his brow crinkled in intense thought, and why should it not? so much had been said. so much, that it made his head spin at the very idea that someone like her - youthful, bursting with incredible life - had even admitted any of this to him. sure, in the past, there were elements of admiration from women like her - just as innocent and sweet ( in his eyes, of course - their perceptions of themselves were very different ballparks, we must emphasize ). but the difference was, of course, that they were either fans of his work, or simply turned out to be easy to turn away. they had not established so much as a precedent, as a building block, as a foundation. the list could go on into a beautiful eternity if he so wished to entertain the thought a moment longer.
her outburst of anger was enough to set him on edge - fists clenched, lips pursed, and gaze focused anywhere but her. she certainly had a talent, a talent that he had never expected her to have in the first place - the element of surprise. she truly was more unpredictable than he could have ever imagined, and managed to put her proverbial foot on his own, and grab his arm in place, preventing him from turning in the opposite direction. was there an escape from her? respite? a return to mundanity?
ah, but wait. who am i kidding? i… do i… oh dear. best not entertain that thought. that certainly hurts so terribly, so much so that if he allowed it to linger a moment more, a stake would have likely been stabbed right through his aching heart. so old, so tired, and yet… desperate to feel that pumping blood, that exhilaration of young love that he had not felt since…
oh. this is… now this was strange. when had he felt it before? was it love, or was it something else that he had felt back then? no. of course there was a distinction between love and lust, that much he knew. at his age, there had to be some understanding of the difference. though, of course, the media tended to romanticize that fine line, and confuse the population ever the more with a sales pitch that concluded with sleep with the one you love, with love being secondary. but WHAT THE FUCK WAS LOVE? WHY could he not grasp it? not even in his pathetic youth could he find someone he genuinely meant the words i love you to. there was only one person in his entire pathetic existence that seemed to fit that bill - she was the one he thought he had some semblance of feelings for, that need to cling to her, keep her close, hide her in the backdoor of his mind and throw away the key.
right. his island. the one he curated himself. often, he thought of it when he lay on the couch and granted himself a minute or two to picture something unrelated to his work. there he was, alone, living off the coconuts hanging from the palm trees, the ones that could crack one’s head open if they were not careful. and yet, he had grown accustomed to that isolation - even when someone washed up there, her crusted lips dry and blonde hair stringy from the sea salt, she had eventually left him. annie had left. there was no other way to contact her now. no matter how often he watched, no matter how longingly he gazed at her home from the darkness of his car, knowing better than to walk up the front porch and declare his love to her…
no. you know full well what the fucking truth is, you SICK FUCK.
“ you wanted me. “ he uttered softly, closing his eyes a moment. running his fingers through his hair. for a split second, imitating that sweep of his nose that she had done with her own hand not too long ago. but what was long ago? time had frozen in this tiny, cramped, humid bungalow of his. his temperature was rising, his hands sweating - what had happened to him? where was that mask of his? surely, he had misplaced it - put it away, allowed it to disintegrate for a bit as he allowed himself that frozen second in time where he held her close to him.
BUT NO. KEEP YOUR FILTHY HANDS TO YOURSELF! SHE INITIATED. SHE DOESN’T KNOW YOU. THE THINGS YOU’VE DONE. THE PEOPLE YOU’VE PUSHED. THE PEOPLE YOU’VE FUCKED - LITERALLY AND FIGURATIVELY!
“ that’s… impossible. no. that’s fucking impossible. “ he muttered under his breath, directed at no one in particular - not even the one who had admitted it to his face. then, resolve. the abyss of his eyes seemed to darken in the twilight outside filtering into the room. no lights were on. only the hum of the ceiling fan overhead could be heard - the sunlight had been erased from half of his face, creating a chiaroscuro of its own. his true darkness… she had dug deep, unearthed it with that kiss of hers. that was the stuff of nightmares. but why was it such a tantalizing one? well… there was a good reason for that.
it made him want her more. that sweet taste of fresh cherries washed under the kitchen sink, of various kinds of candy that could sweep him off his feet, send him into an euphoric dimension where none could touch them. his fingers twitched, trembled. why did this have to be so damned difficult? maybe her blood was made of alcohol - intoxicating, sweet wine. funny - he hated the stuff, and yet…
his gaze focused with a stony intensity, he stared back at her - what raged through his mind was not simply anger. no, anger was far too easy. it was something more. something tantalizing - an anger brought about by intense self-loathing, which had originated in childhood, which had been left unchecked for 40-something years, and left to rot on the front porch of that always-sunny childhood home that was always hit with 100 degree weather in the los angeles sun. that was the way it had to be. jonathan had never had a chance. but nobody, quite unfortunately for him and the rest of the world, knew that.
especially not her. especially not her.
“ yes. you don’t know me. not a thing about me. it’s actually fucking amazing, the more i think about it. “ finally, he was able to speak. the mask was once again semi-materializing back from the ether from whence it had been banished. how lucky. truly a master of deceit. “ but you’re right. i don’t know anything about you, other than you’re incredibly stupid for trying to do that. do you know what you’re getting into? because, once again, news flash - you don’t. “
wait. what had she asked him? my, he just realized. that sad, pouty look on her face that seemed hardly faked had uttered a question beyond his wildest dreams.
he bowed his head, and folded his arms. blood pumping in his chest, reverberating behind his eardrums, and eyes stinging with a tinge of dryness, he toyed with the thought. played it between his fingers, gently. thoughts, gentle thoughts… would he tell the truth, or a semi-truth? a joke, a sarcastic quip? what could he use in his arsenal that–
“ i held you, didn’t i? “
“ i let you kiss me for longer than five seconds, didn’t i? “
WHAT ARE YOU DOING YOU FUCKING MORON?!
but… my. someone is startlingly confident, a real rebound from just seconds earlier. we are running out of synonyms for that rapid succession of time. we definitely are! isn’t that more important than putting on that smirk of yours? the one that’s pricking on your lips, the one that emphasizes the fucking darkness behind your eyes, that endless abyss?
it was complete, the picture of sensual challenge: smirk, haughty confidence, the kind that came from a bestial, primal excitement. his heart was racing now, irregularly, his joints freezing up, that tug-of-war inside his mind becoming ever clearer. and yet, still, his mouth moved before his mind could jump on it ( a rarity ). now, how could he resist that crying face, the one that if he were in a softer mood, he would want to stroke, wipe the tears away from? soft, supple… he could absorb it all.
he took a step forward, arms still tightly folded across his chest. though her own emotions had just been showcased like an exquisite art exhibition straight out of hell, though his own were quite turbulent within the recesses of his mind, this reckless confidence came centerfold. why? simple, really. surely, you know - it’s as clear as day. but let’s spell it out just to be clear.
he’s attracted to her, plain and simple.
“ you’re lucky i’m not a fuckin’ wolf, cherry. let’s just say you’re real lucky. ‘cause if i was? there’d be nothing left. that’s the kind of man i am, that’s the kind of man i always will be. in fact, this is about as honest as i’ll ever be. do you know who you just kissed? who you’re asking this of? you won’t like it. but let’s say, for the sake of argument, that i answer you directly. “
“ you can toy with men. easily. make them fucking fall for you in ways they never imagined. that’s how pretty you are. “
Her fingers curled into fists. She squeezed so hard that some of her joints popped or cracked. She didn’t wince, didn’t flinch. “How is it impossible?” A small, quick jerk of her head emphasized her confusion. She squared her shoulders. “It just happened. I said it right to your face. It’s possible.” He was infuriating. Even if he teased her or twisted her words on an average day, this wasn’t the time or place for that. Here she was, giving him the privilege of witnessing her vulnerability, and he threw it in her face. She didn’t know who was the bigger clown. Her lips curled, indignant.
“So...we agree. We don’t know much about each other.” She went over that too, qualified it and clarified it. Did he hear it? Was he listening at all, or was he blinded by his own ego? He was a monster, she didn’t even know him well enough to know to fear him, et cetera. Yadda yadda. Badabing, badaboom. Shut up. “You’re making it hard to think.” It was for both positive and negative reasons, but in this exact second it was hard to find the bright side.
“Can you quit that weird fear mongering? You’re not some monster under the bed—and if you were, I’ve already conquered those. You’re a human fucking being. I am too. I’m not scared of you, Jonathan.” She swept her arms out to the sides, open palms facing him. “If you got something to tell me, tell it to me straight. I’m a big girl. I got a handle on it.”
Cherry bit down on the inside of her cheek. Oh. Hard, much too hard. The resulting metallic taste only increased her frenetic energy. All of this and now she’d have a swollen mouth. It was remarkable she hadn’t thrown a tantrum already. “I chose you, dumbass. How many times are you gonna make me say it?” A scoff accompanied furrowed brows. She didn’t understand. He didn’t understand. She couldn’t make it any clearer; she didn’t understand what he didn’t understand.
“If you’re really that much of a demon, you wouldn’t care if you hurt me...but, uh...you’re here. You’re still listening. So let me have my shot. I make my own decisions.” An incredulous shrug and widened eyes formed a silent challenge. He always told her not to take his words seriously. There she was, confronting them directly. “Maybe I’m wrong, maybe I’m right. I don’t know yet. I want to know. Do you know how much I look forward to hanging out with you? I actually wanna be around. I’m lying in bed at three in the AM, telling myself not to message you whatever dumb stuff I’m thinking about because I know you’re up and I’m pretty sure you’ll humor me, maybe even enjoy yourself. You are the idiotic highlight of my stupid, boring day.”
Her arms dropped. Silence overtook her for one brief moment. All Cherry could do was stare at him. This was impossible. She was talking to a wall. A wall that was looking out for her. A wall that was speaking in hypotheticals that she had a hunch weren’t so imaginary. She swallowed. For once in the past minutes, she felt hope. The shadows that puckered and pocked her exaggerated expressions evaporated. What was left was a smooth olive surface and an impossible intensity in her eyes. If she could control him with her mind, or even implant her own feelings into his brain, her expression would be the same. It was total concentration, unwilling to even blink.
“Are you chicken?” She let the words hang. “I’m giving you permission. Be whatever weird kinda wolf you want. If I get destroyed—devoured, whatever—that’s on me.” Her skin, already warm from frustration, was hot to the touch. Too hot. She was ready to strip it away and face him head-on, soul to soul. The trouble was in naming what destroyed her beyond hurt and rage.
She wanted a reaction out of him. Anything beyond his acerbic quipping and that awful, obnoxious stare. He could throw hands—fingers, all over her. Those bony fingers and their impractical rings tracing the small of her back and the pit of her knee and the ridge of her collarbone. He could brush her hair from her face and whisper what he truly meant. Tender words and the smell of cigarettes. That wasn’t too bad. She was ready to take his slender wrists and ease her grasp up to his shoulders once more. She could hold him steady while using him to support herself. There was always something more. He had plenty he could give her to work with.
“I’m trying to see it your way, man.” As if preparing for a fight, she began to bounce gently in place. She had too many nerves to stand with even the vaguest semblance of rigidity. “I gotta know. What do you think I’m getting out of this? By ‘toying’ with you. You think you’re a status symbol? Like I’m gonna kiss and tell on Twitter. I really, really don’t understand. I’m stretching my brain as far as it’ll go, but this rubberband is gonna break. What I’m getting out of this...what I think you’re trying to say...you gotta take that leap of faith. I’m already there. I’m airborne. You really wanna say you never even tried to jump?”
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