inspiration

There wasn’t much else more embarrassing than watching Sex and the City with a bunch of hormonal teenage boys. I never quite understood why they were so into porn and nudity, but, being shy self-conscious me, I didn’t ask for a more elaborate explanation. They had some mystical brain-washing way to trick me into watching it with them, too, which made it all the worse.

I always questioned my brother’s maturity. Although Logan was nearly twenty-one years old, he always seemed like the one getting into trouble and stirring up drama. He knew all of my weaknesses and worked them to his advantage. He wanted to be a lawyer, as it was in his nature to be argumentative, so he could, strictly speaking, convince me to do just about anything.

And then there was Brendan, my boyfriend as of eight months ago. Whenever I was around him, my sense sort of sunk to my toes, which left me at his disposal. I got those cliché electrical shocks when he touched me that turned into somewhat of an addiction. He had the same effect on me as marijuana would have on a pothead. He had an immense amount of respect for me, of that I was sure, but it’s hard to tear a guy away from a sexy video cassette in the VHS. I went along with it, despite my obvious discomfort.

Lastly, there was Tristan, who kind of just went along with it because we were friends and I felt awkward without someone close to sympathize with. Unlike my brother and boyfriend, he didn’t get boners at the slightest of provocations, which I was boundlessly grateful for. Out of the three of them, my parents definitely placed the most amount of trust in him.

So there we were, watching the screen with a mixture of pleasure, discomfort, and boredom.

“Popcorn anyone?” I asked, trying to un-wedge myself from between Logan and Brendan. That was incontrovertibly the worst seat in the house, as it was between the two horniest guys I know. Logan was gripping the couch cushions so hard that the veins in his hands were bulging and I was certain there were going to be claw marks in the seat where his nail cut the fabric.

There was a mutual murmur of agreement, and I quickly disentangled myself and disappeared into the kitchen. The digital clock on the microwave said it was 10:27 at night. I yawned, rubbing my cold arms. It was noticeably cooler in the kitchen where there weren’t two guys practically sitting on your lap. I located a bag of Logan’s disgustingly buttery popcorn and stuck it in the microwave, jamming the ‘popcorn’ button and knowing full well that the chances of it burning were exceedingly greater than if I had taken the time to add two and a half minutes. Tiredly, I scooted up on the countertop and kicked my legs impatiently while I waited for the popcorn to pop. I let my eyelids flutter closed for a second or two, reluctant to open them again.

“You coming, babe?” Brendan’s voice filled my ears, and I started, surprised by the closeness of his voice. My eyes bolted open, my vision a little fuzzy at first until I could see him standing only inches away. I smiled, trying to contain another yawn.

“Sorry,” I murmured, glancing at the microwave. It was empty which makes me wonder if I had fallen asleep for a moment there. “What –?”

“You look tired,” he said, entwining his fingers in mine. I shrugged.

“Maybe just a little,” I replied, batting my eyelashes. It must have looked a little spastic because I was only slightly aware of my consciousness.

“Get some sleep,” he said, pressing his lips to my forehead. I sighed, letting him wrap his arms around my waist and lift me off the counter. Once I’m on my feet, I don’t feel like moving, so I press my cheek to his chest and close my eyes. I can hear his heart beating soundly from beneath his thin black t-shirt.

“Carry me?” I asked, winding my arms around his neck and pouting. He rolled his eyes, and then scooped me up like a man carrying his bride over the threshold. I shut my eyes again and let my breathing relax as he carried me out of the kitchen and up the stairs to my bedroom. I didn’t really notice him putting me down on my bed and draping a thick purple quilt over me. He sat on the edge of my bed and rubbed my arm.

“Sleep tight, Noelle,” he said, leaning over to give me a tender kiss. His lips lingered on mine for only a second before he pulled away, tucking a lose strand of hair behind my ear. This was when I liked him the most. When he didn’t feel that absurd sexual anxiety and only the warm love that young couples had in the movies.

“Night, Brendan,” I whispered, as he quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.