(no subject)

[gloryfades21]

Alright, I'm sorry. This chapter is not what I said it would be. But read it anyway.
Title: It's Only You, Beautiful (Chapter 7)
Pairing: Tony/Jesse
Disclaimer: not real
Summary: HS fic
Rating: PG
Notes: Reviewwwww

Ch. 1

You were never the special one. Never the one who stood out, no one except Amy, the girl who sat next to you in 6th period, knew your first name. People referred to you as that Lacey kid. And they only knew you because when you were 12, your father had taken a hair dryer to the bathtub, leaving you, your six other siblings, and your mother to live off welfare.

You heard the whispers that followed you everywhere, like a haunting past that would never go away. The guidance counselor that you met up with every second Friday, another reminder of your failed childhood that you were still living. They said to put it behind you and that you were better than your old man, but yet they were the ones who brought it up again and again.

So now you sit here in class, a wooden pencil between your fingers as you try to copy notes off the dusty, blackboard. The notes are a scribbled mess and people’s heads keep on getting in your way. You wish that you had glasses because then maybe you could actually learn properly. But…you’re too embarrassed to ask your mother, knowing already what her response will be.

You can already hear her words echo in your mind and your mouth cringes slightly to the left as the conversation that you would be having starts to unveil.

“What do you need glasses for? We have enough problems to worry about Jesse. Do you know how we’re going to eat tomorrow? No? So shut up about your damn glasses already.”

She would spit the words out at you. Like she was angry at them but in truth she was only angry with you. More disgusted than anything though.

A wadded up paper hits your head. You hear the snickers that follow but you ignore them and pretend that nothing happened. It’s better this way. You’ve learned your lesson; they’ll just make your body a mess if you even try to raise a finger against them.

Look to your left and wonder where Amy is today. Wonder if her jock boyfriend is beating the crap out of her again and if tomorrow she’ll come wearing heap loads of cover up and a turtleneck to hide the bruises and scabs that litter her whole body. She showed them to you once…only once though. You think that she knew how disgusted you were, not with her…but with him. She didn’t know that little, key detail though, it would have made the world to her if she did.

Your eyes flutter shut, you’re tired. Tired of this hell of a life, tired of getting out of your cheap mattress that lay on the ground because the bed frame was too expensive everyday just to lie back down at night with nothing changed. You’re not a genius at anything you do, just average. It was an endless cycle of nothingness.

And you hated that.

The sharp sound of something slapping against the desk’s top makes your eye lids jolt open. Your teacher stands over you, his hot breath seems to roll down your back, his eyes drilling dark holes into you. The sound of raucous laughter meets your ears and you can already feel a deep blush climbing up your cheeks.

“Mr. Lacey? Care to share with us your thoughts on the green house effect and what scientists are doing to fix this problem?”

He’s got you trapped; a wolf with its paw caught in steel. You can’t run anymore.

“I…uh, think that it’s not very good.”

Your teacher smiles at you smugly, laughing down at you like everyone else. He’s one of them you realize. They’re all against you. The school jerks…jocks, laugh also amongst themselves as if they would have come up with something better…smarter.

“Actually Mr. Lacey, I was just telling the class that you need to pick a partner for today’s lab. The green house effect was back in grade 7…not in grade 10. You’ll work with Kyle,” he says, not giving you a choice, his promise of being able to choose partners out the window, or at least for you and Kyle.

You can almost feel your stomach hit your feet. Kyle. School bully, champion athlete, football legacy, your own personal nightmare by day. The idea of the world coming to an end or Armageddon doesn’t seem all too bad compared to this. A fist slams into your bicep and you flinch but don’t do anything else, no sound, no reaction. The spot that was inflicted starts to almost spasm out and it burns.

“Go get the stuff dorkwad,” he states to you, his fist in his hand, sliding against the calloused, rough skin of his palm.

You shudder unintentionally before pushing your chair back, thinking the sound of metal scraping doesn’t sound that bad. He trips you on your way there and you allow him to have the sick pleasure even though you had known his action even before he did it.

Bullies are so predictable.

And for maybe the fifth time that day you miss Amy. Amy who would have listened in class enough to tell you what the lab would be about. Because of this second you have no idea what “stuff” you’re supposed to be collecting.

The thought of asking somebody for help seems impossible because for one you’re too scared. And two, it would be like sending out an SOS call to say that you admitted defeat and you needed somebody to save you. Which you did need. Badly. But you’d never admit it.

So you finally come up with the genius idea of just following everybody else. Grab the graduated cylinder that still has droplets of some translucent substance staining its side. Open the drawer to pull out one of the eye droppers. Pick up the piece of rotting onion and make your way back to Kyle who stares at you, boredom sinking his existence.

“What are you staring at? Get to work.” His words burn into you and you feel like one of the Jews under a Nazis command. You understand why they turned into near animals. It is quite understandable.

The whole lab confuses you and you’re trembling the whole time. Place the onion layer under the slide of the microscope, look through, jot down what you see. Realize that you were supposed to add the amber colored mixture before looking. Take out the slide again, under the glazed stare of Kyle, and add two drops. Finish your diagram, slightly proud, and then realize that Kyle’s waiting for you to do his.

Frustration threatens to explode within you. Forced breathes are taken to calm yourself down. Grab his sheet and sketch exactly what was on yours. You’re halfway done when the bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. Most kids love the ring of that bell because to them it’s the end of their nightmare, but for you it means the ending of one sort of torture and on to another.

“You’re slow Lacey. Like father like son,” Kyle tells you, his broad face crinkling up into a smirk. His hand reaches out, lingering on your sheet before pulling it towards himself, leaving you alone with a half-finished diagram.

Half-finished. Just like you. The glass is half empty, not half full.

Sigh lightly, it wasn’t any worse than you imagined. If that is even a comfort to know. You make your way out of the classroom, stuffing your bag with text books and meaningless sheets of paper. The bus ride home is almost depressing, but you’ve gotten too used to it to notice. You sit by yourself, staring out the window and wonder why the birds make such happy noises. There is nothing to be happy about, at least for you, so why should creatures like birds be happy?

It makes no sense. Your head is starting to hurt so you lean against the cool glass, feeling your heartbeat thud within your chest.

At least that’s constant.

The scenery isn’t beautiful. The same houses go by, faces that express emotions that you don’t remember even having become a blur. Until the bus reaches your house. A shit hole with grayish paint chipping off. The numbers that once stood out on the side of the house have dropped, leaving only the imprint of where they used to be. This house is your life. It’s you in a way and that is comforting to know that you can relate to one thing. Even if it’s not living.

Drag your feet across the bus’s floor. Step over the feet that hang out ominously, as if they’re meant to make you fall. The bus door swings open making a sort of swooshing sound. You don’t even bother saying good bye to the bus driver, you never did.

Enter the house now and hold your breath hoping that your older brother isn’t home so that maybe you can have the room to yourself. Relief strikes through you when you open the door to come into an empty room. As much as you love your brother, you also hate him at times, for being the person that you wanted to be and right now, you just can’t put up with it.

Fall into the bed now and feel your shoulder blades sink into the mattress. Your fingers idly draw circles into the tanned skin of your stomach. It’s only at times like these, where there is silence other than the sound of your own breathing, that you can bring yourself out of your usual state of mind and into a better place. A place that is a new high, where your thoughts consume you and you are anybody you want to be. Anybody except plain old Jesse Lacey.

Your imagination is your only escape. In this world you are Superman, King Lear, Aristotle, and all the other great minds. You can be anybody and that is the only thing that keeps you going on.
Ch. 2

Your brain is your alarm clock. It seems that everyday near 6 AM, you’re able to systematically just get up. You never understood what other kids meant when they say they overslept. The whole concept just didn’t make sense to you, maybe because it never happened.

But getting up didn’t mean that you actually got out of bed. Nope. You would lie there looking up at the ceiling and hearing the light snores from the lump beside you. That lump being your brother. Daydreams and imagination were clouded over with dread, knowing that today will be just as bad as yesterday.

Okay, so yes you are a sadist. Is it that bad?

Suddenly you freeze up, arms are surrounding you and drawing you closer. You hate it when this happens.

“Mmm, Michelle…” His voice is still heavy with sleep and you know that it’s an honest mistake, but that doesn’t make it any less gross. It’s your brother.

“Craig, Craig…get off me, please?” You found out a long time ago that begging works. So when all else fails, just beg and be nice of course even if you don’t mean it.

Slowly the hand releases you and pulls back to its owner. He rolls over, off the mattress and onto the wooden floor. You watch him through half-lidded eyes as he stumbles out of the room not even bothering to acknowledge your presence.

Why should he? You’re just Jesse. The overly emotional kid that likes to dream and think of stars, heroes, and fantasies.

Groan a little bit before staggering off the bed and walk to the closet to pull out random articles of clothing. It’s not like you would have that much of a choice anyway. Old t-shirts that are faded, the logo’s gone and sides slightly ripped. The jeans that are a bit too short and you thank God that you stopped growing. The knee areas are torn up and you’re happy that it’s kind of in fashion now so people can’t give you hell for it.

There’s no mirror to preen in…or just look at how shitty you are. You guess that it’s a good thing, being poor, so you don’t have mirrors in the house to be ugly in. Sigh again and walk out of the room, looking at the pictures that stain the walls. You hate these pictures. They’re from a time that just seems like a dream…maybe even another one of your fantasies. All of them were taken before you dad died, after that the camera had to be sold at a yard sale so no more pictures.

You shake your head and try to get the thoughts to dissolve because it’s too early to be depressed over the past. It’s too early for anything, especially too early to hear your mom bitch and complain about some irrelevant topic.

But you hear her. Something about stupid teenagers and how they never learn. She shoves the newspaper at you as if you need to know what she was talking about. You’re about to push it away when the image on the front catches your attention and holds you there.

It’s Amy. Amy who knows your first name and sits next to you in 6th period. Your heart catches in your throat as your eyes take in the news article. It is saying lies, things that can’t be true…it’s not possible. Can’t be.

How can Amy be dead? You just saw her on Tuesday…how? It says that she was murdered, beaten to death by her longtime boyfriend. Your face is paling quickly and you think you’re going to be sick. Maybe your organs will pop out seeing how you didn’t eat dinner or breakfast so what is in there?

You can feel Craig’s eyes hovering on you, brows furrowed and you realize you must look really strange right now. Maybe even like a ghost. Swallow the lump that formed at your throat down and take a breath.

“Let’s go Craig,” you tell him, standing up on shaky legs. You just want to get away from that newspaper and run away.

He nods, glances at the newspaper, still confused but goes with you out the door to wait for the school bus. You’re still shaking and trembling and you pray to God that it’s not real. That when you go to school, Amy will be there and that she’ll tell you that she broke up with her good-for-nothing boyfriend. Because then he won’t beat her anymore.

Get on the bus and find an empty seat while Craig goes to the back with all the popular kids. You’re facing the window but not staring at anything except the black that your eye lids cast down.

“Hey, can I sit here?” The speaker has a vague accent that you can’t place.

You look up to see an angel. Or at least that’s what he looks like at first and you never knew angels could be so pretty. Bleached blonde hair with dark roots threatening to sprout out. A smile that makes you want to turn into a puddle of goo at his feet. But what stands out the most are the blue eyes. The eyes that are intense and plain beautiful. There’s something about them that makes you feel that if you were to drown in these eyes, you would die happy.

But you don’t allow him to sit next to you because you’re grieving. You’re not supposed to be thinking about gorgeous angels…uh guys, only Amy. Shake your head at him and turn away before you see his reaction.

You don’t think that anybody’s ever turned him down before. With that smile, who could?

Mentally you scold yourself. One of the only people that have ever cared about you might be gone. Forever. This is not the time or place. With that in mind you’re able to go back to panicking. It’s not true, it’s not true, it’s not true. Amy will still be there. She has to be there…

But she isn’t.

The whispers are already spreading, everybody knows. But as long as you don’t believe it, it can’t be true. Every time anyone says that she deserved it, you have to mentally force yourself to not knock the person out. Idiots. Bastards. They should all rot in hell. They never knew Amy.

And you know that if in 6th period Amy’s not there, then the rumors will be true. Now walking to the class, you feel dread brewing up in your stomach. Not even a flicker of hope sparks inside you, going here is just for conformation almost. And you get your conformation.

She’s not there. The seat remains empty while the teacher walks in and at his side is the gorgeous angel. But you can’t care anymore, your insides seem to rip apart and the soft pin pricks of tears are hitting your eyelids, screaming to come out. You blink them away furiously, you aren’t going to cry.

“Class, class…heads up. This is Anthony Lovato, he’s going to be joining us from today onwards. Anthony go sit next to Mr. Lacey.” His finger goes out to point me out and a smirk passes Anthony’s face.

He drags his dirty Vans along the grubby white floor before collapsing into the chair. That’s Amy’s chair and you almost feel angry that he’s taking it. But…you can’t. Be angry at him that is. The teacher’s back turns to write down something on the board.

“So I guess I get to sit next to you anyway huh?” His eyes twinkle as he says this.

And you wonder why he isn’t pissed at you or maybe this is just an act and that when he gets the chance he’ll break your legs. You hope it’s the latter. Look down, shrug gently before going back into your world of ignorance.

“Okay guys, get into your groups. Anthony you can work with Jesse and Kyle, since you’re already sitting next to Mr. Lacey anyway.”
Groups? No, please no. You can’t handle Kyle right now. But he comes with his dumb glazed over look and stares at you like you’re supposed to read his mind.

“What the hell is up with you? Get working loser,” he growls at you, unmoving.

But today you don’t move. It feels physically impossible to move or get up. The sound of cruel laughter hits your ear drums, the sound vibrating off of them.

“You’re still all sad about that Amy bitch? She had it coming, such a slut.”

More laughter as if he can’t believe you actually have feelings. And before you can stop yourself, you’re up and your fist is making contact with his nose.

“Don’t you ever call her that,” you snarl into his face. Hands wrap around you to pull you off but you shrug them away and run out of the room. You can’t stay here, but where else are you supposed to go?

So you make your way to the bathroom, slamming your back against the wall there. Breathing in heavily and silently willing yourself not to cry. You can’t cry, not here. Not where anyone can actually see you. Breathe in. Breathe out. Just like a pregnant woman, it’ll be okay. It has to be okay.

You don’t know how long you stay in the bathroom before the bell rings. No tears yet. You can be proud of yourself. There are footsteps, you hear the sound of thuds coming closer. So you stand up, dust imaginary dust off your ripped jeans and get ready to leave.

When you open the door you come face to face with a mad Kyle. A Kyle that is sporting a slightly red nose and a very red face. Behind him is his legion of asshole followers. You gulp, already knowing the inevitable. Rough hands grab you by the collar of your shirt.

“What was that you fucker?” he shouts at you, spit flying onto your face. And you cringe. He takes the motion on your face as fear and he smashes your back against a wall. You hear the sickening crash of flesh against cement. Now flesh on flesh.

They’re all around you, cheering Kyle on, while he repeatedly punches you. On your stomach, arms, face, and any other piece of body that he has access to. Soon you’re on the floor, side down, whimpering and trying to crawl up into a ball. Feet kicking at you, all of them now. So much for not crying.

When you’re full out bawling, they leave with a silent message on their faces that their work there is done. You can hear the door swinging open and closed. Your body hurts so much right now and you can feel every sob racking through you. You want to stop so badly, but you don’t know how. Don’t know how to turn off the faucet.

The sound of the door swinging open again catches your attention barely. You roll up into a ball again, assuming that they have come back to give you even more hell. But you don’t hear the taunts and soon you pull your head out of your arms to see Anthony.

His eyes are staring at you so deeply that you wonder if he can see that you’re dying right now. And you wonder if he would want to save you if he does see it. He wouldn’t though because you’re just Jesse Lacey, nobody worth saving.

But just for once, you wish that you were worth saving.
Ch. 3-

You’re the one that breaks the stare. Turn away, embarrassed and ashamed of yourself. It’s your fault that you’re in this state, shake your head twice. What were you thinking? Shut your eyes tight and hope that when you reopen them, Anthony won’t be there.

Open your eyes and look up. He’s still there, closer now and inching forward slowly until he’s right above you. A frown smears over his perfectly defined features as he bends down to reach you.

At the touch of his hand to your shoulder you flinch. And if you had the energy, you would be up and running out of this dinky bathroom with the bad lighting. But you don’t, so you stay there with your eye lids taped down, unable to see anything.

“Hey…” His voice shatters into you, uncertain and hesitant.

Blink twice; his hands are moving over you to try to bring you off the germ-infested floor. He succeeds into making you sit upright, your back hitting the tiled wall much more softly than it had when Kyle had slammed you against it.

Your pathetic crying has slowed down into just a few gasps and the odd hiccup here and there. Eyes now open warily staring into his electric blue ones. Hands coming to wring together, tossing and fumbling.

“Shhh,” he tells you, raising a hand to wipe away the tears that streak your face. You don’t move, feeling that if you did you’ll ruin the moment. Whatever moment this may be, because of right now you don’t know what this all means.

It probably means nothing but you’re grateful for it anyway. It’s been a long time since anybody has bothered to wipe away your tears. You don’t even remember the last time you’ve been comforted.

It’s at this thought, the fact that you are so emotionally and physically separated from any affection or any other sappy feeling that sends you over the edge again. Stumbling over your tears and ending up in mini convulsions that make you gasp from the strikes of pain that shoot up your body.

His hand is on your back now rubbing gently and making quiet cooing noises into your ear. You hadn’t even realized he was this close until now. Warm breath is blowing softly into your disheveled mousey brown hair and you almost shiver.

“It’s okay kid…I mean Jesse. Really, it is.”

Broken promises, forced lies, and exaggerated hope fills your mind and you want to believe him, but you know you’ll only be hurting yourself more if you do. So you don’t say anything and hope that the rubbing on your shoulders never ceases.

You’re sure that it’s been more than six minutes of complete silence other than your occasional hiccup before he speaks again.

“So tell me about Amy…who was she? What was she like?” he asks you, probably trying to break the monotony of the atmosphere that clouds over both of you.

Gulp down the lump in your throat. Even thinking about her hurts, like a cut that never scabs over and keeps on bleeding. This will never heal.

“She…she sat next to me. Amy, she had black hair with swirls of pink, like a lollipop almost. She liked singing along to The Smiths and Britney Spears. Her boyfriend used to hit her. Really hard and it, it left scars and shit.”

The tears are building up in your eyes but you refuse to blink and let them out. You take a deep breath, trying to collect your thoughts. The thoughts that come out so randomly and have absolutely no relation to each other except for the fact that they’re all the things you want to forget.

Anthony nods, light hair falling into his face as he blows them away almost half-heartedly.

“I’m sorry…you don’t have to go on about it. If you don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles gently, only centimeters away from your face.

“I…I don’t know what I want.”

It’s true, you really don’t know. Oh wait, you do know. You want Amy to come back from the dead…even if she has to come in zombie form. You want this Anthony, angel-like character to love you. In all ways. Is that so wrong?

He nods, pretending to understand the absolute garbage that streams out of your mouth. You suddenly feel pressure on your shoulder and part of you knows it’s him but the other part doesn’t…can’t believe it. Turn your head to face him and sure enough you see blonde hair meeting a black, clothed shoulder. Your shoulder, his head. Connected.

If only all things were like that. Or if they could just stay that way until time rotted away.

“So what, did you like her?” His voice lulls you out of the sort of mind freeze that you’ve settled into.

Like her? She was your friend, of course you liked her.

“She was my friend, of course I liked her.”

You want to lay your head down on his. Just like what the stars do in those insanely romantic and sappy movies do. You figure that he would either…1. Jump away and tell you to get the fuck away from him…or 2. Jump away and then tell you as nicely as possible that you should never touch him again.

So it’s a lose-lose situation. Story of your life actually.

“No…I mean, more than a friend.” The tone of his voice is kind of the duh tone mixed up with something that sounds like jealousy. No, take that part out, why would he be jealous? He makes it seem like you were supposed to know what he meant the first time he said it. But…just ew. Amy, more than a friend? Ew…you don’t think so.

“No way. Not like that anyway. I just…liked her as a friend.”

Talking. You’re almost surprised that you know how to do that properly and not mess it up totally like you mess everything else up.

“Oh, that’s cool then,” he says, relaxed again. Comfort and confidence oozing out of every pore that is inside of him. The total opposite of you and you’re wondering if opposites really do attract. You hope they do.

“Um, well Anthony…thanks for this. But I want to go home,” you tell him as you feel the creeping pain starting to thud within you. You just want to take your mind off this hurting because they always said that it was mind over body right?

Make a list in your head. Go home. Take aspirin. Lie in bed and try to sleep away the pain, if that’s possible. But as much as your mind whirls with thoughts, your body is stronger and the pain is stronger, reminding you that it’s still there and you can’t beat it

Struggle up, putting on a failing ‘I’m-so-manly’ show for Anthony who had just nodded at you after your life-changing statement. Gasp from the ache that crawls up and hits you in the stomach. Fall into Anthony and apologize profusely because you’re sitting in his lap, after having dropping on your ass.

He smiles, gleaming white teeth and all. He doesn’t even bother tipping you out of his lap. Instead he leans closer, as if the slow-mode button is turned on, until cherry red lips are directly on top of yours.

“Don’t call me Anthony. You sound like my mother.”

Moves a little closer until his lips are on top of yours, brushing them smoothly with his own. Something wet is prodding at your closed opening and your barrier breaks down completely.

You can feel the muscle moving in your mouth and you want to pinch yourself to make sure that this is not just another fantasy. Your own tongue refuses to move, too scared knowing you’ll probably just mess it all up. You can feel his rubbing, massaging, licking against yours and you mewl in response.

He pulls away briefly to stare you down. A sigh of disappointment escapes you coming from out of nowhere.

“And I definitely wouldn’t want to be kissing my mother.”

A wink and cocky smile send you over the edge once again. And you were right…dying in blue depth would be happiness.
Ch. 4 -

You are Robin Hood. Pushing through crowds in forest-green tights with a peacock’s feather in your hat. Shooting arrows at faceless enemies who die instantaneously and disappear before you can go up and identify them. You wonder why your companions’ faces are always blurred messes, just smudges of black and white. But, you don’t think on this detail for too long because you have more important things to do…

Like saving the fair lady who is being kept in the tallest tower.

Dodge in your mind, quickly now. Up the stairs, around the corner. Faster, faster, you can hear the dragons coming. The large wooden door swings open at the touch of your hand. Take swift steps inside and come face to face with…Tony. Tony whose face is defined and you could sketch out every single wrinkle or mole if you had to.

You reach out to him, offering a hand which he takes to pull himself off the floor. And you think that there’s been a serious role reversal here seeing how he’s supposed to be saving you. Just about to run down the stairs again and defeat the evil monsters -

“Jess, get your fat ass up. We’re gonna be late,” Craig yells at you, knocking you out of your Tony filled daydream. He throws a shoe at you and you hold it up, your eyebrows rising slightly at him. But he ignores you and races down the stairs. Sigh once, you’d rather stay in bed the whole day fantasizing about Tony than go to school. Wait a second…Tony. He’s in school, what were you thinking?

Leap up, cringing when your warm feet hit the cold, wooden floor. Is this what a fire feels like when it’s being put out? Dash to your closet and have a mild panic attack. This never gets old, finding clothes that you hope Tony will like. You still feel that soft tingling feeling in your stomach that makes you want to either throw up or embrace it.

No time to ponder about what to wear, you can already hear Craig screaming at you to come down. Grab a black tee shirt and pants that you think belong to your brother but you don’t care. You have a choice now, take a bath and smell good/okay but have Craig ready to kill you, or go to school with bed hair but still have a life. Craig happy or Tony happy?

It wasn’t even a choice.

The cold water hits you hard, waking you up completely. That’s the only good thing about not having a heating system. Hurry now, rinse the shampoo out from your brown hair. Step out, grab the white towel that lies on the rusted hook, and use it to wipe yourself dry. Pull on your clothes, unlock the door, and take the stairs two at a time. Craig’s already half way out the door when your feet hit the landing.

Say good-bye to breakfast, it’s not like there was much to eat anyway. You have to run to keep up with Craig’s long strides which seem to just eat up the ground, while he scolds you for being so slow. The yellow bus is already honking as you two turn the corner and stumble into it.

Look around you for the mop of blonde hair, but see none. You sigh with disappointment; maybe Tony’s not coming to school after all. What a waste of getting up. Suddenly feel fingers wrapping around your wrist, look up and wonder how you could have missed him.

He pulls you down to sit next to him while talking a storm into your ear. Telling you about the cereal he ate, the newspaper, sleeping late, and just everything that pops up into his mind. And you sit there, perfectly contented just to hear his voice. Laughing slightly at his comments as the bus turns into the school.

You feel your heart drop, like it always does around this time. This time. The time to say good bye to Tony and wait till lunch and sixth period before you can see him again. It gets harder every time. Your attachment to him is almost obsessive. He’s the celebrity and you’re just the lucky fan whose dream of a lifetime came true. How can you let go?

But you do. Nod good bye to him and turn away, trying to hide your disappointment. He would probably be disgusted with your addiction with him. You’re almost disgusted with it. The day is long and boring. Teachers going on about what x is equal to, World War 2, Hamlet, and a list full of other things you don’t care about.

Lunchtime goes by, Tony fails to show up. Your heart feels like a jiggly mess of goo, so scared about what could have happened to him. Maybe he was beaten up and raped…or something to that effect. The feeling of dread which seems so familiar creeps up on you, holding on with sickening force. You feel too sick to eat, your stomach almost clenching and unclenching from your worries.

Enter the science lab now, palms sticky and forehead damp with sweat. Take your seat noticing immediately that he’s not there yet. It’s true; he’s dead, just like Amy. Your brain screams this at you while you shake your head, eyes fall shut. Sometimes you wish that you could separate yourself from your mind so that you didn’t have to hear its rambles. Maybe you are being ridiculous and Tony isn’t dead…but he’s not here with you, probably decided that he shouldn’t waste his time on you anymore, so he is as good as dead.

You’re lucky today. The teacher doesn’t assign anymore experiments and drones in monotone about the different cell structures in your body. Everything he says escapes you and even though you know your education is important, you just can’t bring yourself to listen right now. Rejection, abandonment, hatred all just hurt and you wish you had never met your bleached angel. This is exactly how you felt when you saw your father’s pictures of him in the bathtub. He left you. Tony left you. Everybody will leave you.

So why can’t you just suck it up and get used to it?

The bell rings and your worn out shoes drag against the checkered black and white floor, squeaking softly. Your head’s down, eyes staring at the floor as you go to your locker, pack up, and leave the school’s main doors. Walk out and trail the old building’s wall with your fingers, not noticing the pair of shoes that follow you. You’re just about to turn the corner when cold hands grab you, one covering your mouth restricting you from screaming bloody murder, and the other one goes around your torso to bring you closer.

Struggle in the arms and hold back tears because this really is too much to handle. Twist and try to see who your kidnapper or ex-convict is so that you can recognize his face and identify him to the police if you get away.

“Relax Jess, it’s just me.”

You freeze up, stop shaking immediately. The hands around you let go enough for you to turn around to face him. You relax slightly as Tony’s familiar face comes into your line of vision. A giggle bursts softly from your lips.

“Hi,” is the only response you can think of after your mild panic fit. Your cheeks are flushing deep pink, teeth gnawing on your lip furiously making indents.

“Miss me much?” He asks you, eyebrows wiggling suggestively and as cocky as ever.

You could tell him that you want to keep him nailed to your side till the end of time so that he can never leave you but you’re not too sure how well that would sink with him. And plus, where’s the fun in actually telling him the truth. He doesn’t need to know that you are 100% infatuated with him and that you’ve already thought about what color flowers you want at your wedding. So you lie.

“Never even noticed you were gone,” you tell him, a smirk tugging at the sides of your mouth.

He pouts at you, lower lip sticking out adorably, and makes a sniffling noise in his throat.

“Aww, don’t cry. I’m sorry,” you say, guilt already leaking into your voice, even though he’s only kidding. Despite your words he keeps up with the act, rubs where his heart supposedly is and mutters words like broken heart. Hold your breath before leaning forward to plant a small kiss on his cheek and shoot off, too embarrassed to stick around for his response. As you run off you hear him shout bye to you and you smile.

You reach home, your face feels weird from smiling but you don’t stop. It’s a good sort of weird you decide. Your mother’s at the door already, Cody by her side, a scowl is settling down on her features.

“Where have you been? Do you think the laundry’s just gonna do itself? Here, bring Cody with you and don’t take forever.” She shoves the bag of dirty clothing at you along with five quarters before turning back into the house.

You glance down at your little brother, who you’ve always thought looked like a mini version of you. The same messy brown locks of curls and the deep blue eyes that you often find dreaming off into empty space. You don’t want Cody to be like you though, you want him to be better. His small hand fits into yours as you both go down the road to the local Laundromat.

On the way he bubbles with innocent questions. Jesse why is the sky blue. Jesse how do birds fly? Jesse can I be a bird?...They’re never ending. So you nod at him, giving him simple answers. And even inside the shop he continues until you sit him on top of the whirling washing machine. You’re glad when he falters for a second and you think that he might have run out of questions.

“Jesse, why do your eyes dance now?”

You smile lightly at him, amused and confused by this question. Did your eyes dance? How do eyes dance? Now you’re the one with questions. A slight cough signals that he does expect an answer soon. So you sigh and murmur softly,

“I…I guess they just have something to dance for now.”
Ch. 5-

It’s been two weeks and four days since you met Tony. Two weeks and four days of dancing and singing eyes, unfamiliar smiles, and being in an aura of warmness filled with safety and contentment. It’s seems like nothing can bring you down from your new high as long as you’re with Tony because nothing else matters when you’re with him. You’re able to look through the world with his eyes it seems and realize that maybe life is worth going through.

You’re at his house now, the front door to be exact. And your jaw has just hit the floor, well it has ever since you first laid your eyes on his house actually. His house…it seems like it was taken out of the movies. Cut out and pasted in the middle of Long Island complete with the shimmering pool, which is the blue that’s just a shade lighter than Tony’s eyes.

“Just put your shoes over there and follow me,” Tony instructs before striding onto the marble floor.

After kicking your shoes off you hesitate before entering and check the bottoms of your socks, making sure that nothing dirty or unwanted is there. Practically tiptoe onto the shiny floor that sparkles like there are some hidden jewels beneath the surface. And then stop midway and feel your mouth fall open to make awing sounds. Heels hit the floor and stare at the huge cylinder fish tank that goes from the floor to the ceiling in front of you. Take a few cautious steps forward and reach out a hand to almost graze the glass that separates your world from the underwater world.

Watch the different fish shoot back and forth, as if playing a game of tag with each other. A sea of red, orange, black, yellow, and blue mingling together. A small smile inhabits your face and you feel like naming all the fish ridiculous names. Like Red Fishy and such.

Hear the slap of feet entering the room and jerk your hand back to your side, afraid and guilty. But the sound of, ‘what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ fails to ring in your ears so you glance up and see a maid sweeping the house. Her broomstick making deliberate, wide motions, clearing away imaginary dust from the already clean floor.

“Jess, what are you doing?” Tony questions, his eyebrows rising slightly to make a perfect golden arch.

“Tony…Tony, you have a fish thing in your house…” you trail off excitedly, pointing at the fish again delighted and amazed by it.

“Uh…yeah. I think I noticed that already Jess,” he says lightly to you before taking your elbow and leading you away from the tank.
Sigh gently and force your gaze away from the fish to Tony and touch his shirt, feeling the soft material roll beneath the pads of your fingers.

“You changed,” you state.

He nods at you and ushers you into a room that’s bigger than your kitchen and living room combined. The moment you enter, you realize that there’s another body in the room. A body with a head full of messy brown hair, that is similar to yours, except that it’s darker. It’s a boy that is clearly a few years older than you with striking hazel-blue eyes that seem to drill into you and observe every move you make. Divert your eyes from him back to Tony and fight the urge to run out of the room.

“Jesse, this is Matt. He’s my cousin,” Tony tells you and nudges you forward towards his cousin.

“Uh, hi, it’s um, nice to meet you,” you stutter as you reach your hand forward to do the only thing that makes sense to you right now…a handshake. His eyes cast down to look at your hand before turning away and leaving you in an awkward position. Drop your hand and look helplessly at Tony who doesn’t say anything, a soft blush lights up his cheeks.

“Yeah, whatever,” Matt intones gruffly before raising his own hand to give you a lazy wave back. Turn back towards Tony, but if you would had not moved in that second, you would have seen the jealous almost malicious look that Matt shot to Tony. The look that sends Tony’s eyes to the ground, like that fat, naughty kid who took a cookie behind his mother’s back and was caught. You do notice that look that suddenly overcomes Tony’s features.

After when you’re both walking away to go to Tony’s room, Tony apologizes profusely and swears that his cousin is not usually like that. The blush disappears and his sense of cool and confidence takes over him again. His room is like every other part of his house…beautiful and neat. The dark blue bed sheets are laying pulled out on the mattress, already made. Books are piled up in tidy stacks on his desk. The chairs are pushed in around his desks. The only thing that is remotely Tony are the posters that engulf the crème walls that are of bands like The Smiths and Rancid.

To the side of the room is something that interests you the most. A few stands where a couple guitars lie, resting heavily on them. Indicating with your hand to them you ask Tony, “You play?”

He grins an accomplished, almost proud smile. “Yep, but I’m not that good at it. Matt’s teaching me actually.”

Trail your fingers on the stretched strings of the guitar, envious of them and Tony’s ability to play them.

“I could teach you what I know later if you like.”

Jerk your eyes back to Tony, “I’d like that.”

He’s on the bed now, patting the spot beside him, signaling you to come, just like a master would to his puppy or something. And just like that lost, abandoned puppy, you go to him and sit down. There’s a funny sort of comfortable silence that resumes now and your hands clench together, you can feel your nails making imprints into the soft fleshy part of your palm.

“I’m happy you decided to come after all Jess,” he tells you, turning so that he’s facing you now.

You nod because you’re glad you came too.

He takes one of your hands in his, stroking it softly and gently before using it to pull you towards him. Your mouth falls onto his and he kisses you, his tongue running along the insides of your mouth. The hand he had used to pull you towards him is now going in your hair, rifling and pushing through the already messy parts of it. His other hand rubs smoothly against your back and you’re briefly aware that it’s going lower and lower.

Lower until it reaches your ass, gripping it, making you gasp slightly into his mouth from the new sensation. You two stay like that for a good ten minutes, making out and groping. The feeling of stuffiness in your pants has heightened and it’s starting to make you very uncomfortable. The hand on your bottom leaves and you moan out your temporary disappointment until it grasps your hard-on through your jeans.

Rubbing in smooth circles onto you. The actions are so simple but yet they make you cuss out and grind your hips more into his hands. You hear the chuckle that vibrates from his mouth into yours because of your eagerness. And you’re just about to cream yourself right there, at his hands when the door comes flying open.

Both of your eyes go to the door, a little bit annoyed and frustrated at the timing before you actually see who it is. Matt. With his eyes almost popping out of his head. Mouth ajar. Thoroughly shocked.

You and Tony jump away from each other at once so that he lands on the floor after miscalculating where the bed actually ended and with you just on the edge gripping onto the dark bed sheets. You don’t see the way Tony’s and Matt’s eyes connect or the way Matt’s glisten with anger and Tony’s with obvious fear. The door slams, leaving an echo that seems to even penetrate through your bones.

Tony gets off the floor to once again sit next to you. But you’re pretty sure that his motives this time have changed.

“That was awkward,” you offer to him, but he doesn’t give you any response other than closing his eyes for a moment.

His adam’s apple jerks in his throat and you watch it before he opens his mouth to say something.

“I think that you should leave now Jess. Just till I can…I don’t know, talk to Matt. I’ll see you tomorrow ok?”

He doesn’t wait for your response and takes you by your left hand leading you out of his room, out of his house, and perhaps out of his life. He abandons you outside the gates after saying a rushed bye. And you’re left with a feeling of crushed hope but just enough to wish with all your might that he’ll take you back.
Ch. 6

All day long you’ve been worried. The kind of worry that makes you want to roll up into a dark, black hole away from the rest of the world and just die because the constant thudding of your heart against your chest seems hard enough to kill. Of course the rest of the day from when Tony left you outside his house, isn’t in reality really that long. Maybe around seven hours only, not including the night hours, but to you it seems like a never changing eternity.

You’re dreading going to school this morning. You feel it in your stomach, a dull ache, as you pull on clothes, as you eat half a bowl of cereal for breakfast (no milk), and in all the motions you go through. But you still have a little bit of self respect and pride left that will not allow you to actually let Tony see how much he meant to you. You won’t allow him to have the satisfaction that he broke you again.

Nope, you’re better than that. Or…at least you hope you are.

Walking down with Craig now and you’re having an inner battle with yourself almost. To ask Craig if you can sit next to him and have a chance at showing Tony how easily you are able to get over him but having to deal with the even higher chance of embarrassment and rejection or saving yourself from that sort of humility and just sit by yourself. It won’t be anything new anyway.

Too late. The bus arrives and Craig’s climbing the stairs before you get the chance to even open your mouth and ask him. Curse under your breath, this really isn’t working for you. The sound of your footsteps seems hollow, as if it’s the sound of your doom. It’s more like the final realization that you Jesse Lacey will:

a) live a long and lonely life
b) scare everybody that draws near to you away
c) never have anybody to love or
d) all of the above.

It’s a really depressing reality you decide but still, nothing that surprises you.

Caught up in all your thoughts you miss the voice that calls out your name several times as you skim the bus chairs with your dirt-clogged nails. It’s only when the owner of that voice tugs on your shirt sleeve that you finally look up and acknowledge him. Him being Tony of course. A Tony that makes you gasp when you first look at him. The huge bruise that paints his right cheek in a shade of bluish magenta and the split lip catches your attention and holds you there.

Your knees are threatening to buckle from beneath you because of the obvious familiarity of the whole situation but you can’t quite place why it’s familiar. You’re running into dead ends in your mind as you hopelessly try to find out the answers. The hand is still on you, now wrapping around your wrist to cling firmly and drag you down next to him.

“Look Jess, I’m sorry for what happened yesterday okay? But you don’t have to go into a huge hissy fit about it.”

His eyes are traveling to you, sending electrical tingles down your spine.

Make a coughing noise from the back of your throat before answering.

“Hissy fit?” You don’t even really know what that is. But it doesn’t sound good. You figure that any word that has ‘hiss’ in it can’t be…good. That word just sounds ugly, plain and simply put. You don’t like it.

“Yeah, like ignoring me and all that other shit.” His eyebrows arch like he usually does when he’s stating something he thinks is obvious. He’s still staring at you like you’re some sort of lab rat. And right now, you sort of feel like one.

Swallow down the lump of spit that has gathered in your mouth while trying to think of some excuse other than temporary deafness that you can give to him. But…nothing.

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean it.”

Bite your lower lip; it’s a nervous habit that you seem to have got into. And of course so much for not showing him how much a coward and low life you actually are.

He waves his hand carelessly and you notice that three fingers are speckled with black nail polish, undoubtedly a new…fetish. He makes a clucking noise before replying almost immediately.

“Forget it, you shouldn’t be apologizing anyway. I have gotta be the most…ungraceful host you’ve ever had huh?”

At this point he chuckles nervously to himself before looking up to see if he’s gained your acceptance. Little does he know that he had gained it ever since he grabbed onto your shirt. But…Tony Lovato nervous? You didn’t even know that was a possibility. Guess you learn something new everyday huh?

Smile softly. “I’ve had worse. But you’re still lacking a few skills in that department,” you tell him, poking him childishly in the stomach.

He pokes you back with his thumb, which you think is odd since you would usually use your index finger. But then again, Tony Lovato is odd. A good odd of course, but nevertheless odd.

“Well yeah so I thought I would make it up to you. My parents own this great cabin just up north from here and I was just wondering…hoping that you’d like to come up this weekend. So how about it, give me another chance at being host? I have a few more skills other than my host ones that I could show you…”

His eyebrows waggle naughtily at you and his pink tongue slides to brush against his upper lip. And, you blush.

“Um, I’ll have to check with my mom first just to see if it’s alright. You know just to check so she won’t have to worry because that’s what mom’s do. Worry right?”

You trail off from your babbling and note how your cheeks have probably gone just a few shades deeper. His eyes seem to twinkle at you…or Cody would have said that they were dancing right about now and he nods.

“You do that. Call me when you find out. You have my number yeah? I really hope you’ll come Jesse,” he says as the bus pulls up the school driveway and the students around you are getting up.

Yes you’ve got his number. The number that he carelessly scribbled into the palm of your hand just before class started. The number that you later on neatly transferred to six different sheets of paper…just in case one got lost. None have gone missing yet so yes, you’ve got his number.

And all through the rest of the school day this is all you can think about. The thought of going away with Tony to some fantasy cabin for more than a few hours excites you. No, it more than excites you. It makes you weak with anticipation and hope. You feel more energetic than you’ve felt in weeks. Happy enough to stand up on one of the canteen tables and sing the Barney theme song at the top of your lungs.

And it feels damn good.

In sixth period Tony reminds you again to ask and you laugh slightly at the slight irony. It’s been the only thing you’ve thought about all day, there wasn’t even the slightest possibility that you could have forgotten. Unless you had amnesia or something, which you didn’t.

It’s only when you’re walking up the driveway home that the excitement finally starts to wear away. The level of adrenaline in your system fails to pump and instead you’re filled with the uncomfortable feeling of unease. What if your mother doesn’t let you go? How will you tell Tony? What will he think?

Oh no. This is not good. Pray silently in your mind. Your hands clamping together in the traditional prayer mode.

‘Please God let Mama say yes. Please, I promise to be good. I promise really…’

This continues until you enter the kitchen area where seventy percent of your family is. Your heart sinks a bit. This will be embarrassing but Mama seems in a good mood today even humming a tune you can’t quite place softly.

Set your bag down on the floor before moving forward to pat Cody’s head as he eats peanut butter from a small spoon. Clear your throat and think of how you’re gonna ask.

“Hi Mama.” That’s a start. Not that great of a one but a start.

She doesn’t turn to face you but makes a soft grunting noise as if that’s her newest way of saying hi.

“Mama, I have a friend that-“

“You have a friend? Aha, suuure.” Your sister Hailey has always been one to put forward her thoughts. You wish she wouldn’t, they’re not always so nice to hear.

Turn to face her. “Yeah. I do”

Turn back to your mother. “Anyway, he has this place, cabin somewhere up north and he says his parents wouldn’t mind if we stayed there this weekend. Can I?”

You realize that you probably sound like a 3 year old asking if he can play with his best friend or something.

“Only you and him? By yourselves in some cabin? Isn’t that a bit gay? Fag-like thing to do?” Hailey asks you, her eyes shifting to look you up and down.

“Wait…are you?”

Oh no, you knew something like this would happen. Stall, bring yourself more time. Squeak out, “Am I what?”

She rolls her eyes at you, pops her blue bubblegum before answering.

“Gay. Are you?”

At this point Jamey and Rory shift to face you, waiting for you to say something back.

“No, course not. I just thought it would be fun. It’s not gay.” You reply shortly, narrowing your eyes a little.

“Jesse, what does gay mean?” chimes Cody’s childlike voice, his mouth sticky from the peanut butter.

Eyes open wider a bit to glare at Hailey from mentioning the g word in Cody’s presence. She should have known better.

“Uh, it means happy Code. Are you happy?” you ask him in a fluster to distract him feeling bad for sort of lying. But technically you weren’t lying.

He smiles a grin that is missing a few teeth at you. “Yeah Jesse, I’m gay.”

Snickers and laughter erupt from the rest of your siblings. You sigh before facing your mother again.

“Can I Mama?”

You wait for her as she wipes her hands on the rag, her dark eyes on you and you know she’s deciding.

“Yes you can, it’ll save some food around here anyway.”

Usually, back in the Before Tony times, a statement like this would make you upset but instead it has you smiling like a maniac and hugging her quickly.

“Thanks Mama,” and with that you go skipping upstairs to call Tony. You realize that those six pieces of paper were useless as you memorized his number by heart the very first day he gave it to you. On the third ring he picks up.

“Hello.”

“Tony, it’s me.”

“Oh Jesse, hey man.”

“I can go.”

“Really? That’s awesome. Hey so I’ll pick you up at eleven tomorrow at your place. It’ll be like a three hour drive there so we gotta start early.”

“Tony…eleven isn’t exactly early.”

“Early enough for me. I mean the birds and stuff aren’t even up at that hour.”

“…Yeah they are.”

“Okay maybe, but I don’t hear them until like 12. Anyway just be there ok? I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow I guess.”

“Yeah bye.”

Click. The sound of static fills your ears so you hang the phone back on its hooks. Your stomach is bouncing inside of you and it feels like all your nerves are on fire. Jump around in the small square also known as your room while Craig walks in and gives you a look that says you’ve gone mad.

At night you can’t fall asleep. Too busy thinking about your pretty Tony and the trip ahead. You remember the bruise and his lip, frown deeply wondering how he got it. It’s then, lying on your back next to Craig, your breathing coming in fast little gasps, that it hits you. Sit up with your back stiff. You realize why Tony with all his bruises seems so heart wrenchingly familiar.

It’s like Amy all over again.
Ch. 7

You never thought it would be so hard to convince yourself that you were just imagining things. It’s hard to forget your new realization and it’s hard to not let it affect you. You know that it’s going to be haunting you for the whole trip unless you ask Tony about it but you’re scared. Scared that if you do somehow muster up enough courage, you’ll be shot down and you’ll be stuck at home doing laundry, taking care of Cody, or other things along the same lines.

Let out the breath you had been holding shakily and shiver slightly. Your head is throbbing; it feels like somebody is scraping your brain against your skull. Lie back down and sink into the discolored mattress, your hands run through your grime infested hair getting tangled up in the thick, curly knots.

‘I need to go with the flow,’ you whisper to yourself, your lips barely moving, the words coming out in hushed forms. You repeat that several times but no longer out loud, Craig might think you’ve finally gone insane and then you would be sent away to Cuckoo Ville. And that would be…not so good.

You don’t bother trying to sleep anymore, it’s no use. You’re up for good, well until tomorrow night at least. Shrug the blankets off of your body and fall to the floor on your hands and knees. Pick yourself up from the ground, thinking about the amount of germs and dirt that you have just accumulated. The thought hits you funny and you’re left wondering why you even care, you’ve never cared about anything this superficial before. As long as your heart was still beating, everything else was minor and didn’t matter.

Shake your head and make your way to the closet to pull out clothing, hum a tune under your breath not sure where it came from. The shower is too cold; it doesn’t make you feel more alive or awake because you’re as awake as you can possibly be. Take your time dressing, it’s like 3AM only, there’s no use of hurrying, no use of changing this early either but yet you do because it’s something to keep your attention off the whole Tony affair.

Push open the bathroom door and shudder against the chilly air that brushes past you. Make your way back to your room to grab a brown duffel bag and stuff random articles of clothing inside, not really sure how much to bring so you pack away most of your wardrobe which isn’t a lot so it’s no big deal. You hear Craig rolling around on your now vacant spot and then the clearing of a throat.

“Why are you up so early?” he asks you, his voice bleary and deep from sleep or the lack of it.

“Couldn’t get comfortable,” you tell him, not bothering to turn around and look at him.

“So you get up and…pack? Makes a lot of sense Jess.” There’s the sound of a body hitting the bed and you know he’s going back to sleep.

“Didn’t have anything better to do. Night,” you mumble mostly to yourself and wait until the room is perfectly silent again except for the sound of Craig inhaling and exhaling air. Zip up the bag and go to sit at the edge of the mattress, not sure what you’re supposed to do with yourself now. You spot the pale green phone on the side table and have a ping-pong like argument with yourself in your mind. To call or not to call. You know how annoying a phone ringing is but…this is an emergency.

You’re dying…of boredom. In your state of mind it all makes sense to you and it seems like a good, legitimate reason but you have a feeling that Tony and household might beg to differ. Unplug the phone and cradle it in your arms to bring outside into the small hallway where you proceed to hook it up there.

Punch in the numbers slowly, pausing for a few seconds before hesitantly pressing down on the last digit, 7. The rings echo in your ear and the whole time you’re contemplating just hanging up, your courage draining quickly and surely. Just right before you’re about to put the phone back down, somebody picks up on the other line.

“Hello?” The voice is gruff and low and not Tony.

“H-hi. Can I please speak to Tony?” You hate the sound of your voice. Scared, mouse-like, no confidence, every quality that you wouldn’t want.

“What? At 4:47 in the morning? Are you some kind of insomniac freak?” His voice is everything you would want though. In one word, fearless.

“Sorry, I’ll call back later. I didn’t mean to wake you up or anything…” You trail off nervously just wanting to put the phone down and end this conversation with Mr…you don’t even know who he is.

“Ha. You don’t mean to wake people up when you’re calling in the middle of the night? Yeah sure. What was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow anyway?” He seems to hold a lot of dark humor in his voice. There’s just something about him that you can’t place your finger on. It’s unnerving.

“Nah…it’s okay. I’ll just talk to Tony when I see him. T-thanks though.” Please you think to yourself, just let me hang up. You would promise to never call after 7 again if that’s what he wanted.

“It’s a Friday, you probably won’t see him till Monday since he’s going on his little trip for the weekend. Just saying…if it’s that important, you don’t want to wait a whole 48 hours.” He’s a persistent little bastard, but good at it, you’ll give him that. Probably make a good used car salesman.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll talk to Tony sooner than that. I’m going up with him,” you tell him proudly; a smile touches your lips at just thinking about it. There’s a pause.

“…Going with him? I must have tuned him out when he said that. Wait a sec…you’re Jesse aren’t you?”

He sounds almost friendly, too friendly maybe. But you don’t notice. You don’t hear the sugar coated words that spill from his mouth as he practically interrogates you with questions. You answer them truthfully, happy to get to a subject that you feel almost comfortable with…Tony. His words are still nice and warm as he says a cheerful good night to you and tells you that he’ll tell Tony you called.

After thanking him and saying your own good-bye’s you hang up. Halfway through your conversation it hit you that you were talking to Matt, his cousin. You knew Tony had a brother but he had told you that he was away at university so that couldn’t be him. And his dad would never talk to you in that manner so it only left Matt. That night/morning you also came to a conclusion that maybe Matt was a good guy.

You walk back into your room and re-plug the phone again, roll onto the mattress until you knock against Craig who gives a soft grunt. You nudge him again until he tells you to go away. Pout and bring your lower lip up feeling silly and knowing he can’t even see you.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t hear you.

“Craaaiiiiggy Weeegy,” you call out, whining his pet name given to him by your parents.

“Jess. Shut up.”

“Craig. Don’t be a party pooper. Get up, it’s late.”

“What? There’s no party here. It’s not late. Go to sleep.”

“But…I can’t. Come on Craiggy, please?” you beg him, pushing his shoulder lightly.

“No. I’m sleeping. Go bug Jamey or Rory,” he tells you and you can already hear him drifting back to sleepy land.

“Nooo. You can’t, just for a little while ok?” You shove him hard, forcing him to wake up again.

He gives you a weary look as he finally pulls himself up and rests his body weight against the wall behind him.

“What do you want?”

“Just to not be bored and alone. Will you miss me Craig?” you ask, batting your long eyelashes at him but stop when it starts to become tiresome.

He stares back at you, either not amused by your antics or still angry that you woke him up at 5:35 in the morning on a Saturday. Yeah, that could be it.

“Sure, as much as I’ll miss dead weight.”

You put your hand to your heart and whisper like a broken lover, “That hurt, right there…