People Got A Lotta Nerve

No words, just his eyes on mine. No hugs, kisses, cuddles, just an impenetrable force between us, keeping distance like it was the Berlin Wall. Here we were, Oliver on one side of the couch, me on the other, just like that night only a week before. It had felt like centuries, though. The span between the last time he kissed me, and that moment when I watched him suck gently on his lip ring, searching for something to say, seemed like a million years. Here he was, what I wanted all this time, and I couldn’t say a word.

When I let him in, he had mumbled under his breath about being in town still, something about press signings and interviews. I hadn’t really caught it, to be honest. I was more in shock of him showing up, especially in twenty minutes. As I sat on the couch, his body reflexively leaned towards mine, as if to enrapture me in his embrace, as if nothing had happened. He caught himself though, and collapsed onto the couch, cracking his knuckles compulsively.

Finally, the silence proved to be suffocating.

“Why did you leave?” I said, breathlessly.

“You didn’t need me.”

More silence. This kid did not miss a beat. His eyes peered at me through his fringe, before quickly ducking away, hiding behind his hair all over again. I sighed, and ran my hand through my hair, this meeting proving to be absolutely pointless.

“Why did you call?” He asked, the silence breaking again.

“Why did you come so fast?”

He shrugged, his eyes still to the floor. “I was in town.”

“I thought you guys had left.”

“Nah,” He shook his head, “We decided to do all the press stuff down here. I scheduled it a while back, actually.”

“Why?”

Another shrug. “Just cause.”

“I called because I was going crazy.” It was hard to spit it out, even if it was only a tiny sliver of truth to the true reason why I called.

“Well, I’m here. Feel better?”

I looked at him, the tattoos appearing from under his t-shirt in every possible direction, the hole in his jeans sitting over his knee. His eyes were still averted, staring at his shoes, his hands, anything but my face.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

He stopped fidgeting, and looked up at me, his eyes stopping my thoughts right in their tracks. “That wasn’t the issue, at all.”

“Then tell me what I did wrong!”

He stared at me, as if unsure of what to say. “I, I guess I just didn’t think you would do that.”

“Do what? Fight someone?”

“Christian, taking a bottle to someone’s head like that is such a cheap shot.”

I felt the corners of my lips tug even more downwards, and now it was my eyes that were cast down. “She deserved it.”

“Bullshit, her face is so cut up on one side it hurts her to talk.”

I knew she was in pain, but seriously? Not able to talk?

“I just….I got carried away. I was mad, and drunk. I’m sorry.”

He shifted on the couch. “You know, I don’t even really think it’s about Emma anyways. I just thought you were better than that. I thought you had more class.”

“Class!? Are you fucking kidding me Oliver! How the hell did we meet?!” The tone and volume of my voice drastically increased in seconds flat. My posture changed from defeated, to riled up instantly. How dare he say I wasn’t classy!

I stood up; my hands waving in the air emphatically as I slowly felt myself losing control.

“Oliver, you wanted to fuck some slut in clear high heels! How is that classy! How the fuck can you call drinking until you pass out in the middle of a city classy! How can you call me trashy when I am probably the classiest girl you have ever been with!”

He stood up too, instantly towering over me. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them down to my sides, his face just inches from mine.

“Fucking think about it, Christian!” His voice was hoarse and low, his eyes burning holes into my face. “Think about it! You’re different than that! You’re so much fucking better than any of those girls, than Emma, then any of the shit I’m used to doing! And I’ve seen it in you from the moment I met you! When it was me and you in your room, I felt it! And I don’t know if you were too busy counting backwards from 10 to notice it, Christian, but I thought you were the most adorable fucking person I had ever laid eyes on, even if I was drunk, and just looking for another fuck!”

He released my wrists, and stomped across the room, his back to me. He raked his fingers through his hair, his body tense and rigid with every movement.

“I just…” He continued, “I just don’t know how to act around you. I either want to just have you close to me forever, I want to feel your hand in mine, your lips on mine, I want to just feel you, or I just want to watch you, watch those facial expressions you make when someone says something dumb, or funny. I want to watch your nose crinkle up when you laugh, or how bright your eyes get when I pull you close. I want to go back to that show, when I turned and saw you watching me, and I could see that you cared. Christian, none of those fucking girls cared. I fucked them, they used me back, and it was done. You’re just so fucking genuine…How the fuck am I supposed to feel when I see you acting like how one of them would act? How am I supposed to not clean up your cuts, or not hold your hand, not tell you that everything is going to be okay?! You walked away from me, Christian! Remember?! You told me you were fine, that you didn’t need me! Didn’t you know my heart was in those pretty little hands of yours!? And you crushed it!”

He turned around again, and walked back, his body just inches from mine all over again. I felt frozen, unable to move, or think, or feel; all I could do was keep my focus on his eyes, which smoldered with intensity I had never seen before. Before I could even register what was happening, his hands snaked up to the sides of my face, and he pulled me into him, his lips crashing into mine recklessly with no hesitation. His hipbones jutted against my stomach, my hands grabbing onto the hem of his shirt, in a feeble attempt to pull him even closer to me, even if it wasn’t possible.

He broke the kiss first, touching his forehead to mine, his eyes still staring into mine.

“You’re fucking better than that, Christian. You are fucking better.”

I couldn’t respond, all I could do was reach up, and bite his lip gently, his lip rings smooth and cold against my own lips. His hands fell down to my waist, pulling me into him, no space between us now. I could feel his body shudder into mine as I gently, slowly raked my fingernails up his stomach, my hands finding their way under his shirt.

I’m not really sure what happened after that, to be honest. All I know is that somehow, history repeated itself, and I found myself resting my head against Oliver’s bare chest, my jersey sheets wrapped around us in a loose tangle. His rough hand was slowly rubbing up and down my back, his other hand playing with a lock of my hair. I closed my eyes, the euphoria still having a decent grip on my brain.

All of a sudden, every single light in the house switched on, and Blake’s chipper voice rang through the house, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum.