Rachael, It's All or Nothing

04: I Know, Being Apart’s a [Little] Hard to Bare

That arrogant, pompous little prick actually left me standing by the highway like a prostitute. And furthermore, I had to drag Kody away from a date to come get me.

I take back my apology to him… regardless of the fact that I never actually apologized to him, but still.

My angry, deserted feeling lasted all about two days, before I got over it and carried on with my life as usual. My apartment needed some cleaning, and since I wasn’t working today, I went into cleaning mode.

I did laundry. Granted, I forgot to put the bounce sheet in the dryer, so when I was walking my dried laundry up the stairs to my room, and tripped going up the stairs and my clothes went everywhere (including on top of me), it caused my hair to stand on end.

So with my dignity intact (no one had seen it), I stumbled up the stairs and slammed my door behind me.

Then I made brownies, because I wanted some. I was practically drooling when I smelled the cooling chocolate, and the fat kid in me was hemorrhaging. I set my brownies on a cooling rack and went to clean up the bowl, when I slipped on the floor.

I was overjoyed with myself when not only did I not fall, I also steadied the bowl and spatula before it went airborne. Maybe my klutzy luck was finally turning around!

Someone knocked at my door, to which I went to go answer it. I didn’t bother to look through the peephole, not that I’d have to, I found out a second later, when there was no one behind the door.

But there was a bouquet of flowers on the ground. I picked the flowers up and immediately went for the card.

I’m sorry I left you at the highway.

And there was only one guy I knew of that had anything to apologize for. I took off down the hallway and the stairs, still carrying the flowers. Most people would have went for the elevator, but I went for the stairs. I was on the sixth floor, but I could control how fast I wanted to go down the stairs. The elevator only went one speed.

I got to the lobby when I saw his back going through the front door. “Jonathan!” I called, following after him. The rubber soles of my slippers clicked on the linoleum floor as I shuffled faster when he didn’t turn around.

“Jonathan!”

He finally turned around, and I skidded to a halt. “How did you know where I live?”

“I followed you home.”

And waited two days before you apologized, I thought in my head.

“What?” I asked loudly.

“To make sure you were okay.”

“You, sir, are creepy. Don’t come back here.” And after I nearly broke my finger poking him in the chest, I turned on my heel and left.

“Wait.”

Against my better judgment, I did. I turned around and looked at him. “You are okay, though, right?”

I don’t know why he cared, and I don’t know why I felt like he was being so nice to me. I nodded.
---
Back up in my apartment, I cut the bottoms of the assortment of flowers and put them in a nice vase.

Then there was a knock at my door. When I opened it, you guessed it – Jonathan. “Who let you in here again?” I asked rudely.

Obviously, he ignored me. “Here,” he said, holding up his watch, “I bought another one because I didn’t think I’d ever see this one again.”

I looked at him. “So now you’ll have two.”

“Come on, it’s the least I can do after moving that door in front of your face.”

Is he smiling at me?

No, he’s mocking me. “What?” I snapped.

“You have chocolate on your face.”

I gapped. “W-What?”

“Right there. Chocolate. Hey, are you baking?” Right after he wiped chocolate off my face, he pushed himself into my apartment.

I huffed. “Come on in,” I muttered to myself.

Like I had expected him to, he made a beeline for my brownies. I also anticipated him to touch them, so I opened my mouth to warn him about the temperature of the brownies. I didn’t need to, though, because he put a huge chunk of my brownies in his mouth. I shrieked. “Don’t eat them, you cow!”

He turned to face me, a brownie hovering in front of his mouth. “Why not?”

“Because they weren’t for you.”

“They were all for you?”

“Well, no, but –”

“Good. Because you wouldn’t be hot anymore if you got fat.”

He didn’t have to tell me I was blushing – I already knew I was. But not because I was flattered. On the contrary, I was very angry.

“Well you’re already fat, so I hope you become an insulin-dependant diabetic!”

“But I’m not fat. Want to see?”

Before I had time to comprehend what he’d said and stop him, he had taken off his shirt. I tried not to look. “Put it back on!” I shrieked, looking away.

“Oh my god, don’t tell me you’re a prude.”

I covered my eyes with my hands. “You’re an exhibitionist. Great. Exhibitionists are always weird.”

“I’m not an exhibitionist. I am rather close to it, though.”

I sighed, turning to him. I suppose there are worse things he could have taken off, like – “Oh my God don’t take your pants off!”

He paused, looking at me. “You are a prude.”

That was my final straw. I grabbed my bag of flour and threw it at him. “I am not a prude. I just don’t like guys that follow me home and get a hard on from humiliating me, to strip in my kitchen!”

He didn’t have time to duck out of the way, as he was suddenly covered in flour. He hadn’t had a chance to take his pants off, which I was grateful for. If I had Jonathan Toews standing in my kitchen wearing nothing but his skivvies, I’d faint.

He grabbed an egg and hit my square in the chest with it. I heard it crack upon impact, and saw the yolk sliding down over my chest. I wanted it wipe it away, but Jonathan had other plans. He came up to me in an instant and smeared it. “Rape!” I yelled, grabbing a brownie and attempting to hit his face with it.

Unfortunately, he grabbed the brownie from me and smeared it in my face. I spluttered as the chocolate entered my mouth, and as I turned away, I tried to blindly swat him away.

I ended up with my eyes closed, backed against one of the chairs pushed under my table. His hands were everywhere in my face – my cheeks, my mouth, my nose, my forehead, and even though I was smacking him away, it didn’t deter him.

“Stop manhandling me!” I spluttered through the cake-like dessert.

He stopped. But not because I asked, I don’t think. I think he ran out of brownie to smear with. “That isn’t manhandling you,” he informed me. “This is manhandling you.”

And before I had time to ask what he meant, he had me over his shoulder and was heading for the door. “Put me down,” I ordered, trying my best to keep all the blood from rushing to my head.

“I can’t do that,” he told me.

“And why the hell not?”

“You didn’t say please.”

“Please?”

“That was completely insincere and I don’t accept it.”

“What’s there to accept? I didn’t apologize.”

We were now standing at the elevator. “You’re right, you didn’t.”

“Why should I have to apologize? Your crotch got in my way,” I huffed.

The doors dinged open, and he went in. Once inside, he turned around so I was facing the back wall. I know he hit a button, because the doors slid closed right after. “Well, I’m not apologizing. I liked having you down there.”

Although my face was red from having all the blood pool in my skull, it also heated up like I’d been standing in front of a fire. Damn his sexually suggestive comments! And damn him for saying things that he knows will bother me!

I slapped his shoulder with the palm of my hand. “I swear to God I will bite you.”

“I thought you wanted me to keep my pants on?”

I screamed out in frustration. “You are intolerable! Put me down this instant!”

I started swinging my feet around madly, so he wrapped his arms around the back of my knees to hold them to his chest. The doors dinged open, and when I thought we were going to start moving again, Jonathan shushed me instead. “Quiet. Someone else is coming on.”

Someone else did indeed come on, as I looked to my side, it was an elderly old woman who I recognized as Ms. Peterson from three floors down. “Hi Ms. Peterson, how are you this fine evening? This is Jonathan, and as you can tell, he has no respect for women.”

She smiled kindly at me, and then at Jonathan. “Hi my dears,” she said, shaking Jonathan’s hand. The three of us fell silent as the elevator paused. To Ms. Peterson, we probably looked odd. I had brownie in my hair and all over my face, and Jonathan was shirtless and covered in flour. Ms. Peterson was never going to talk to me again.

I decided to make Jonathan crack first. After all, he had nothing to lose. I dug my fingers into his back and dragged my nails up, creating faint red lines. I cackled evilly in my head.

Lil’ Wayne’s voice rang out in my head: bitch I’m da bomb like tick, tick…

Just then Jonathan slapped my ass. I squawked, trying to get away, and ended up head butting the wall behind us. Alright, I thought, I’ll stop.

The doors dinged open, then, and Jonathan politely gestured Ms. Peterson to go ahead of us. She did, and I still felt awkward, so I shouted, “Have a nice evening, Ms. Peterson!”

Then we finally exited. “Where are you taking me?” I asked stupidly.

“Outside,” he answered simply, as if it were obvious.

“Of course,” I muttered, rolling my eyes, “how stupid of me not to know that.”

I shifted over his shoulder, and I swear I heard him chuckle. But more important, why was I not fighting him off when I clearly didn’t want to go with him? It’s simple: I happen to value my brain, and I didn’t want to be dropped on my head.

The wind was biting as we stepped outside. My eyes opened in panic as I saw the door close. “No!” I screeched. Then I slapped him in the back. “How the hell are we supposed to get back in now? Someone didn’t let me take my keys! And in case you didn’t notice, it is cold out here!”

I would have continued, had he not tossed me in the nearest snow bank.