Rachael, It's All or Nothing

17: Go Far [Away] Today

It’s warm. Not like being outside in the sun on a nice day, but like being wrapped in a thick blanket when it’s cool out. With a long sigh, I rolled over until I hit the cool half of the pillow. I liked the feeling of finding the cool half of the pillow, and snuggled deep into the comforter.

A creeping feeling slithered down my spine, so I cracked an eye open. I was immediately met with a happy little grin, and a mop of curly blonde hair. “Rachael, you’re awake!”

I shrieked, bolting upright and flipping over the side of the bed. Patrick’s head leaned over the side of the bed, his innocent gaze settling on me. I sighed to calm my heart, but the only result was that my head started pounding like Pat had decided that punching me in the head would be a fun game.

I flopped back, sprawling out on the floor. Then I thought of something. “Pat, why are you in my apartment?”

He didn’t answer, so I opened my eyes again with a groan. The upsetting feeling the spread through my body was completely incorrigible. No amount of aspirin was going to fix this. “You aren’t in your apartment.”

That got me upright. I looked around. Oh. My. God. This wasn’t my room. My headache returned tenfold, and I wobbled on my feet. Fingers enclosed around my wrist, pulling me towards the bed, but I couldn’t sit. “Where am I?” I whispered.

Pat looked confused. “Your in Jon and I’s apartment. It’s nothing to freak out about.”

The knowledge I wasn’t in some strange place calmed my nerves. But then, I had another question nagging me. “Why am I not wearing any pants?”

Pat smiled. “Ask Tazer,” he replied simply with a shrug, and then promptly left the room.

I felt the colour leave my face, and I had the sudden urge to upchuck all over the floor. No we didn’t. We couldn’t have. Jon wouldn’t do that to me – would he? I was able to swallow the urge to vomit as I dragged my feet out into the kitchen.

Jonathan’s back was to me at the table. He was shirtless, and there were faint pink lines up his back. Oh no.

My vision got a little blurry, and I could feel the bile rising up my throat as I darted to the bathroom. I slammed the door behind me and practically dove at the porcelain bowl. I threw up everything I had in my stomach, and was left dry heaving and wiping the tears from my cheeks.

A spike of heat raced through my body, and I felt clammy. I gathered all my hair and threw it into a messy bun at the top of my head. Over at the sink, I rummaged until I found some mouthwash. Thank God. I swished the minty flavour in my mouth for longer than was normal, but I was afraid the vile taste in my mouth wouldn’t go away if I didn’t.

Then with a quick splash of water to my face, I felt okay to leave the bathroom. When I opened the door, I was surprised to find Jonathan on the other side. There was a concerned look on his face, but he masked it quickly when he realized I was looking at him. “Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes darting all over my face.

Was I okay? The tightness in my head had lessened once I emptied the contents of my stomach, but a queasy feeling overturned my stomach when I realized Jon was wearing a shirt. The claw marks were no longer visible, not that I wanted them to be visible. So I shuddered. “What happened?” I croaked.

A slow smile spread across Jon’s face. “You don’t remember?” He asked casually.

I raised an eyebrow. “What was there to remember?”

His grin expanded wildly. He leaned in close, and I blinked nervously. “We should have sex right here.”

All at once, fragmented images stuck out in my mind. The most prominent one was when I’d propositioned Jon for sex on the front lawn of that person’s house. I was suddenly unfocused at his proximity, as I covered my face with my hands. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes!” Jon crowed. “You also got hit on by a guy and completely dismissed him when you heard a song you liked.”

I peaked at him through my fingers. A tiny mortifying thought floated through my mind, and it made my face grow warm. “Did I dance for you?” I asked meekly.

He looked like he was remembering it, as he watched me. Then, quietly, he replied: “Yeah, you did.”

I was close to sobbing, I could feel it. “Oh my God! Did you not think to stop me? Did I hit on really weird guys? Did I hit on girls?”

“I was pretty much the focus of your attention that night,” he told me.

I smacked him lightly in the arm at the smug tone. He probably had been, but only because he’s just so damn cute –

“Jon?” I asked after a second.

His eyes bore into mine, and I wondered what he was thinking. I took a deep breath, reassured myself that what I was going to ask him was something that needed to be discussed (in my humble opinion). “You said no to me last night, right?”

The way he rolled his eyes made me feel like he was somehow not taking this as seriously as I was. “Of course I said no to you. I’m not a dog.”

“That remains to be seen,” I muttered sourly under my breath. I could already tell – if he was going to be insensitive about this discussion, I was going to punch him square in the jaw. As if sensing my inner monologue, Jonathan gripped both my hands gently with his own. With the pad of his thumb, he traced soft patters over the back of both my hands. The tingly feeling I got from his actions momentarily distracted me from my anger.

“You know why, right?”

Dazed, I looked up at him. He was trying to keep me calm by rubbing my hands and talking quietly. I had to admit – it was working. Mentally, I was preparing myself for the excuses he might use. One, I’m not pretty enough. I’ve heard it before from my ex-boyfriend Austin. I mean, I’m short, and I’m not stick thin. A size four in my family is considered big (at least, among my sisters it is), and even though I know there are people that are a lot bigger than me, I can’t help but compare myself to those I’m closest with. It’s natural, right? I’m the youngest girl in my family, and I’m also the shortest. I have a heart-shaped face, that, from an artist’s point of view is perfect but from someone who thinks any body part being round is wrong, it’s not perfect. My hair is brown. Not chocolate brown, not mocha brown, just brown. And it’s straight. It does nothing but lie there like life’s just a permanent vacation. And hazel – what is the deal with the colour hazel? I mean, it isn’t brown, and it isn’t green. I would be the proud owner of an eye colour that can’t make up its mind. And freckles! My god I hate my freckles. I mean they’re –

“Rachael?”

I blinked in surprise, slightly embarrassed to meet Jonathan’s gaze. “What’s wrong?”

I was surprised to feel my lower eyelids burning. Before I could try and calm myself down, everything I looked at started swimming. God – why did I cry around him so much? His hands crawled up my wrist and arms, caressed my shoulders, and settled along my jaw. His thumbs rested just below my eyes, and when he swept them across my cheekbones, I felt him wipe away the tears.

“Look,” I started quietly, still staring at the carpet, “I know I’m not like Heidi Klum, or anything, but…”

“What are you talking about?” His barely suppressed laughter met my ears. I could hear it in his voice, however quiet it still may be. I couldn’t bring myself to answer him, though. I couldn’t bring myself to say the words that had only recently began surfacing in my mind: I’m not good enough. It was something about him, I don’t know if it was there the whole time, or if this is just the self-conscious me finally taking over, that made me wonder why he paid so much god damn attention to me.

“Don’t laugh at me,” I scolded him coldly. I was finally able to meet his gaze, and he was surprised to see how steely I was actually being with him. “This is about you not wanting to be with me because I’m not pretty enough.”

Jonathan dropped my face instantly, and stepped back like I’d pulled a knife on him. “Unbelievable,” he told me, looking me dead in the face. “Why is it that you seem just so completely oblivious to everything that happens around you?”

I sucked in my lip, because right now I couldn’t cry. I was correct in not answering – apparently it was a rhetorical question, and he wasn’t finished. “The only reason I didn’t have sex with you was because you were drunk. If you weren’t drunk, I would have deflowered you on the fucking lawn. I bought you a hideous pink flamingo – to which you named Jonathan. If it were anybody else, Rachael, I would have cut it with a meat cleaver, run over it in my car, and then tossed it in the lake. I mean it – it is the most hideous bird I have ever seen, but it’s you, and suddenly it’s not so hideous.”

Well that didn’t make any sense.

He threw his arms up in the air exasperatedly. “My God, Rachael, how many times do I have to kiss you for it to get through that fat head of yours, that despite all your shortcomings, I care about you, and only you.”

I pursed my lips. “My head is not fat!” I yelled.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I really think you just missed the point there.”

Indignantly, I jutted my lip out in a pout. “Oh, I got it. What I don’t understand is why it took you four months, one black eye, and several unnecessary confrontations later, to admit it?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

And then, as if remembering something else, I stomped my foot. “And why did I wake up in your apartment with no pants on?”

He shrugged. “I tried to take you home, and even though I had to wake up your superintendent to let us in – grumpy man, by the way – you cried and cried and told me I couldn’t leave you. You took off your pants and told me you were going to take more off and go knock on everyone’s door if I didn’t stay.”

My face burned. I am never drinking again. “That doesn’t explain why I’m not wearing them now, though.”

The smile that crawled across his face was slow and sexy. “I told you if you stopped crying I’d take off my pants too.”

To cover up my embarrassment, I scowled. “You would tempt me with sexual endeavors.”

“You tempted a lot of people last night. The only one that really pissed you off was the coffee table that didn’t share your enthusiasm for the song that was playing.”

I chocked out a laugh between my tears and homicidal glares. The tension between us evaporated, and it was suddenly more comfortable. I sighed, now mentally drained from our discussion. “I can’t do this, Jon. I’m tired.”

He touched my shoulder lightly. He had taken some distance when I’d offended him, but now he was standing closer again. “Of course you can’t – I can tire out the best of ‘em.”

I shrugged off his touch and stepped out of his reach. “I’m done, Jon. I have to go home.”

He let me go… for about three steps. Then, it was as if I expected him to call me, because I had whirled around before he even finished my name. I hoped for some kind of salvation – I didn’t want it to end like this.

I got my salvation. He took two large steps over to me, tangled his hands in my hair, and kissed me. “Fuck friends,” he told me between kisses, “because this isn’t working.”

I practically melted – that’s what I thought too.

I kissed him back, my hands going down to the hem of the t-shirt he was wearing. His skin was warm and smooth, and as I touched his back, his muscles quivered beneath my fingertips.

I pulled away, suddenly. Both of us were breathing hard, but I didn’t mind it. I knew what kind of affect he had on me, but it was nice to know I could do that to him as well. “Does this mean…?”

Jonathan groaned out loud, pressing his face into the side of my neck. “Chicks always read way too much into things.”

When he put his arms around my waist and pulled me closer, I wound my arms around his neck and weaved my fingers in his messy hair. He pressed a couple of kisses to my throat, but it was the sigh that fanned out across my bare neck that made me shiver. “Maybe if guys weren’t so fucking dense.”

His head darted up quickly, his eyes completely serious. “I’m only going to say this once, Rachael. I want you, end of discussion. I know you want me too, so let’s cut to the chase. Kaner’s gone, because he knows what’s good for him. I’m going to pick you up and carry you into the bedroom. In the bedroom, I’m going to strip off your clothes, and we will partake in activities of a sexual nature that will have you writhing, moaning, and clutching at the sheets. If that proposition alone does not sway you, I will take you out afterwards. We will go to somewhere of your choosing, and I will pay. Following that suit, we will go out whenever possible, so that you can show off to the world that you’ve got Jonathan Fucking Toews tied around your finger.”

I tried to narrow my eyes at him, but found it damn near impossible to be angry with him. “Jonathan Fucking Toews,” I whispered, “you better live up to my standards.”

And right before I kissed him, he got the last word in, “I like a challenge.”

And he’s right: once inside the bedroom, my throat went raw from moaning, my body exploded with sensation, and my knuckles turned white while clutching the sheets.

What a little shit. He won again.