#ltoneshot

[4hgladiators]

[4hgladiators]

[inspiredbyewho]

an unconventional thanksgiving.

A sigh barrels through my lips as my professor shuts down the projector for the evening. Class is officially over and we won’t be meeting again until next Wednesday.

The idea of Thanksgiving break always brings about warm feelings of familiarity and home cooked meals. I can always count on numerous family members filling my childhood home with an abundance of laughs and harmless teasing. But not this year. Instead, I can count on spending my time on a deserted campus completing a one hundred question take-home Anatomy final.

I am a freshman living the consequences of wanting to expand my education out of state. I have no money for luxuries like plane tickets and even if I did, the family dynamic I’ve known for 18 years has drastically changed.

My mother and father are separated.

They’ve kept the façade of love and happiness up as long as they could but it seems that as soon as I’d graduated high school, there was no need to continue their fruitless lies. They weren’t happy, and they weren’t in love anymore. And nothing could convince them otherwise. A fresh fissure of dysfunction lines my family tree and I’m sure it’s here to stay.

My father has moved back to his home state of Chicago and my mother’s been on an impromptu trip to Panama, with her considerably young “friend”, Marco, since July. Distant aunts, uncles, and cousins are either unknowingly estranged or choose to be. All I have is my maternal grandmother back in Virginia as a means of true immediate family. We both wish I had enough money for me to come and try to make some semblance of a family holiday.

But it is what it is.

Adjusting my glasses, I begin filing all my notes meticulously. I embrace order and predictability and I don’t mind being the last person to exit the lecture hall to attain it. I like to think that keeping a tight grip on assignments and notes will help my progressing disease of procrastination and laziness. If I look put together, my habits should soon follow. My results are hit and miss most of the time but I keep up the OCD-like mannerisms regardless.

With everything placed in its rightful pocket or binder, I slide the contents into my messenger bag. I stand up mindlessly and it’s a terrible mistake. My eyes bug as I remember my phone had been lying on my thigh, forgotten. The gold cased gadget flies out of my lap in a loud clatter, sliding inches away from me. I moan as I shuffle towards it, hoping my two year old 4G isn’t harmed in any way. As I bend to grab it, a pair of black Jordans appear silently before me. I don’t have a chance to investigate any further because, just as a quickly, a caramel colored hand grabs my phone.

“I got it,” the stranger says and I immediately know who this soft tenor belongs to. It’s warm and friendly and causes similar feelings in my belly.

He sits two rows away from me, on the right. This has been his appointed seat since August and although I have the same view of him every Monday and Wednesday, I know very little about him.

He is to himself and quiet. I wouldn’t say shy, but more so laid back. I used to think he had an arrogant aura about him—he very rarely took notes in class. He’d walk in, take his normal seat, sling his bag onto his desk and listen. It’s like he was absorbing all the professor had to say and taking mental snap shots of the slides. I always wondered how people like him survived in daunting courses like this without studying.

My opinion changed when I’d found him sitting in the library one night, forearms deep in papers with his textbook and a dictionary opened before his probing eyes. He was dressed in a University pullover and sweats, a bottle of Gatorade sitting beside him. I didn’t mean to watch him for so long but he piqued my curiosity and I’d rather pay attention to anything than the online Algebra quiz taunting me in that moment. I learned that night that he simply a self-learner. He’d read for a moment then scribble his pen into his notebook. And if something seemed to stump him, he’d lean closer to his book or peruse his dictionary.

He very rarely spoke and when he did, he was always correct. Very articulate, even if his sentences were sprinkled in an accent I couldn’t place. Appearance wise, he is always put together. He puts thought into his outfits and it is appreciated, whether he knows or not. His hair is always neatly twisted, the coils shiny and full of life each time he moves his head. I’ve always been neutral about hair on guys but it’s a complete turn off when a guy has the audacity to grow his hair out and not tend to the strands, leaving them crunchy, matte, and distasteful. His hair reminds me that there are still people with sense in the world.

I’ve developed somewhat of a fondness for him, it’s true. He’s handsome as hell and his quiet intelligence is magnetic.

But it’s too bad I’ve never been able to think of a conversation starter to save my life.

“Kent, right?” He stands upright, calling me by my surname. He’s dressed in all black, from the backwards cap on his head to his shoes. His arms are adorned in leather cuffs and rubber bands. I don’t realize how close his is to me until his cologne infiltrates me senses. It fits him. He hands me my phone and I take it graciously.

“Yeah, or Alesia,” I chuckle nervously. I’m used to being called by my last name, but I take this opportunity to let him know me real one.

His smile is sweet. “Sorry, I’m used to the way professor calls us.”

“It’s no problem,” I nod in understanding. “Thanks…Bourgeois.” A moment passes before we both laugh. The awkward air around us dissipates. It’s like sunlight shining through brooding gray clouds.

“Larry.” He helps me out as I did him and I grin, thanking him again by his proper name.

Even though we’ve split ways five minutes ago, my mind replays the short conversation like a broken record. I feel like an insurmountable amount of progress has transgressed over our budding relationship.

He knows my name today, he’ll ask me to be his tomorrow, and by next week I’ll be moaning his name.

I chuckle to myself as I walk the silent grounds, letting my silly thoughts float away. In reality this conversation was mundane and easily forgettable. His thoughts are probably set on packing for the holiday and I need to worry about getting to my dorm—it’s cold outside and half eaten, left over pizza is calling my name.

The walk from the Biologics building to my dorm building is about fifteen minutes. The campus is scarce of life, save for a few bodies dotting the courtyard. Even though it’s only 6:30 P.M., the sky is inky and endless, thanks to daylights saving. The only thing lighting my way are the hazy orange post lamps lining the path. Taking my phone out of the pocket of my hoodie, I check my messages, responding to most of them. I shoot “Grams”, as my grandmother is so lovingly logged as in my phone, a text, letting her know I’d call her later. Before I left for school, I taught her how to read and reply to messages. A smile lights up my face as I receive a choppy response beautifully written as: “..I’ ll  be w aiting .”

Only when I slip my phone away do I notice the regular sound of an engine trailing behind me. My shadow stretches in front of me due to the lights of the small vehicle and I realize it is security. I trail closer to the bushes as to let them pass but instead they pull up beside me. It’s Mr. Garret.

Mr. Garret is one of the many security guards the patrol the campus and make sure trouble isn’t sneaking around in dark corners, silent parking lots, or empty classrooms. I see him around often and he’s taken a habit to speaking to me. I try to stay polite but his stare makes me uncomfortable and our conversations are always forced. There is absolutely nothing an 18 year old student and a middle aged, security guard have in common—yet he tries and pursues anyway.

“Where are you coming from, Lesia?” He butchers my name somehow, in greeting. I know I never gave it to him. I like to think he’s overheard people greeting me on campus. I grip my text book to my chest, glancing his way quickly.

“My Anatomy lecture,” I say simply. He typically smiles and rolls off, leaving me with a creepy compliment. He doesn’t leave this time though.

“You smart huh, how are you doing in there?”

“It’s okay,” I try to keep my answers clipped. We’re approaching my building and I don’t want him knowing where I reside. I consider taking a route towards the library but I remember that it’s closed early today, due to the holidays. I look around, feeling small as I realize we’re the only ones around.

“You going home for the holiday?” He continues to pry. His pale forearm rests on his cart wheel as he smiles genuinely at me. I internally blanch. I don’t want him knowing that I’ll be staying here, alone, for the most part. My mind tears itself apart, searching for an alibi that will ensure my privacy and get him to scram. Before he can speak again, a voice in the distance cuts him off.

“Baby!”

I stop in my tracks, whipping my head behind me. That’s Larry’s voice. He’s jogging up towards me, a playful smile on his face. I’m tempted to turn and glance at who “baby” particularly is but I know that’d be silly because there is no one else around. My eyebrows knit in evident confusion.

“Baby,” he breathes again, grabbing my hand as he catches up. His palm is soft and warm. “I told you to wait for me.” His other arm slinks around my waist. By this point, I am paralyzed in bemusement.

“Huh?” The sound utters past my lips low enough for me to wonder if I’d said it aloud or in my mind. His face is a complete contrast to mine. His is easy and natural as his lips spread in smile. Mine is tight. Tight and skeptical.

Larry’s fingers flex into my side to grab my attention. His winks once, fliting his eyes between mine the momentarily forgotten security guard. It’s a silent code. In that moment I realize that we are on an imaginary stage and he, as a kind actor, is reminding me of my lines.

“Well,” I giggle. It’s nervous but I hope it comes off as bubbly. “You were taking too long,” I pinch his side playfully.

We both watch Mr. Garret as he sits up straight, his eyes neutral. He has been cut from this moment and he feels it. He flattens his lips, shifting in his seat. “Get on to your dorms, it’s getting late.” He says, driving off. I can finally breathe and relax.

“How did you…,” I start, looking up at Larry.

“I was behind you most of the time, he looked like he was bothering you. It was the best I could think of,” he shrugs. I smile, forever grateful.

“So, you were following me?” I smile. I don’t believe the flirty tinge in my voice, but then again I do.

“I was walking to my building,” He rolls his eyes. “I stay in Franklin.” I nod my head, his building is right near mine. A moment passes before he speaks again. “…And maybe I was making sure you got in okay, it gets dark around here.” he admits. Bashfulness is sweet and innocent on him. He turns from smoldering sexy to boyish sweetness in seconds.

“Well thank you,” I smile with a blush. “You got me out of a tight one.” I don’t realize it as we’re speaking, but soon we begin walking the path, side by side.

“My pleasure.”

Silence passes between us as the wind blows.

“Are you going home for the holiday?” He asks, peering down at me.

“Nah,” I shrug. “I want to have the whole campus to myself.” He laughs at this and I beam internally. “You?” I ask him next.

“No, my family’s in Paris. I’ll go for Christmas, wouldn’t make sense flying there for a few days and flying back.” He explains. I now have somewhere to place his accent. I wonder what brings him to school here in America but don’t want to pry, so soon.

We make it to the common room of my building. A goodbye is coming up for the second time this evening but I don’t want it to. I find myself wishing my building was miles away, just to have more time to speak to him. But instead, here we are smiling at each other like halfwits. His lips are moving yet no sound comes out and I realize I’ve tuned him out by accident. Appreciating him with my eyes must take too much for me to able to use my hearing as well, apparently.

“Did you hear me?” He asks, raising a brow.

“I’m sorry, what?” I clear my throat.

“I said maybe we could meet tomorrow and work on the final together?”

“Sure!” I say too eagerly so I snap my lips shut. I expect his brows to furrow but instead his smiles like he’s won a prize.

“Great, I can make something,” he grins.

“I’ll bring dessert,” I say playfully.

“Thanksgiving: Uni style,” he says confidently and I laugh genuinely.

His eyes size me unapologetically as he turns to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kent.”

One side of my face lifts in a smile. “Bye, Bourgeois.” 

[inspiredbyewho]

Crush

*a/n: imagine all dialogue is in French.

-

“Hurry up Larry!”

My voice comes out as a panicked whisper as I play with my fingers, winding and unwinding them. I split my attention between the massive mango tree before me and the back door of my neighbor’s home. Sunshine filters through the foliage of his garden, coastal breezes rustling the branches of his avocado and coconut trees. The air feels good on my sweat dampened skin but I can’t enjoy it, not with the anxiety of Mr. Claude finding us in his yard coursing through me. The back of his plain white home stands solemnly beside my pale blue one, a short, rickety wooden fence with a faulty gate hinge separating us alone. Through his back screen door there seems to be no sign of life but I am still bent on the fact that he can pop up any moment, and tear our ears off with stern words and threats to tell our mothers.

Averting my eyes, I crane my neck, watching Larry easily scamper up the trunk of the tree. His bare feet hold him stable while his arms successfully carry him from branch to branch. The early afternoon heat leaves a light sheen of sweat on his lean, bare back and I can’t stop myself from watching the way the muscles contort, so I don’t even try; they contract, jump, and flex in graceful power. I am so entranced I barely hear his voice.

“Josie?” He calls once more, and now bemused little eyes peer down at me. I blink once or twice, wetting my lips.

“Huh?”

“I said, is it still clear?” He repeats, patiently sitting on a branch. It swings with his weight but is strong enough to hold. His feet dangle and his arm hugs around the tree as he awaits my answer.

“Yeah, still clear. Are you up high enough yet?” I create a shade for my eyes, looking out for any ripened delicacies.

“Yes,” he grins. “These are gonna taste so good.”

I hear the mischief in his voice and I can’t help but smile and wonder how it is that I always allow him to talk me into these foolish escapades. I am the voice of reason that has no back bone and he is the brave impulse heavily skilled in the art of persuasion.

Just like that, he is on the move, slowly inching his bottom towards the end of the branch, where our well sought after treats hang, dangling in the sun. Mr. Claude is an excellent gardener and is well versed in the concepts of growing fruits and crossing different types in order to yield the sweetest outcomes. He often shares with us when mango season comes around but he typically saves the best for selling at the weekly food market.

Larry finds that to be unfair.

“Okay, watch out,” he warns, grunting as he gives the branch a firm shaking. Instantly a shower of ripened fruits fall around me, and my arms scurry to catch what I can. They’re round and a lovely shade of lavender and rose, their sweet scent radiating instantly.

“Okay, okay—stop!” I shout, a laugh barreling past my lips. My arms are filled to the brim with fruit and there are still at least a dozen more waiting around me on the ground.

He crawls down the tree in an instant, dusting his shorts of any residual bark chips. His hand slides across wet his forehead as he smiles down at me expectantly.

“Is it enough?” He breathes, his chest slightly heaving. He brushes at his island tanned skin, waving off flies. I snort at him.

“More than enough!” I look down at my arms for him to see. “Mr. Claude is going to notice,” I shake my head.

“Then we have to destroy the evidence,” Larry shrugs as easily as the leaves blow around us.

“And who’s going to eat all of these?” I stare at him incredulously. I love mangoes, but not enough to eat more than 6 of them consecutively. My insides flutter as his lips part into a boyish smile. I try to keep my features the same.

Because of this, my heart feels it’s fair to double its rate.

“If you won’t, I will.” He rounds my body, brushing my shoulder as he begins the task gathering everything that fell to the ground.

“C’mon,” he alerts me, throwing a basket my way.

-

I am on a natural sugar rush and my stomach is twisting in protest but it always feels better to share any delicious anguish with someone else. Larry’s bushy head is laying in my lap, his orange tainted fingers resting over his little distended belly. Both our faces are sticky with nectar but we lay in complete bliss out by the main road. My back rests lazily on the trunk of an unsuspecting tree and we’re enveloped by the living silence of nature—besides the occasional motorbike roaring down the pebbled path.

We polish off all 21 of those mangoes unapologetically. My nerves from earlier had completely disappeared once I’d taken an initial bite. Larry and I greedily devoured them, laughing all the while; it was the most comfortable moment. I didn’t worry about whether my hair was flying astray from the wind, or how unappealing the bottom half of my face looked bathed in mango juice. I felt natural under his attentive gaze and giddy each time he said something wildly nonsensical.

Time with Larry is always hectic yet calm. Extravagant yet simple.

He makes me feel things I rather not admit…

My eyes low in contentment, I sneak minor peeks at the resting giant in my lap. With his head turned away from me, I am graced with the sweetest view of him. His eye lids are closed and his mouth relaxed as his chest rises in regular, shallow breaths. The tip of his nose is prominent; he has such a powerful profile. Dots of sunlight reaching through the leaves speckle over his body, illuminating his dewy skin. He is beautiful and my eyes find so many ways to prove the fact.

The feel of him heavy and relaxed on my thighs is simply and innately right.

“What time do you think they’ll be back?” His voice speaks and I gasp, hoping he doesn’t hear the intake of surprise. I swore he was sleeping and fact that he could’ve very well been watching me dissect the planes of his face made my brown cheeks flush.

“Maybe really late, they drove to the capital,” I remind him with a shaky voice. By now, curious brown eyes are looking up at me.

“And to think Lau wanted me to come too,” he sucks his teeth, adjusting his head.

“You should’ve went, my mom would’ve spoiled you with anything you wanted,” I say, pinching the tip of his nose. He swats my hand, rolling his eyes.

Larry and Laurent’s mother—his identical twin brother—and my mother have been friends since before we were born. They both grew up here in Guadeloupe and subsequently attended university together in Paris. They are much alike except in the fact that the twin’s mother decided to stay in Paris and my mother returned home after graduation.

More than 20 years have spanned since they’ve seen each other physically and this particular summer was that tearful reunion.

I’d always heard my mother speak of her great friend Adrienne and always listened in on their long phone calls about Adrienne’s growing self-owned hair salon, her twin boys, my mother’s quaint job as a mid-wife, and how she raves over me as the one and only child she’d ever be having after dealing with a birth like mine—long story. When my mother told me this long lost best friend was finally coming to pay a visit, I was happy for her and curious to meet theAdrienne.

What I wasn’t too thrilled about was the fact that she’d also be bringing her twin boys along for the 3 month stay.

I wasn’t angry, but more so…intimidated.

Two boys two years older than my 16 year old self were going to be cooked up in my home.

Not to mention, they were Parisian.

Paris, well France all in all, is a faraway dream land girls giggle about in class, and boys swear they’ll disappear to once they’ve completed secondary school. I imagined two high and mighty, proper French speaking men to come and shake up my typical summer. I wondered if they’d be cold, haughty or both and how exactly we’d accommodate them; I was in no way going to cater to any pretentious attitudes. Their mother was a native but they technically were not. I expected them to act “above” everything and dreaded having to be their personal guides.

I was wrong.

Instead I was met with two lanky, excited boys with wild hair and bubbling personalities. They looked nothing their age with their bright eyes and infectious laughs, but their towering height made up for it. My mother loved them instantly. All the love she held for Adrienne poured over to her children respectively and the same happened to me. I was constantly complimented and coddled by Adrienne, and to my surprise, she’d brought me many gifts from Paris. I was bashful yet grateful and easily warmed up to her from then on. I could understand why my mother got on with her so easily. They were polar opposites that couldn’t help but collide into each other harmoniously.

The twins were civil at first but very curious of me, as I was of them. I’m sure they’d heard plenty of some girl named “Josephine” as I’d heard much about two naughty boys named “Larry” and “Laurent”.

Laurent was the more forward of the two.

Instead of a simple wave and smile I was engulfed by a healthy hug as they’d piled into our living room the evening they’d arrived. Introductions were made and I was thrown off but thankful and attracted to his easy warmth. Larry was more withdrawn, waving and casually eyeing his surroundings as our mothers stood out on the porch, drowning in squealing voices and tight hugs. I pegged him as the shy twin and I was wrong and right. Laurent breathed charisma and Larry took a few days to warm up. But when it came to finally settling in, Laurent remained around both our mothers while Larry gravitated by my side.

It started with simple trips to the market, with him carrying the meat for me from the butcher while I bargained with vendors for produce. Then he started helping me with my daily chores, which my mother was adamantly against, but he wouldn’t listen. He’d shown me a thing or two that he could do in the kitchen and I was impressed. He was humble about it but actually well skilled in meal prepping. Unbeknownst to our mothers, I’ve let him completely take over dinner a few times while I keenly watch. He was sweet and helpful and I was secretly pleased that he’d decided to stick to me like glue.

The more we did together, the more layers of Larry blossomed before me and I received the full fragrance of his real aura.

Larry is amusingly impulsive, a timid type of charming, and unknowingly thoughtful. I say unknowingly because he has a way of paying attention to you, looking at you, touching you with great, great care. He leaves feelings brewing within me and he’s completely unaware—his cheerful, oblivious attitude tells me that much.

While Laurent flows between everyone, Larry is selective and I am his top choice.

It’s undeniable that over the short weeks that’ve passed, I’ve grown fond of him, very fond. I feel many things for him, and not all are strictly platonic; a majority of them aren’t. My mind wonders of more, wonders if he thinks the same but always reminds me that their time here is limited, that I am only their petite, young friend, and that they probably have structured lives back in Paris.

Structured, everyday lives that consist of other top choices…

“What are you thinking of?” His voice pulls me down to earth. I am unaware that I’ve been steadily kneading upon my bottom lip. I let it free, watching his eyes flicker for a moment to the swollen flesh. I act like I don’t see, fixing my mouth to escape his question but our bubble is interrupted by a group of giggling voices.

I look up to see a group of girls from my school walking down the road together, in our direction. I internally roll my eyes as Analise and two others walk up to us. I mind my business and Analise minds hers and that’s the extent of our “relationship”.

But when we’re forced to speak…

They’ve stopped walking, casting a shadow over Larry and I. He sits up slightly, but our skin still touches and I am internally beaming at the connection. I am getting territorial and it makes me feel strange. Analise places a hand on her curvy hip, her shorts unbuttoned to reveal a stripped bikini bottom. Now that I really look at them, they’re all wet and glistening, seemingly just coming from a dip in the river. Her black hair is wrapped up in a dripping bun, and her bikini top clings to her chest like a second skin. In that moment I curse her even, deep skin, her proportionately shaped body and the unfair fact that she still looks flawless dripping wet or dry.

“Hi, Larry.” She smiles and the other girls wave as well, all with their painted smiles.

My town is small and word gets around fast. Sooner or later everyone was curious about the two sky high boys coming in and out of my house every day. Laurent was excited to be acquainted with others, especially girls, his age. I like to think Larry didn’t care much for any of them.

I am greedy with him.

“Hi, Analise,” he half smiles up at her. Her warm eyes flattened into a dull void once they fall upon me.

“Joseph.” She blinks my way. The girls laugh at her long running—stupendously lame might I add—joke.

I roll my eyes. “Cute.”

“What are you doing Larry? We were all down by the river today, you should’ve came.” Analise ignores my existence and grants all attention to Larry. I could care less. Larry’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“I didn’t know.” He answers truthfully. I pride myself in knowing he wouldn’t go either way if I wasn’t accompanying him.

“Well Sabrielle is throwing a party tonight, you should come to that,” Analise offers with an enthusiastic smile.

My ears perk up. Sabrielle was a part of the graduating class this year and we all know she’s moving to France in the fall with her uncle, to attend school. Now that it’s mentioned, I did vaguely remember her raving that her DJ’ing boyfriend had gotten a nice venue for her going-away party. This must’ve been it.

“Jonathan really got the place?” I say aloud and everyone turns to me, besides Larry, as if I have no right to intrude on the conversation.

“What does it matter to you, you’re not going.” Analise spits at me. “You can’t even dance.”

She’s speaking over me before I even have chance to answer.

“Say you’ll come Larry.” She pleads.

“I’ll come.” Larry complies and I boil in embarrassment and jealousy.

“With me?” Analise adds, shifting one cocked hip to another.

“Don’t you have some other dick to go climb on Analise, shit.” My mouth runs off pure annoyance.

She glares at me and I feel the chuckle coming from Larry’s chest. I beam in victory as he lays his head back where it belongs in my lap.

“I said I’ll come.” Larry says and he has checked out of the conversation, closing his eyes.

Analise is not satisfied but moves on from her loss. “See you there.” She parts ways with us, the extra switch in her step falling on blind eyes.

It is quiet between us again but it isn’t the same. I am still angry and flustered. Larry turns to face me, tendrils of his hair tickling my inner thighs. I ignore the godly feeling. He looks at me with a chastising look.

“You’re so crazy.”

“What?”

“She climbs dicks?” He repeats.

“It’s her hobby.” I say with the straightest face.

I try my hardest to stay bitter but it’s impossible with the way his lips twitch into an involuntary smile. Soon we’re toppling over each other in laughter, our timeless, intimate bubble returned to its proper position.

-

“That’s probably it,” Larry points towards where the sound of music pours over the streets.

I look up from my toes, noticing the recreational center right on the edge of town. I nod at him, watching his eyes gleam with excitement. I can’t help but smile and admire him as my eyes skim his frame.

He and his brother have a fine taste in clothing but I can’t blame him; he’s extremely well dressed. An oxblood colored leather jacket sits on his shoulders, a black thermal underneath coupled with black jeans and Jordans. His cologne is simple yet permeating and I silently thank the evening draft around us for constantly blowing it past my nose. I stay near his body for warmth as the sun seeps completely beneath the horizon.

I’ve been to plenty of parties but tonight I feel flustered and unprepared. I try to tell myself it’s because I haven’t been out in months but the true fact is that I want to be entirely perfect accompanying Larry to this event. The need to impress him made me feel mindless and annoyed me but it was there and fueled my every decision—from the black, long sleeved, form fitting dress I donned to the fact that I had my grandmother press iron my coils at the very last minute.

“You look good.” His voice spreads into the air as we cross the street. I look at him curiously.

“You keep playing with your hair, its fine,” he elaborates. He lets a few silky strands slide over his fingers as he smiles down at me. I smile back my thanks, happily vibrating at the fact that the pressed hair was a success.

He holds the door open for me and I venture inside, feeling his eyes boring a hole into my backside. As his stride reaches mine, he grabs for my arm, locking it in his we enter the scene together. Instantly, we’re warmed by the electric energy in the air and the heat bouncing off of swaying bodies. I look around, recognizing faces of current students and those who’ve graduated a few years pass. Larry pulls me to his side and I bask in the special attention as we look for a vacant table to occupy. I find myself sending him constant looks.

He’s acting funny.

Sabrielle flounces from table to table, chatting briefly and thanking people for their gifts. She flits to our table soon after we sit down, greeting Larry and I with hugs and kisses on the cheeks. We graciously congratulate her and compliment her party. Her optimism is infectious and she engages Larry and I long enough before she’s off to another table. Larry’s arm is wrapped around the back of my chair but every now and again his fingers brush against my shoulder. We slip into our own little world filled with whispers and giggles. Although we sit in separate seats, we’re as close as possible; heat from his thigh continuously seeps into mine. We’re served drinks and light appetizers and I chase Larry’s fork off my plate as he attempts to steal my last fried dumpling.

“You came.”

Larry and I look up, our immature laughter dying down to find Analise perched on our table. She is bright and loud in a shining pink halter that synchs where it needs to and fans out where it’s flattering. The color compliments her glowing skin.

“Yeah,” Larry half-smiles. Analise’s eyes shift to mine.

“And look.” She gestures at me with a plastic smile. “She knows how to dress.” I wonder if it’s a compliment or not and flash her a smile just as manufactured as hers.

“Want to dance Larry?” Analise is already standing, her back turned. She looks over her shoulder, expecting an obedient Larry but instead he is still by my side.

His hand finds mine and holds it limply, his thumb rolling over the back of my hand in slow circles under the table. I look down and then I at him. The draped arm behind my chair now rests warmly on my shoulder. His hand cups my shoulder and contact burns me alive. I bite back a smile. I feel at home in his arms.

“No, I want to spend time with my date.” Larry shakes his head.

I don’t know what I love more; Larry calling me his date or Analise gliding away as if she didn’t get blocked by the nastiest of curves. I am filled with delight at all the attention Larry bathes me in tonight, in the smallest ways possible. I’m aware of all the ways he reaches out to me, from the thumb scorching to the back of my hand to his minty breath meeting my skin each time he speaks. His eyes are an entity on their own. They zone in on me, it seems, and it is tunnel vision. I usually feel a comfort under his gaze but tonight it is different and it makes me feel small and open.

But I am also wry because I am not sure how deep he knows this is to me and I’m not sure how deep it is to him.

“I need all my couples on the dance floor, now.” The DJ’s humming voice alerts us all. I take a pause at the intoxicating world Larry and I reside in, tuning in to reality. “Ladies, if you can twist and roll it, find a guy who can handle it…,” he ends cryptically. Blue and purple tint lights slide over the dance floor as a familiar, rhythmic bass eases through the speakers. I smile, watching two brave couples dominate the floor in small, winding circles. I feel Larry’s eyes on me and I look up, finding his gaze searing right through me.

“Let’s dance.”

I shake my head immediately. I prefer to watch and not perform—and Zouk was definitely not my specialty. It’s entrancing to watch couples get lost in their own worlds. It’s passionate, intense and either reads lust, love, or both. It’s sensual and far too beautiful for my clumsy legs to ruin.

“I really suck.” I shake my head, sipping my drink.

Larry plucks it from my hand, and stands, coaxing me to do the same. He sets the drink down, slowly pulling me towards the floor bathed in shifty lights and bodies enacting a sweet melody.

“Just follow me.” He insists. All the fighting in the world wouldn’t have stopped him getting me on the floor. I hug my arms, looking away from him. I feel out of place and my heart rate rises in in nervousness.

Larry places his hands on my shoulders, sliding down over my arms slowly. I breathe, watching them slide to where my arms cross in front of my chest. He untangles them, placing them over his shoulders. His eyes are patient and attentive as he grips my hip with one hand. He applies pressure to the curve of my lower back, coaxing my body to press snugly against his. His sneaky knee parts my legs and my dress rides up from the intrusion. I rush to fix it but Larry shakes his head, placing my hand right where he put it. I don’t try moving it again. I’m not sure if it’s his heart or my heart that’s beating between our chests but it is quick and erratic. Slowly, Larry’s feet begin to move side to side in time to music, very simply. The other faces around me began to blur as I allowed my feet to follow Larry’s.

The music translates through his body beautifully. His legs bounce in time and his hips are loose, bumping into my tense ones. I swallow my breath as he closes the remaining centimeter of space between us. The feel of him rolling against me warms my muscles and melts any inhibitions I have as my hips mirror his.

“Just like that.” He murmurs in approval. The words are simple but ignite a brewing fire within me as they fan across my neck. I am by now, hypnotized by the music and we’re soon easily gliding in circles. My feet lye in perfect time with his, as does my hips, as does, it seems, my heart.

I let my eyes fall into his and I am met with a deep, dark intensity that renders no type of fear and all types of excitement. His palms sear through my dress, slowing dropping lower and lower and I wonder if this is real.

His bottom lip is tucked neatly beneath his teeth as he alternates between hiding his face in my neck and watch where our bodies rub in torturous unison. He bends his legs slightly and mine accommodate as we stop moving our feet. Our lower halves wind up and down and up and down against each other.

I am lost, wrapped up, and kept in Larry.

“You’re beautiful.”

I’m not sure if my mind feeds my living fantasy or if Larry is truly murmuring against me. I am given my answer when his lips meet the crook of my neck in a deliberate kiss. One hand still grips my hip, but the other slides up my back. His fingers invade my hair as he holds the base of head to his liking.

“So beautiful.”

I now see, with my eyes, the words tumble from his lips. I am a quivering mess. His eyes flit between mine and my lips and he is invading my space before I can close my eyes. His lips press against mine so sweetly, gently. We cease all movement; lost in time, intensity, and music. The moment I feel his tongue lap at the seam between my lips, I am lit ablaze and 99% gone…

“The floor is getting a little hot…,” the DJ’s timbre rumbles naughtily and when my ears register the comment, I am brought back to reality. I blink and inhale, stepping away from his body, even if mine screams in protest.

His eyes are low, a slow smile curving to his lips. I am deteriorating from the inside out. I adjust my dress, looking around shyly.

“It’s late.” I tell him, watching his heaving chest. “We should go.”

-

The entire 10 minute walk home is silent.

Despite the darkness, I am a few paces ahead of him. His jacket is oversized on my sloped shoulders but it protects me from the chilly cold of an hour where it’s morning but the stars still twinkle and moon shines full and bright. I protested, thinking of his thin thermal granting him no heat, but he insisted and wouldn’t leave until I was properly insulated.

I feel elated and confused all at once and it’s exhausted me.

I’m afraid to face what Larry unleashed because I am not fully sure of its authenticity. Was this always in him? Or was the right music playing, the perfect atmosphere hanging around him that prompted him to elevate me to a dimension I usually only imagine journeying with him.

I need to know, but I am afraid of what I’ll hear.

My weight creaks on the front porch. Our mothers and Laurent are back, the car sitting quietly in the rout driveway is a giveaway. I can’t see any lights through the front windows and assume the house is sound asleep. I reach one hand to unlock the screen door only to feel his wrap around mine and the knob. His hand engulfs both easily. I look up at him and his features are cool and unreadable. He slides my hand off the knob, gently leading me where he wants me.

We’re seated on my late grandfather’s wooden bench. Our weight makes it creak but it’s still as sturdy as the day my grandfather made it.

I watch a cricket hop in front of our feet, watch the way moonlight shines on the front lawn, and analyze the zippers in his jacket. I look everywhere but at him.

“Can you look at me?” He pleads quietly. His warm fingers push my chin toward him. “Please?” I comply, raising my eyes to his; they’re open, sad, and slightly confused.

“Why are you running from me?” He is straight with it, no chaser.

I inhale, trying to make an intelligible answer. It comes eventually; he wants to be direct, and so I would be too.

“That shouldn’t have happened.” I mutter. He knows exactly what.

“Why?”

“We’re friends and I…it just…,” I lose my firm standing.

“You didn’t like it?”

“Larry.” I shut my eyes. The moment is relived behind my eyelids and a flush rushes from my head to the soles of my feet.

“I liked it.” He adds. “I liked it a lot.”

“Larry, that’s not the point.”

“So then tell me what you’re feeling?” He urges.

“I rather not embarrass myself.”

“So what? I embarrass myself in front of you all the time.” He reminds me and recent memories flash before my eyes, earning a smile.

“It’s different.” I shake my head, unable to believe this conversation was transpiring.

“How?”

I glare at him. I’m angry he’s so persistent. I’m angry he’s sincere to know what troubles me deep inside. I’m angry because he’s pulling it right out of me.

“Tell me what’s embarrassing?” He presses.

A sigh barrels from my lips; it is what it is.

“It’s embarrassing having a crush on my mother’s best friend’s son who’s visiting for summer and not being sure if he’s even into me like that.” The words tumble forward and I refuse to look at him.

“That’s it?” His is voice sweet and tinged with amusement. I feel young and immature. “Then I’m embarrassed too.” He adds. I peer at him curiously.

“How?” I ask and he smiles that smile that sends tingles through my chest.

“Because I have a crush on my mother’s best friend’s daughter who I met this summer and I know she likes me, but I was never sure of how to make my move.” He mimics me. “Until tonight.”

The smile that splits across my face is probably award winning. His face is bathed in moonlight and I feel nothing but sincerity from him. I am giddy and not ashamed enough to hide it. I bite back the smile, laughing quietly.

“Was I that obvious?”

“You look at me how I look at you, except I’m better at hiding it,” he smirks. I want to burst his bubble but I let him have it. “And you’re possessive.” He hisses the s’s in the word at me jokingly.

“Am not.” I whisper harshly and he smiles, shaking his head wildly.

“You are; you’re territorial. You almost killed Analise with your eyes for trying to climb my dick.”

It wouldn’t matter to me if I’d awaken the entire neighborhood; the laugh that jumped from my chest was loud and hearty. He is laughing as well and I pinch at his side, unable to deny his facts. His arm wraps around me. I am home.

“I like it.” He comforts me. “It’s cute.”

I bundle into his side and we relax in a silence that is regular with us. The wonders that run through my mind are now realities. His head is leaned on my mine and I take his hand, playing with his fingers one by one.

“I loved it.” I smile, watching his face contort.

“What?”

“About what happened at Sabrielle’s? You asked, remember?”

Cogs finally begin to turn in his mind; he’s gotten it.

“Yeah?” His smile is no longer boyish but teasing. His eyes are pleased and dilated. Deep, deep, deep.

“How did it go again?” I look up at him playfully.

 I am barely speaking before his lips meet mine, slowly, deliberately. Thousands of prickles rise on my body and they’re no longer conflicted but right in place. His body inches closer, just as it should. We’re ends that always meet.

“Was it like that?” His breath fans on my lips. “Or like this?”

I am brought unto his lap, and my arms familiarly find their place on his shoulders. His lips mold to mine aggressively, his tongue eager and daring. A slow bite is brought down on my bottom lip and I see nothing but pulsating red behind my eyelids. His fingers find their place in my hair, his palm holding the base of my head the way I think he likes. The heat from before never left us but instead remained dormant, only to flare whenever we would decide it to.

We let ourselves become engulfed.

When he thought it’d be fair to let me breath, he parts his lips from mine.

My hand spans his forehead, pushing his hair back.

“Just like that.”

-

Music - (x)

[inspiredbyewho]

Past

Whether I want to or not, I can’t remove my eyes from this storefront window. My hands cease their busy sorting through racks and my body is lax as my mind tries to make sense of what my eyes see. Across the galleria, piercing eyes call out to me and my heart knows exactly who they belong to. It’s my mind that won’t believe it.

Even through dreary retail windows, her eyes gleam amber and green all the same. It’s been almost a decade since I’ve heard or seen from her, and here she is, looking as though a day hasn’t passed. She is with a man and sight of her hand tightly gripping his leaves a strange feeling in my chest. Her skin still glows dewy and fresh, her smile still stretches over a dainty heart shaped chin, and her hair still lays in a graceful disarray around her shoulders.

She looks like the evening I met her.

-

“Would you like a drawing?” A voice sings my way. I shake my head for the 20th time this evening, unphased. “No, thank you.” My tone is clipped as I stare at my phone. I am on my way to a club appearance and have no time to invest in whatever these Times Square vendors are offering. “I can draw you in two minutes or less.” She insists. Her voice is soothing to listen to, even over the obvious racket all around us. I raise my eyes to her and am met with striking eyes and sweet lips. She is small with big hair and contrasting look fits. Her hands are strong looking, olive, transparent veins peeking under caramel skin. The tips of her fingers are covered in all types of smudged, pastel colors. I cock my head in interest and she smiles. “If I take any longer, it’s free.” She adds, already pulling aside a stool for me to sit. I sit down apprehensively as she gathers her canvas. “In color?” I ask suspiciously and a doubting faces pops at me from behind the wooden canvas. “Sharpie.” She twiddles the black pen in her fingers. “You’d have to give me at least 5 minutes for a pastel.” She winks and I chuckle at her slightly arrogant confidence. One minute later she is standing, proud of her work. I wait expectantly and am greeted with charming caricature of myself. She beams in the impressed attention. “Told you.” She hands it to me. “But since you’re cute, I’ll still give it free,” she grins. For some reason, I’m bashful. I ask for her name and am given a card instead as she focuses on another customer. With my prize in hand, I walk away. I read the pink card, scanning for her name and pleased with the number printed beneath.

“Jade”.

-

I wonder if she feels my stare but I know they’re in their own world as they easily and casually walk through throngs of crazed, early holiday shoppers. I bite the bottom corner of my lip in amusement as I watch them stop at a scarf vendor. I already know which once she’ll choose as she wraps a thick, white faux type boa around her neck in the most theatric of ways. She’s always been dramatic, wide and thorough. Life was and still is a grand stage to her. The way the man with her grins tells me he showers in the right amount of attention to keep her satisfied. My lips frown as I remember how I didn’t.

-

“You know you’re not ever going to wear half these things, why are you trying them on?” I sigh, slumping against the wall. Numerous bags with numerous brand names wait around my legs as a purse sits on my shoulders. Jade’s laugh echoes through the dressing room and I rub my temple. 6 months slipped by eyes as easily as the seasons and I’m not quite sure when or where Jade and I’s relationship became serious. We were simply talking one moment and making steamy love in her loft the next. I’ve never been around a woman like her before. “Viola,” she sings cheerfully, as she spins before a 3-way mirror. An outfit I can only compare to creations seen only in Fashion Week, sits on her body. It is loud, attention grabbing, and perfectly her. “Well?” She awaits any comments from me. “Really?” She hears the tone in my voice and pouts. “It’s fun!” She insists. My head knocks back against the wall and I stare at the ceiling. “Can we go?” I sigh in exhaust. “You’re no fun.” She mumbles. I yelp at a pinch to my side as she shuffles away to change.

-

Her boa still around her neck, I watch as her lips pucker and I know a sweet ‘coo’ spills from them. Right in the center of the galleria is a fountain, and various children huddle around pennies, nickels, dimes, and all—for good luck. I can’t hide the internal chuckle that rumbles through me as she instantly begins digging through her purse for a coin. Furry white boa still in tack, she joins the group of children like she belongs. Her eyes flutter shut as I remember and the coin flips from her thumb. I know she’s made a wish in her heart, she always does, and always told me “it wouldn’t come true if she told.” She’s always been childlike and years have done nothing to erode the fact. I’m glad. I was never appreciative of it, but I’m glad I wasn’t able to take it from her.

-

“Did you get change from McDonald’s?” She murmurs at me. I look at her strangely and nod. We walk beside each other but the gap between us lets the world know we’re at odds. The longer this relationship has gone, the more I realize Jade and I are too different. I’m too stable to satisfy her flitting needs and I don’t understand why it is she’s so flippant. All we do is argue now. “Can I have a coin, please?” She asks next. I don’t want to hear what extravagant reason she has for it so I hand it to her wordlessly. By now I am ready to call it day and go home. An afternoon meant for bonding and communicating turned into a disaster. I don’t know how long I can last. I watch her with an annoyed expression as she walks toward a fountain. “Jade seriously, I’m tired; let’s go,” I say in the sternest of voices. She ignores me and makes her stupid wish. “What was it now?” I ask her mockingly as she comes back. Her eyes are sullen. “Wish you’d try.” I’m taken back that she answers. She doesn’t speak for the entire rest of day. I like it that way.

-

Back then, she was too much for me. Too theatric, too playful. Her innocence annoyed me. We didn’t last and I didn’t complain as our relationship deteriorated. We lost contact and for a few months, I was fine with it. I wanted a serious, classy woman in my life. But as I moved on, the things I’d hated were becoming things I’d missed. The women I went for had little sense of humor and I compared them to how Jade laughed at anything rolling off my tongue. They had very little on their minds, and I compared to how Jade and I discussed everything. They lacked spark and Jade was a firework. I failed to realize Jade always had what I was looking for; just in her own frequencies. I should’ve tried. Now years later, everything is the still the same, save for one fact. She still shines bright, but I now appreciate it. Miss it.

“Larry?”

The call of my name snaps back into reality. My sepia tinted memories make way to color as I meet the eyes of the woman standing beside me. Her rosy cheeks smile at me she holds a miniature sized coat.

“Don’t you think this will be cute for Nicolas?” She says dreamily, brushing her fingers over the buttons. “It’ll be snowing by the time he comes.”

I glance at the coat, and back outside the front window for some type of closure but she’s gone. A gem lost in a crowd of the ordinary. I inhale, releasing a deep breath as I shake off the grips of nostalgia. I paint a smile for my fiancé.

“It’ll be great,” I nod, rubbing her round stomach.