched her and Kari. Everything he said amused her; everything she said amused him.
Making an effort to be included, I said, “Poor little vegetables-how do you know potatoes don’t suffer when you yank them out of their bed in the warm, dark ground and throw them into pots of boiling water?”
“Don’t be silly, Ville” Mom glanced at Kari to see if I had offended him, but he laughed.
Making a menacing gesture with his knife, he hovered over the cutting board. “Watch out, zucchini,” he said to the helpless vegetables huddled there. “No one gets out alive.”
At the dinner table, Mom gave most of her attention to Kari, leaving me free to think about Bam. I imagined him at home, surrounded by his family. His brother, mother, and father, the dog I’d seen in the car once. They were sitting at a big table, lit by candlelight, laughing at a story that Bam’s older brother was telling. The dog was mooching food from the father.
And Bam-what was he doing? Was he laughing like the others or was he sitting there silently, his hair hiding his eyes, poking at his food?
The imaginary scene reminded me of a puzzle in a kid’s magazine: “What’s wrong with this picture?” At first glance, everything seemed perfect, but then you noticed little things. The curtains didn’t really match, a portrait was upside down, a bird was in the fish bowl, and a fish was in the bird cage, and so on.
“Did you have fun in Philly?” Mom asked.
My mouth was full of corn bread, another of Kari’s specialties, so all I could do was nod. The moment for telling Mom about Bam had passed. I wanted to keep him to myself, not share him with anyone. Suppose he changed again? What if he ignored me at school?
“Oh, before I forget,” Mom said. “Linde called three times while you were out.”
“Did you tell him where I was?”
Mom nodded. “Hee asked who you were with, but all I could tell him was some boy from school.”
After dinner, I left Mom and Kari in the kitchen. They said they’d wash the dishes, but the radio was turned to a golden-oldie station, and, from the sound of it, they were dancing to “Crocodile Rock.”
******
When Linde answered the phone, the first thing he said was “I knew you’d like Dico.”
For a moment I stared at the receiver. Dico? What was he talking about?
“I saw you making out with him,” he went on, “so I figured he took you home. You didn’t get picked up by the cops, did you? I was scared when I saw the lights. Dunn and I were still in my car, and it was like ‘holy shit, let’s get out of here.’ Have you ever tried to drive and button your shirt at the same time?”
When Linde stopped talking to laugh I said, “Dico is a total jerk.”
He must not have heard me because he wanted to know where we went. “Your mother said the Science Center, what a joke. I can’t imagine Dico going there; it’s much too intellectual for him. What did you really do?”
“Linde, will you shut up and listen for once? I yelled into the phone. “I didn’t go anywhere with Dico. If you hadn’t disappeared with Dunn, you would’ve seen him puking into the bushes and me walking home.”
“You walked home? Ville, are you crazy?”
Overcoming the temptation to lie and make Linde feel guilty, I admitted I’d gotten a ride.
“With who?”
Toying with a string that had come loose from my bedspread, I wondered what to tell him. How much? How little?
“Are you still there, Ville?” Linde asked.
“Bam picked me up,” I said casually, “just about the time the cops arrived.”
“Bam Margera?” Linde paused to inhale. When he exhaled I could almost smell the tobacco smoke. “I should have guessed. He was staring at you the whole time he was in the food court.”
While I doodled Bam’s name on a piece of notebook paper, Linde said, “So, you went to Philadelphia with the prince himself?”
Before I could stop myself I was telling him about the Science Center, the seals, the balloon. While I talked, I saw Bam’s face, his eyes, the clouds blowing across the sky, the gulls wheeling over our heads, the balloon floating free. How could I make Linde understand what it was like to be with him, to hold his hand, to kiss him?
“The way he talks, Linde, the things he says, the way he listens-- I’ve never known anybody like him.” It was inadequate; I couldn’t put my feelings into words without sounding corny and dumb.
Linde took a long drag on his cigarette and I drew a pattern of fancy B-A-Ms up and down the margins of my paper-something I hadn’t done since eighth grade. I wanted to tell Linde I was in love, really in love. I wanted him to be happy for me, I wanted him to say Bam was great, wonderful, handsome, kind, sensitive. Instead, he launched into one of his Dr. Phil routines. He didn’t think it was such a good idea to get involved with Bam. Slow down, take it easy, be careful. I knew what he was like, how he treated girls, dated them and dumped them and moved on to someone else. Why should I be any different? And then there were his grades and his general attitude.
“Do you know what Dunn calls him?”
Before I could tell Linde I didn’t care what a dumb jock called Bam, he said, “You know, it doesn’t really matter. What does matter is that he’s got problems, Ville. I don’t know what they are, but I wouldn’t rush into any big romance.”
Linde went on talking about something Dunn had told him, but I wasn’t listening. One word hung in my ear-- problems. Bam had problems. Everyone thought so, including his best friends.
“You don’t know Bam,” I said at last, “and neither does Dunn. He’s not like Novak and Glomb the rest of his crew. He’s-he’s, well, he’s different…” My voice trailed off. Suddenly I was tired, too tired to talk to Linde, too tired to worry about Bam, too tired to listen to Mom and Kari in the kitchen singing “I Want to Hold Your Hand.”
Linde sighed into the phone. “You still love him, you never stopped. He’s treated you like dirt for almost four years and you forgive him the minute he’s nice to you. How naïve can you get?”
Holding the phone away from my ear, I glared at it. From far way, Linde was warning me-I’d be sorry, I was asking for trouble, and so on and so on and so on.
Finally I said, “Are you finished?”
“I’m telling you this for your own good!”
“Thanks, but I have to study.” Hitting the end button on my phone, I threw it across the room, secretly thankful it landed in a pile of laundry. I sat on the floor and stared at my notebook. Like my eighth grade scrapbook, it was covered with Bam’s name. Loops and flourishes linked it with mine. Bam and Ville, Ville and Bam, over and over again.
Embarrassed by my immaturity, I tore the sheet from my notebook, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it towards the wastebasket. It fell to the floor several inches short of the target, and I watched the wad of paper slowly open with a secret rustling noise. Bam and Ville, it said, Ville and Bam.
The happiness I felt earlier was wearing off like anesthesia after surgery. Linde’s unwanted opinions clouded my thoughts, made me doubt and worry. When I’d been with Bam, I’d believed every look, smile, word, kiss-but suppose Linde was right and I was just naïve and lonely, unused to attention from a boy like him. Maybe all he wanted was a place to keep his motorcycle.
My phone rang and I jumped, fumbling through the dirty clothes before I finally found it.
“I can’t talk long,” he said, “but I wanted to tell you again how much fun I had today.”
I heard Cradle of Filth in the background. I pictured him lying on his bed, his dark hair drifting cross his face. What was his room like, I wondered. What color was his blanket?
“I had fun, too,” I whispered.
“You have the sexiest voice,” he said.
Even though Bam couldn’t know what I’d been thinking, I felt my neck and chest prickle with embarrassment. What was the matter with me?
“I wish I were with you right now,” he added, “kissing you again.”
By the time I hung up, my knees were weak. Maybe it was going to be all right. Strange as it sounded, maybe Bam really liked me. He’d spent a whole day with me, he’d asked me to sit with him in English, he’d called to say goodnight.
What did Linde know about someone as complex as Bam? He might have had more boyfriends than I had, more experience, but he’d never dated someone like Bam Margera. He was unique. Even if he broke my heart, it wouldn’t matter. A boy like Bam didn’t dance into a person’s life everyday.
Opening my Spanish book, I stared at a page of irregular verbs, but Bam’s face floated between the text and me. With my head cradled in my arms, I fell asleep at my desk thinking about love.