Friday Night Lights - "Hold On, Hold On", Tim/Julie, R
Title: Hold On, Hold On
Author: lindentree
Rating: R
Character(s): Tim/Julie
Word Count: 3,512
Summary: Oh, it felt good. It felt good to laugh and slur nonsense at people she didn't know, in a stranger's house, with shots of Jim Beam running hot through her veins.
Notes: This takes place sometime after "Jumping the Gun". The title and the excerpt of lyrics are taken from "Hold On, Hold On" by Neko Case, off her fantastic album Fox Confessor Brings the Flood.
Thanks to the_wanlorn for the beta and hand-holding. ♥
In the end I was the mean girl,
or somebody's in-between girl.
Now it's the devil I love,
and that's as funny as real love.
Julie swayed on her feet, laughing. Oh, it felt good. It felt good to laugh and slur nonsense at people she didn't know, in a stranger's house, with shots of Jim Beam running hot through her veins. She felt so strong, dancing close to some guy from her Ethics class (or was it History?) to a thumping beat. Yes, very strong - so strong that nothing could hurt her. She was invincible. She walked into a table, stubbed her toe, hit her elbow on a door frame, bumped her head on Some Guy's chin, and nothing hurt her. Julie threw her head back again, taking in deep breaths of hot, smoky air, and laughing, laughing, laughing.
Matt and her mistake didn’t hurt. Matt moving on to Carlotta didn’t hurt. Her jealousy and frustration at her parents and her baby sister didn’t hurt. Her loneliness didn’t hurt. Her entire life felt like a vague, silly dream she didn’t need to concern herself with.
She kept on laughing as she swung her head up and the world spun and tilted madly, black spots dancing in front of her eyes, and she saw Matt Saracen on the outskirts of the makeshift patio dance floor, watchful eyes clamped on her.
"Hello, Number Seven!" she yelled, waving wildly.
Matt blushed and looked away before turning abruptly and disappearing into the mass of people crowded around the pool.
"Okay, bye!" she called, turning her attention back to her dance partner.
"Hello," she whispered to Some Guy. Some Guy had brown eyes and dark brown hair, and even though he wasn't all that much taller than her and they were grinding up against one another, she found it difficult to focus on his face.
"Hey," he slurred back. "You're a great dancer."
"Aw," Julie cooed, like it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said. "That's so nice!"
"No problem."
"You know what, though? You know what I just love, what I just love about dancing, what the best part is? Spinning and spinning and spinning!" she laughed.
"Do you want to spin?"
"Oh my god," laughed Julie, "Let's totally just spin!"
Grinning, Some Guy obliged, and they spun around the patio. Julie loved the feeling of her heart pumping and her blood rushing in her ears, and that beautiful falling, tumbling feeling of weightlessness. Which is how they ended up in the pool.
Julie didn't know how she got out of the pool, only recalled waking up on the patio, coughing up a lot of chlorinated water onto the wet slate, and coming face to face with a similarly drenched Tim Riggins.
"You can't swim," he observed, leaning over her, his brows drawn together in a frown, water dripping off his long, messy hair onto her face.
"No," she coughed, choking down the blessedly dry air. "I can swim. I was a lifeguard."
"Good thing you didn't show up to work loaded," he said, pushing his hair out of his face and helping her up. "You sank like a stone."
Julie thought she could stand just fine on her own until she was actually standing upright, at which point her knees buckled. Tim grabbed her around the waist and held her up. Holding on tightly to his welcome stability in the midst of her alcohol-fueled haze, Julie realised that her little diving routine had attracted the attention of basically everyone at the party.
"Come on," Tim said, half-carrying and half-dragging her off the patio, through the house and its crowds of onlookers, and out onto the front lawn of the ranch house, where his truck was parked.
Julie didn't protest, embarrassed at having to be rescued from another party by Tim Riggins. There was no way she could have made it anywhere on her own, except maybe the floor.
Once Tim had poured her into the truck, buckled her in, and propped her carefully against the passenger side door, he started the truck and pulled away with a screech of tires.
"Whoa," Julie moaned, pressing her hot forehead against the cool glass of the window.
"Too fast?" Tim asked, slowing down.
"Maybe a little. Have you been drinking?"
"Yeah," he smiled. "Not as much as you, though."
"No," she agreed. "But please don't kill us, okay? I don't want to die in a fiery wreck tonight."
He didn't reply, just eased off the gas a little more.
"Hey," she said, sitting up a little and blinking rapidly. "Where'd the guy go?"
"Huh?"
"The guy. He liked my dancing."
"Oh, him," Tim smirked. "He took off right after I hauled y'all out of the pool."
"God," Julie huffed as her eyes welled with tears. No, there would be no crying. She was going to be Laughing Girl, not Crying Girl. She was sick of being Crying Girl. "Guys around here sure do give up easily."
She felt rather than saw Tim glance at her across the cab of the truck.
"You're crying," he said, in the same tone one would use to observe that it was raining.
"Ugh, no. No I'm not," she replied, wiping her cheeks roughly and scowling at him.
Thankfully, Tim pulled up to her house right then, so Julie was able to shove the door open and tumble gracelessly out of the car and onto the pavement, thereby avoiding further discussion of her tears.
She heard Tim kill the engine and get out of the truck. She grimaced at the grungy boots that appeared next to her head.
"Ow," was the only comment she could articulate.
"Yeah," Tim agreed, reaching down and scooping her up once again and steadying her on her feet. "Come on. Try to walk it off."
He helped her to the door, rummaging around in her bag for her keys while she slumped against the house.
"Your parents are going to kill you," he muttered, finally locating the mass of novelty key rings which surrounded Julie's solitary house key.
"They're not even here," she complained. "They took Gracie to see my grandparents in Lubbock. I had to stay because I have to go to school and no one wants me with them, anyway."
"Oh," he said, unlocking the door and helping her inside.
Tim left Julie standing in the foyer, her clothes still clinging damply to her body, and turned on a few lights in the dark house. When he bumped into a table and knocked it over, Julie realised Tim was drunker than he was letting on.
"Sorry," he said, walking back towards her with an odd, goofy sort of grin on his face.
"It's just a stupid table," Julie shrugged, throwing her bag to the floor. "Do you want a drink or something?"
"No, I should probably just get going," he said.
"You're still all wet - do you want something dry to wear?"
"Uh, no. That's okay," he said, trying to step around Julie to get to the door. Julie stepped back into his path, reeling a little.
"Come on," she urged, batting her eyes the best way she knew how. "I know where my mom hides the key to the liquor cabinet."
Julie was sober enough to know she was doing a mean thing, trying to manipulate him, but she couldn't help herself. If he left her alone in this stupid house, drunk and lonely and as humiliated as always, she was going to lose her mind. She pulled out the big guns: "Please?"
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in clean, dry Panthers swag on her living room floor, doing shots of Jack Daniels, playing their own slapdash rendition of Truth or Dare, and laughing hysterically.
"Oh god, oh god," Julie cried, struggling to catch her breath. "I thought that one was totally made up."
"No," Tim replied ruefully, pouring another round. "That one is true."
"With her kid sleeping down the hall?"
"It was not my finest hour," he admitted, pushing her shot down the coffee table to her.
"Bet you didn't think so at the time," she cajoled.
"Nope, that's not really what I was thinking about at the time," he replied, suppressing a grin.
"Ah, well," Julie sing-songed, holding up her shot. "Here's to horny thirty-somethings and jailbait!"
"Cheers," Tim said, clinking his shot glass against hers.
Julie downed her shot and smacked the empty glass onto the table with a satisfying bang.
"Okay," she said, as though Tim had made a suggestion with which she agreed.
"Okay?"
"Yeah," she said, staring at him. His face was flushed and his eyes bright, and Julie felt a strange mixture of loneliness and desperation flood her chest.
The next thing she knew, they were rolling around on her mother’s good rug, and their shirts were over their heads and hot skin touched hot skin, and Tim tasted like beer and Jack, and it was wonderful, Julie thought, just wonderful, until -
“Wait,” Tim panted, resting his forehead against Julie’s.
“What?” she asked, just as breathless.
“This is a bad idea.”
“It feels like a good idea, actually,” Julie replied, reaching up and giving his unkempt hair a sharp tug.
“Ow,” he said, looking at her like she had done something incredibly surprising. “Pretty sure your dad would kill me.”
"My dad's not around. My parents won't be back until late tomorrow." Even through the alcohol, Julie could see the conflict in Tim's eyes, instinct and better judgment battling it out.
"Don't wanna get in trouble," he slurred, dropping his head next to hers and pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “Get you in trouble.”
"There won't be any trouble," Julie moaned.
"You sure?" he whispered, right into her ear.
"Mmm, yes," Julie replied. She didn't care what she was promising, as long as he never stopped doing that.
They stumbled their way to her bedroom, where it was cool and dim, and collapsed on her bed in a heap of limbs and drunken laughter. Who knew Tim Riggins giggled?
As the last of their clothes were shed and Tim began searching his wallet for a condom, Julie breathed deeply. She was really going to do this. It wasn't going to be a big deal. It was time to just get it over with.
Tim's hands found her again and Julie ordered herself to stop thinking.
Soon he was kissing her and touching her in places she and Matt had never even gotten to, and it was easy to stop thinking. Then, almost unexpectedly, he was inside her, and they both froze.
Julie bit down hard on her bottom lip. It hurt. Holy crap, they weren't lying, it really did hurt. The alcohol didn't seem to do much to dull it. She felt tears sting her eyes, and forced herself to stop holding her breath.
Tim, meanwhile, had gone perfectly still, and was staring down at her with a strange, panicked look on his face.
"Are you, are you...?" he couldn't seem to get the words out.
"What?" she whispered, breathing deeply to calm herself and soothe the pain.
"Are you a virgin?"
"Um," she said, glancing away from his intense gaze. "Not anymore?"
The expression on Tim's face was so perfectly miserable that Julie felt the tears well up once again.
"I thought you and Saracen..." He began to pull away, muttering a stream of nonsensical, hysterical apologies.
"Don't!" Julie said, gripping his shoulders. "Please don't go. That's just... That's even more pathetic. Please. Please just finish, okay?"
"Finish?" he repeated, incredulous.
"Yeah, it's okay. Just... go slow."
"Go slow," he breathed, glancing down at their bodies, their chests pressed together. Julie could see the wheels turning in his head, the game plan forming.
"Okay?" she asked.
"Okay," he nodded, shifting his weight a little. "Tell me if it hurts, if I need to slow down, or..."
"I will," she promised.
His face uncertain, Tim began to move tentatively against her, watching her closely to make sure she was all right, that this was still okay.
Julie couldn't articulate any reassurance - her mind was clouded by the alcohol, and she felt deluged by sensation and emotion. Her heart pounded as she looked up into Tim’s flushed, serious face, his expressive green eyes not leaving hers.
It was not just a body part going into another body part.
It didn’t feel good or nice exactly, but the pain and discomfort lessened as she relaxed and began to feel her way through it.
The whole thing was over in only a few minutes, all awkwardness and whispers of apology and encouragement, Tim anxious and distant. Reaching a hand between them, Tim managed to coax a gentle climax from Julie's tense body; she gasped and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. Julie was fascinated by the way Tim shut his eyes tightly, his whole body shuddering, when he came. Afterward, he pulled away from her gently but certainly, slumping on the bed next to her and turning his head away to look out the window.
Julie stared at the ceiling for several minutes, her head pounding.
"I have to go throw up," she announced, getting up and walking out of her room, stumbling her way to the bathroom. After vomiting, she spent several minutes resting her head against the hard, cold tile of the floor. Eventually she stood up shakily and looked at herself in the mirror. She was a mess - her hair still damp and hopelessly tangled, her allegedly waterproof eye make-up smudging her eyes like ugly bruises.
When she returned to her bedroom, Tim was still there, leaning pensively against her headboard with the bedspread her mother had given her for Christmas gathered around his waist.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked.
"No," she said softly.
"Okay," he replied. Just that one small word.
Julie climbed into the space he made for her in the bed, then reached over and turned out her lamp. Julie felt Tim curl a hesitant arm around her waist, his hand pressed against her chest.
"It’ll be better next time," he whispered, his breath ruffling her hair. "Whoever it’s with, it’ll be better. Don’t worry."
Upon reflection, Julie wondered if it might not have been better this time if she hadn’t cried, and vomited, and pretended she wasn't a virgin.
***
Everything hurt.
That was Julie's first thought as she emerged slowly from the swamp of liquor-induced unconsciousness, instinct telling her to keep her eyes tightly closed for as long as possible.
Breathing deeply to calm her nausea and quell the intense pounding in her head, Julie gradually began to recall the series of events which had led to her present circumstances.
"Oh god," she moaned at the room, her voice raw.
Painfully, she rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. Her sheets didn't have their familiar, unique bed smell. Or they did, but it was overpowered by a new smell - sweaty, drunk boy smell.
Julie eventually mustered the strength to sit up and look around. Her room was a mess, and it stank like a brewery. Tim was gone. That was not something Julie was going to allow herself to be upset or disappointed about.
She glanced at her clock to see what time it was - its digital display indicated that it was 12:30 in the afternoon. That's when she noticed the glass of water, the bottle of Advil, and the note.
Bypassing the other items, Julie picked up the note and unfolded it, straining blearily to read its barely legible contents.
Take these and a hot shower, and have something greasy for breakfast. Then take a nap. I'm really sorry.
Julie hid the note under her pillow, and did exactly as it said. The shower was especially gratifying, for it allowed Julie the opportunity to cry herself hoarse without the need of tissues.
***
Julie got the house cleaned up and aired out before her parents returned home, and they didn't seem to notice that anything was amiss, greeting her with hugs and smiles and news from her grandparents. It took her ages to scrub the blood out of her sheets and underwear, her hands raw and the water turning a murky pink. She hadn't expected there to be so much of it.
She spent Sunday night dreaming up ways to avoid going to school on Monday, or perhaps forever.
When she arrived at school the next morning, Julie was relieved to find out that any gossip-mongering regarding she and Tim Riggins leaving the party together was largely overshadowed by the much juicier scandal of two rally girls caught red-handed in a threeway with a cheerleader's boyfriend. Julie never thought she would be pleased to hear that news. Only she and Tim would ever have to know that anything had happened.
The bright side of the deflowering debacle (as she had privately christened it) was that not only did she no longer have to obsess over her virginity, but she also didn't have to worry about any awkwardness between she and Tim, for he was certain to make himself extremely scarce.
Julie should have known better than to think she had anyone or anything figured out.
She was standing at her locker before her first class, digging her chemistry textbook out from under her dance gear and about seven other text books, when she saw him walking down the hallway, heading straight for her. Pretending she hadn't seen him, she slammed her locker shut and hurried away, preferring to survive chemistry without her textbook.
She began to get concerned when she caught sight of him loitering in the hallway outside her English class and was forced to sneak out of the classroom in the shadow of one of the Panthers Basketball point guards.
By the middle of the day, Julie was exhausted. She decided to forgo the cafeteria circus and find a place outside to be alone. Her plans were thwarted when she cut through the student parking lot and stumbled upon Tim leaning against the door of his truck as though he knew she'd be passing this way.
"Hey," he said, standing up and running a restless hand through his messy hair. Julie couldn't recall having ever seen him truly agitated before, and she felt sick to think that she was the cause of it.
"Hi," she replied, clutching her books to her chest and feeling about two inches tall.
"Been trying to find you all day. I wanted to see if you were okay."
Julie stared at him for a moment before speaking.
"You're being nice," she observed warily. "Isn't this the part where you're cavalier and I'm devastated, and I learn a hard lesson about safeguarding my chastity?"
"I guess," he replied, frowning. "I don't know."
Julie looked away, trying to think of the best way to make her escape. Maybe she could fake food poisoning and just go home for the rest of the day.
"I never had sex with a virgin before," he said.
Julie fiddled with her book bag, mortified and uncertain how to respond.
"Me neither," she said finally.
Tim’s blank expression articulated how lame that was.
"Sorry," Julie muttered, clearing her throat. "It’s not a big deal."
"It is kind of a big deal, actually. Why did you do that?"
Julie stared at Tim, who looked irritated. It was a good question, one she wasn’t sure she had the answer to.
"I don’t know," she replied. "Things have been crappy lately, and I guess I was lonely and sad, and I was really drunk, and then you were there. It just sort of happened."
"I’m sorry," Tim said. Julie looked away, unable to meet his eyes and see the self-loathing in them.
"I should be the one apologizing," she said. "You were nice enough to get me home safely, again, and I... manipulated you. We were both drunk, but it’s my fault."
"Not like you held a gun to my head, Jules."
"No, but still. I’m sorry. Bad decisions all around."
Tim nodded, and a painfully awkward silence fell between them.
"Listen," Tim said finally, looking past her to the football field, avoiding her eyes. "You wanna go somewhere with me? Where we could be... you know. Alone?"
"Where can you go in Dillon where there's nobody else around?" Julie asked, her voice bitter.
"I know a place," Tim replied. Julie hesitated, her mind racing. This was unexpected. After studying the strange, hopeful expression on his face for a moment, she shrugged and climbed into the truck.
When he pulled into the driveway of his house, Julie held a fierce internal debate over whether to be righteously indignant or to just let Tim lead them both into another quagmire of poor judgment. Her imagination helpfully filled in the subsequent sneaking around, secret rendezvous, inevitable discovery and accompanying parental disappointment and social blacklisting, and of course the tragic unplanned pregnancy.
It wasn't until two hours later, when she was flopped out on his couch and Tim was pushing another Fresca into her hand while they watched ESPN, that it dawned on Julie that there was another option altogether.
-end-
Author: lindentree
Rating: R
Character(s): Tim/Julie
Word Count: 3,512
Summary: Oh, it felt good. It felt good to laugh and slur nonsense at people she didn't know, in a stranger's house, with shots of Jim Beam running hot through her veins.
Notes: This takes place sometime after "Jumping the Gun". The title and the excerpt of lyrics are taken from "Hold On, Hold On" by Neko Case, off her fantastic album Fox Confessor Brings the Flood.
Thanks to the_wanlorn for the beta and hand-holding. ♥
In the end I was the mean girl,
or somebody's in-between girl.
Now it's the devil I love,
and that's as funny as real love.
Julie swayed on her feet, laughing. Oh, it felt good. It felt good to laugh and slur nonsense at people she didn't know, in a stranger's house, with shots of Jim Beam running hot through her veins. She felt so strong, dancing close to some guy from her Ethics class (or was it History?) to a thumping beat. Yes, very strong - so strong that nothing could hurt her. She was invincible. She walked into a table, stubbed her toe, hit her elbow on a door frame, bumped her head on Some Guy's chin, and nothing hurt her. Julie threw her head back again, taking in deep breaths of hot, smoky air, and laughing, laughing, laughing.
Matt and her mistake didn’t hurt. Matt moving on to Carlotta didn’t hurt. Her jealousy and frustration at her parents and her baby sister didn’t hurt. Her loneliness didn’t hurt. Her entire life felt like a vague, silly dream she didn’t need to concern herself with.
She kept on laughing as she swung her head up and the world spun and tilted madly, black spots dancing in front of her eyes, and she saw Matt Saracen on the outskirts of the makeshift patio dance floor, watchful eyes clamped on her.
"Hello, Number Seven!" she yelled, waving wildly.
Matt blushed and looked away before turning abruptly and disappearing into the mass of people crowded around the pool.
"Okay, bye!" she called, turning her attention back to her dance partner.
"Hello," she whispered to Some Guy. Some Guy had brown eyes and dark brown hair, and even though he wasn't all that much taller than her and they were grinding up against one another, she found it difficult to focus on his face.
"Hey," he slurred back. "You're a great dancer."
"Aw," Julie cooed, like it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever said. "That's so nice!"
"No problem."
"You know what, though? You know what I just love, what I just love about dancing, what the best part is? Spinning and spinning and spinning!" she laughed.
"Do you want to spin?"
"Oh my god," laughed Julie, "Let's totally just spin!"
Grinning, Some Guy obliged, and they spun around the patio. Julie loved the feeling of her heart pumping and her blood rushing in her ears, and that beautiful falling, tumbling feeling of weightlessness. Which is how they ended up in the pool.
Julie didn't know how she got out of the pool, only recalled waking up on the patio, coughing up a lot of chlorinated water onto the wet slate, and coming face to face with a similarly drenched Tim Riggins.
"You can't swim," he observed, leaning over her, his brows drawn together in a frown, water dripping off his long, messy hair onto her face.
"No," she coughed, choking down the blessedly dry air. "I can swim. I was a lifeguard."
"Good thing you didn't show up to work loaded," he said, pushing his hair out of his face and helping her up. "You sank like a stone."
Julie thought she could stand just fine on her own until she was actually standing upright, at which point her knees buckled. Tim grabbed her around the waist and held her up. Holding on tightly to his welcome stability in the midst of her alcohol-fueled haze, Julie realised that her little diving routine had attracted the attention of basically everyone at the party.
"Come on," Tim said, half-carrying and half-dragging her off the patio, through the house and its crowds of onlookers, and out onto the front lawn of the ranch house, where his truck was parked.
Julie didn't protest, embarrassed at having to be rescued from another party by Tim Riggins. There was no way she could have made it anywhere on her own, except maybe the floor.
Once Tim had poured her into the truck, buckled her in, and propped her carefully against the passenger side door, he started the truck and pulled away with a screech of tires.
"Whoa," Julie moaned, pressing her hot forehead against the cool glass of the window.
"Too fast?" Tim asked, slowing down.
"Maybe a little. Have you been drinking?"
"Yeah," he smiled. "Not as much as you, though."
"No," she agreed. "But please don't kill us, okay? I don't want to die in a fiery wreck tonight."
He didn't reply, just eased off the gas a little more.
"Hey," she said, sitting up a little and blinking rapidly. "Where'd the guy go?"
"Huh?"
"The guy. He liked my dancing."
"Oh, him," Tim smirked. "He took off right after I hauled y'all out of the pool."
"God," Julie huffed as her eyes welled with tears. No, there would be no crying. She was going to be Laughing Girl, not Crying Girl. She was sick of being Crying Girl. "Guys around here sure do give up easily."
She felt rather than saw Tim glance at her across the cab of the truck.
"You're crying," he said, in the same tone one would use to observe that it was raining.
"Ugh, no. No I'm not," she replied, wiping her cheeks roughly and scowling at him.
Thankfully, Tim pulled up to her house right then, so Julie was able to shove the door open and tumble gracelessly out of the car and onto the pavement, thereby avoiding further discussion of her tears.
She heard Tim kill the engine and get out of the truck. She grimaced at the grungy boots that appeared next to her head.
"Ow," was the only comment she could articulate.
"Yeah," Tim agreed, reaching down and scooping her up once again and steadying her on her feet. "Come on. Try to walk it off."
He helped her to the door, rummaging around in her bag for her keys while she slumped against the house.
"Your parents are going to kill you," he muttered, finally locating the mass of novelty key rings which surrounded Julie's solitary house key.
"They're not even here," she complained. "They took Gracie to see my grandparents in Lubbock. I had to stay because I have to go to school and no one wants me with them, anyway."
"Oh," he said, unlocking the door and helping her inside.
Tim left Julie standing in the foyer, her clothes still clinging damply to her body, and turned on a few lights in the dark house. When he bumped into a table and knocked it over, Julie realised Tim was drunker than he was letting on.
"Sorry," he said, walking back towards her with an odd, goofy sort of grin on his face.
"It's just a stupid table," Julie shrugged, throwing her bag to the floor. "Do you want a drink or something?"
"No, I should probably just get going," he said.
"You're still all wet - do you want something dry to wear?"
"Uh, no. That's okay," he said, trying to step around Julie to get to the door. Julie stepped back into his path, reeling a little.
"Come on," she urged, batting her eyes the best way she knew how. "I know where my mom hides the key to the liquor cabinet."
Julie was sober enough to know she was doing a mean thing, trying to manipulate him, but she couldn't help herself. If he left her alone in this stupid house, drunk and lonely and as humiliated as always, she was going to lose her mind. She pulled out the big guns: "Please?"
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in clean, dry Panthers swag on her living room floor, doing shots of Jack Daniels, playing their own slapdash rendition of Truth or Dare, and laughing hysterically.
"Oh god, oh god," Julie cried, struggling to catch her breath. "I thought that one was totally made up."
"No," Tim replied ruefully, pouring another round. "That one is true."
"With her kid sleeping down the hall?"
"It was not my finest hour," he admitted, pushing her shot down the coffee table to her.
"Bet you didn't think so at the time," she cajoled.
"Nope, that's not really what I was thinking about at the time," he replied, suppressing a grin.
"Ah, well," Julie sing-songed, holding up her shot. "Here's to horny thirty-somethings and jailbait!"
"Cheers," Tim said, clinking his shot glass against hers.
Julie downed her shot and smacked the empty glass onto the table with a satisfying bang.
"Okay," she said, as though Tim had made a suggestion with which she agreed.
"Okay?"
"Yeah," she said, staring at him. His face was flushed and his eyes bright, and Julie felt a strange mixture of loneliness and desperation flood her chest.
The next thing she knew, they were rolling around on her mother’s good rug, and their shirts were over their heads and hot skin touched hot skin, and Tim tasted like beer and Jack, and it was wonderful, Julie thought, just wonderful, until -
“Wait,” Tim panted, resting his forehead against Julie’s.
“What?” she asked, just as breathless.
“This is a bad idea.”
“It feels like a good idea, actually,” Julie replied, reaching up and giving his unkempt hair a sharp tug.
“Ow,” he said, looking at her like she had done something incredibly surprising. “Pretty sure your dad would kill me.”
"My dad's not around. My parents won't be back until late tomorrow." Even through the alcohol, Julie could see the conflict in Tim's eyes, instinct and better judgment battling it out.
"Don't wanna get in trouble," he slurred, dropping his head next to hers and pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “Get you in trouble.”
"There won't be any trouble," Julie moaned.
"You sure?" he whispered, right into her ear.
"Mmm, yes," Julie replied. She didn't care what she was promising, as long as he never stopped doing that.
They stumbled their way to her bedroom, where it was cool and dim, and collapsed on her bed in a heap of limbs and drunken laughter. Who knew Tim Riggins giggled?
As the last of their clothes were shed and Tim began searching his wallet for a condom, Julie breathed deeply. She was really going to do this. It wasn't going to be a big deal. It was time to just get it over with.
Tim's hands found her again and Julie ordered herself to stop thinking.
Soon he was kissing her and touching her in places she and Matt had never even gotten to, and it was easy to stop thinking. Then, almost unexpectedly, he was inside her, and they both froze.
Julie bit down hard on her bottom lip. It hurt. Holy crap, they weren't lying, it really did hurt. The alcohol didn't seem to do much to dull it. She felt tears sting her eyes, and forced herself to stop holding her breath.
Tim, meanwhile, had gone perfectly still, and was staring down at her with a strange, panicked look on his face.
"Are you, are you...?" he couldn't seem to get the words out.
"What?" she whispered, breathing deeply to calm herself and soothe the pain.
"Are you a virgin?"
"Um," she said, glancing away from his intense gaze. "Not anymore?"
The expression on Tim's face was so perfectly miserable that Julie felt the tears well up once again.
"I thought you and Saracen..." He began to pull away, muttering a stream of nonsensical, hysterical apologies.
"Don't!" Julie said, gripping his shoulders. "Please don't go. That's just... That's even more pathetic. Please. Please just finish, okay?"
"Finish?" he repeated, incredulous.
"Yeah, it's okay. Just... go slow."
"Go slow," he breathed, glancing down at their bodies, their chests pressed together. Julie could see the wheels turning in his head, the game plan forming.
"Okay?" she asked.
"Okay," he nodded, shifting his weight a little. "Tell me if it hurts, if I need to slow down, or..."
"I will," she promised.
His face uncertain, Tim began to move tentatively against her, watching her closely to make sure she was all right, that this was still okay.
Julie couldn't articulate any reassurance - her mind was clouded by the alcohol, and she felt deluged by sensation and emotion. Her heart pounded as she looked up into Tim’s flushed, serious face, his expressive green eyes not leaving hers.
It was not just a body part going into another body part.
It didn’t feel good or nice exactly, but the pain and discomfort lessened as she relaxed and began to feel her way through it.
The whole thing was over in only a few minutes, all awkwardness and whispers of apology and encouragement, Tim anxious and distant. Reaching a hand between them, Tim managed to coax a gentle climax from Julie's tense body; she gasped and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. Julie was fascinated by the way Tim shut his eyes tightly, his whole body shuddering, when he came. Afterward, he pulled away from her gently but certainly, slumping on the bed next to her and turning his head away to look out the window.
Julie stared at the ceiling for several minutes, her head pounding.
"I have to go throw up," she announced, getting up and walking out of her room, stumbling her way to the bathroom. After vomiting, she spent several minutes resting her head against the hard, cold tile of the floor. Eventually she stood up shakily and looked at herself in the mirror. She was a mess - her hair still damp and hopelessly tangled, her allegedly waterproof eye make-up smudging her eyes like ugly bruises.
When she returned to her bedroom, Tim was still there, leaning pensively against her headboard with the bedspread her mother had given her for Christmas gathered around his waist.
"Do you want me to go?" he asked.
"No," she said softly.
"Okay," he replied. Just that one small word.
Julie climbed into the space he made for her in the bed, then reached over and turned out her lamp. Julie felt Tim curl a hesitant arm around her waist, his hand pressed against her chest.
"It’ll be better next time," he whispered, his breath ruffling her hair. "Whoever it’s with, it’ll be better. Don’t worry."
Upon reflection, Julie wondered if it might not have been better this time if she hadn’t cried, and vomited, and pretended she wasn't a virgin.
***
Everything hurt.
That was Julie's first thought as she emerged slowly from the swamp of liquor-induced unconsciousness, instinct telling her to keep her eyes tightly closed for as long as possible.
Breathing deeply to calm her nausea and quell the intense pounding in her head, Julie gradually began to recall the series of events which had led to her present circumstances.
"Oh god," she moaned at the room, her voice raw.
Painfully, she rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. Her sheets didn't have their familiar, unique bed smell. Or they did, but it was overpowered by a new smell - sweaty, drunk boy smell.
Julie eventually mustered the strength to sit up and look around. Her room was a mess, and it stank like a brewery. Tim was gone. That was not something Julie was going to allow herself to be upset or disappointed about.
She glanced at her clock to see what time it was - its digital display indicated that it was 12:30 in the afternoon. That's when she noticed the glass of water, the bottle of Advil, and the note.
Bypassing the other items, Julie picked up the note and unfolded it, straining blearily to read its barely legible contents.
Take these and a hot shower, and have something greasy for breakfast. Then take a nap. I'm really sorry.
Julie hid the note under her pillow, and did exactly as it said. The shower was especially gratifying, for it allowed Julie the opportunity to cry herself hoarse without the need of tissues.
***
Julie got the house cleaned up and aired out before her parents returned home, and they didn't seem to notice that anything was amiss, greeting her with hugs and smiles and news from her grandparents. It took her ages to scrub the blood out of her sheets and underwear, her hands raw and the water turning a murky pink. She hadn't expected there to be so much of it.
She spent Sunday night dreaming up ways to avoid going to school on Monday, or perhaps forever.
When she arrived at school the next morning, Julie was relieved to find out that any gossip-mongering regarding she and Tim Riggins leaving the party together was largely overshadowed by the much juicier scandal of two rally girls caught red-handed in a threeway with a cheerleader's boyfriend. Julie never thought she would be pleased to hear that news. Only she and Tim would ever have to know that anything had happened.
The bright side of the deflowering debacle (as she had privately christened it) was that not only did she no longer have to obsess over her virginity, but she also didn't have to worry about any awkwardness between she and Tim, for he was certain to make himself extremely scarce.
Julie should have known better than to think she had anyone or anything figured out.
She was standing at her locker before her first class, digging her chemistry textbook out from under her dance gear and about seven other text books, when she saw him walking down the hallway, heading straight for her. Pretending she hadn't seen him, she slammed her locker shut and hurried away, preferring to survive chemistry without her textbook.
She began to get concerned when she caught sight of him loitering in the hallway outside her English class and was forced to sneak out of the classroom in the shadow of one of the Panthers Basketball point guards.
By the middle of the day, Julie was exhausted. She decided to forgo the cafeteria circus and find a place outside to be alone. Her plans were thwarted when she cut through the student parking lot and stumbled upon Tim leaning against the door of his truck as though he knew she'd be passing this way.
"Hey," he said, standing up and running a restless hand through his messy hair. Julie couldn't recall having ever seen him truly agitated before, and she felt sick to think that she was the cause of it.
"Hi," she replied, clutching her books to her chest and feeling about two inches tall.
"Been trying to find you all day. I wanted to see if you were okay."
Julie stared at him for a moment before speaking.
"You're being nice," she observed warily. "Isn't this the part where you're cavalier and I'm devastated, and I learn a hard lesson about safeguarding my chastity?"
"I guess," he replied, frowning. "I don't know."
Julie looked away, trying to think of the best way to make her escape. Maybe she could fake food poisoning and just go home for the rest of the day.
"I never had sex with a virgin before," he said.
Julie fiddled with her book bag, mortified and uncertain how to respond.
"Me neither," she said finally.
Tim’s blank expression articulated how lame that was.
"Sorry," Julie muttered, clearing her throat. "It’s not a big deal."
"It is kind of a big deal, actually. Why did you do that?"
Julie stared at Tim, who looked irritated. It was a good question, one she wasn’t sure she had the answer to.
"I don’t know," she replied. "Things have been crappy lately, and I guess I was lonely and sad, and I was really drunk, and then you were there. It just sort of happened."
"I’m sorry," Tim said. Julie looked away, unable to meet his eyes and see the self-loathing in them.
"I should be the one apologizing," she said. "You were nice enough to get me home safely, again, and I... manipulated you. We were both drunk, but it’s my fault."
"Not like you held a gun to my head, Jules."
"No, but still. I’m sorry. Bad decisions all around."
Tim nodded, and a painfully awkward silence fell between them.
"Listen," Tim said finally, looking past her to the football field, avoiding her eyes. "You wanna go somewhere with me? Where we could be... you know. Alone?"
"Where can you go in Dillon where there's nobody else around?" Julie asked, her voice bitter.
"I know a place," Tim replied. Julie hesitated, her mind racing. This was unexpected. After studying the strange, hopeful expression on his face for a moment, she shrugged and climbed into the truck.
When he pulled into the driveway of his house, Julie held a fierce internal debate over whether to be righteously indignant or to just let Tim lead them both into another quagmire of poor judgment. Her imagination helpfully filled in the subsequent sneaking around, secret rendezvous, inevitable discovery and accompanying parental disappointment and social blacklisting, and of course the tragic unplanned pregnancy.
It wasn't until two hours later, when she was flopped out on his couch and Tim was pushing another Fresca into her hand while they watched ESPN, that it dawned on Julie that there was another option altogether.
-end-