I'll Be Your Girl

“Remy! Remy, hey!” Chad says breathily when he sees me in art class the next day. “I am so, so sorry. I had no idea Elise was using me and if I’d known it was to get at you I’d never--”

“Chad, shut up. It’s okay,” I mutter, glancing away from my painting to see his panic-stricken face. “Nobody’s blaming you.”

“I am,” he groans, flopping onto the stool beside me and slapping a hand to his forehead. “I can’t believe I was so stupid, thinking Elise was actually into me. Now you’ve got this awful reputation and jeez, I--”

“For the second time, Chad: I don’t blame you,” I tell him, more forcefully this time.

His expression becomes even more apologetic. “How’d you handle school yesterday?” he asks in a small voice. “I mean, I totally would’ve come to support you, but I was kind of sick. I think I drank way too much at that party.”

“School was- wait, you were drunk when I saw you?” He nods, and I raise my eyebrows. I totally didn’t pick up on that. I guess he’s just as weird intoxicated as he is sober. Figures. It would’ve been scary if he got weirder. “School was… school,” I continue slowly. “Elise was pretty smug.”

“Yeah, she would be,” Chad scowls. “But… does this mean you and Jonas are over?”

I recoil at this question and immediately avert my eyes to my painting. I haven’t seen or heard from Nick since yesterday morning and although I’d expected as much, I was hoping he’d surprise me and act a bit more lenient. I mean, this is Nick Jonas. Even if I was slutting around and sinking to new lows of self harm and depression, he’d be the first to intervene. But nothing? I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve really offended him.

“You can’t end something that never started,” I hear myself sigh, dipping my brush in the blue and tracing a skyline. At least I can say that for me and Nick; I can’t be upset about losing the boyfriend I never had to begin with.

-

I don’t care if Monday’s blue
Tuesday’s grey and Wednesday too
Thursday - I don’t care about you
It’s Friday, I’m in love.

The Cure plays faintly from my stereo as I park outside the café, and I lean into the back to grab my apron. As I sit upright again, a figure appears suddenly by my open window and I give a start.

“Calista! What--”

“Hi Rem-baby,” she says casually, but I can tell by her impatience that she’s on edge about something. Her fingers are tapping nervously against my window’s frame, and she’s got that tightness around her eyes that I’ve learnt to relate with her stress attacks. “It’s quiet this afternoon. You can go home. There’s no point in wasting your time.”

I cock an eyebrow, then send a pointed look around the crowded car lot. “Uh, and the truth would be…?” I question expectantly, and she frowns.

“Come on Remy, just take my advice. You’ve had a rough enough time already; you don’t need to be here right now,” she tells me, her eyes challenging me to disagree. Being the stubborn little girl that I am, I accept the challenge.

“Considering yesterday morning’s article, don’t you think I’d welcome the distraction of work?” I push my door open and she steps back, a pained expression on her face. Having realised that there’s no point in arguing with me, she folds her arms across her chest and walks close to my side all the way into the café, which turns out to be bustling with business. “You so need me,” I scoff as I tie my apron around my waist.

She merely shakes her head, a grim expression on her face. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

It’s then that I see him, and now I’m beginning to realise her reasons behind getting me to leave. The pit of my stomach burns as I walk over to the smirking man at - ironically - the dreaded table seven. “You’ve got a nerve, coming here,” I hiss, keeping in mind to lower my voice. I don’t want to bring any of the other customers into this.

Carl Trenton beams up at me. “I take it you’re familiar with my work?”

His work. Yeah, right. I grit my teeth to fight back a whole array of colourful curses, then finally settle on: “Child’s play. You find enjoyment in stealing the happiness of everyone around you. It’s sad, really.” So I’m trying to sound dignified, but my words don’t seem to be affecting him at all.

“It has its perks,” he shrugs, still unfazed. “Your mother, for one--”

“Don’t you dare talk about my mother!” I hiss, attracting the attention of the elderly couple at table six. I ignore their baffled looks as Carl shakes his head patronisingly.

“How’s the depression working out for you? Seeing a therapist yet?”

“You’ll be needing more than therapy when I’m--”

“Remy!”

Everything freezes, and I have a second to realise that my fists are clenched and my eyes are watering before there’s a strong hand on my shoulder, guiding me to turn around. “Nick?” I gasp, barely able to breathe at this point. Good God, he’s here. Right now. With me. And maybe it’s just the haziness of my vision, but he’s looking more beautiful than I’ve ever seen him, with his face all concerned and his curls falling messily into his eyes.

“Listen, he’s not worth--” he begins, but I’m moving in and squeezing him as tight as possible before he can even finish.

“Nick,” I sigh again, not caring about anything except this moment, just me and him. Hell, I’d tried to talk myself out of missing him, but what was the use? “I don’t care if you’re still angry with me, but I refuse to fight anymore. If you do, I’ll- I’ll never bring you sugar-free treats again,” I say pathetically, my face pressed into his neck.

I feel his chest expand as he sucks in a breath, then his arms are slipping around my waist, to hold me close. “And here I was, running to you for forgiveness,” he chuckles and my heart swells.

“Touching,” murmurs a sarcastic voice behind me. Oh, right. I forgot about Carl. And… the rest of the café, for that matter. A rare blush creeps its way onto my cheeks as I realise pretty much everyone is staring at us. Personally, I don’t think we’ve made such a big scene… but, oh yeah. This is Nick Jonas I’m standing next to. He’s going to get stared at regardless.

“Okay, everyone. They’ve made up,” Calista huffs, breaking the tension in the café. “Please go back to… whatever it is you were doing before.” The people reluctantly turn away again, muttering between themselves. I shoot an appreciative look to Calista and she winks in return.

“So we’re friends again?” I ask, looking hopefully back at Nick. “No more of this stupid bet - just back to good old Nick ‘n’ Remy?”

“What bet?” Carl cuts in, but we both ignore him. Nick’s expression is suddenly impossible to read, which is strange. He’s always been like an open book to me. He’s uncomfortable about something, I just can’t tell what.

Oh God. Oh holy hell. He didn’t come here to make things better. He wants my forgiveness so he can move on and never have me darken his door again! I’m an embarrassment. Our friendship’s a sham. I’m killing his reputation…

“Uh… I actually need to, um, talk to you about that,” he mutters, rubbing the side of his head and glancing around the café, the people, the tables - anywhere but me. Carl’s watching him eagerly, probably already writing the next article in his mind; Remy Gets Double-Dumped by Fro-Bro. Nick, also aware of Carl’s conniving expression, signals to the door. “Can we talk about this outside?”

“Yeah, okay.”

We stride quickly away from Carl’s disappointed expression, and I lead Nick around to the back of the café where the boss keeps his motorbike. “Thank you,” I sigh once we stop, and I look at Nick’s face to see that now confusion has been added to his discomfort.

“For what?”

“For not making me look like a fool in front of all those people. I mean, it’s hard enough losing your best friend without an audience there to see it,” I mutter, tensing my chest and preparing for the final, crushing blow. Instead, when I risk a glance at Nick’s face, it’s to find him bemused more than anything else.

“You thought I was going to kill our friendship?” he says, clearly fighting back a grin. I open my mouth, but then abruptly close it again when I realise I have nothing to say. He shakes his head with a small laugh. “That’s… really stupid. But I guess it makes what I’m about to say a little easier. Here.” He slides a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to me.

I stare curiously down at it, then back at Nick. What the hell is going on? His eyes widen slightly as he urges me to read it, and I can see he’s becoming more and more tense. His arms are folded across his chest in an attempt to stop fidgeting, but I can see his fingers tapping idly against his arm, giving him away. Figuring I should end his pain sooner rather than later, I unfold the paper and look down at it.

February 3rd - Glasgow, Scotland - SECC
February 6th - London, England - Wembley
February 16th - Paris, France - Bercy
February 20th - Merksem, Belgium - Sportpaleis Antwerpen
…

The list covers almost the whole page, and once I’ve scanned it roughly, I send a questioning look at Nick. “What is this?”

He bites his lip awkwardly. “Our next European tour… isn’t it obvious?”

I roll my eyes. “I knew that. Just, um. Why are you showing me? I - I lost the bet.”

And then he’s giving me this real intense look, like somehow he’s thinking I should already know the answer. I express a silent what? and he sighs, running his hand over his face. “Okay, I’m just going to come out and say this…” Like he should’ve done five minutes ago. He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth…

…then groans with anguish and turns away. “Hey!” I exclaim, grabbing his arm and pulling him back toward me. “You can’t cop out on me like tha--”

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

The fact that he’s suddenly kissing me explains a hell of a lot.

I swallow the rest of my sentence as his arms encircle my waist, drawing me closer. I’m certainly not one to protest. My hands make their way up his chest and over his shoulders, and I’m annoyed to find that he’s just tall enough that I have to stand on my toes to get really close to him. That’s going to prove to be- whoa! Okay, I guess him picking me up solves that problem. I giggle against his mouth as he twirls me around, then sets me back on the ground.

“You are so corny,” I sigh, giving him a light punch on the arm.

He merely pulls a face, before pecking my lips once more. “I can’t help it if I’m happy. But at least now you know why I was freaking out just then,” he says, sliding our palms together and interlinking our fingers. “So Remy, will you come on our European tour with us, even though you lost the bet? I’ve been organising that agenda for the past like, thirty-six hours because I don’t think I could stand going without you and - you know - I mean, I really, really like you.”

I smirk. “How much, exactly?”

“Remy…” he warns, but I lean close enough to let my breath ghost across his lips. He moves in for another kiss, but I pull away quickly. “Tease,” he grumbles.

“Just tell me how much.”

He grits his teeth, knowing he can’t win. “I freaking love you, okay?”

I grin. “Just what I wanted to hear.” And we’re kissing again. This time I’m way over the shock, and I can appreciate the softness of his lips; the pure art in which they move with mine.

“Does this mean you’re coming?” he mumbles against my mouth as we barely pull apart. I grin and detach myself from him in order to nod.

“You think I’d pass up all those pretty British boys?”

He rolls his eyes. “Not funny.”

“Who was joking?”

“Shut up, Remy.”