Like Fire & Gasoline

“Hey pretty lady. Haven’t seen you around here lately,” Olivia teased, resting her elbows on the checkout desk. Bridgette laughed, her fingertips brushing against some books on the nearest shelf.

“I’ve been busy. I took your advice and decided to live a little,” she mocked, rushing over to embrace her best friend.

“Well I’m glad. I approve of this boy, by the way. He’s smokin’ hot,” Olivia joked.

Bridgette smacked her arm playfully, a smile engulfing her face. Olivia feigned hurt, but couldn’t conceal the grin tugging at her own lips.

“So, what happened? I thought you were completely against the idea of dating someone so… How did you put it? Someone who ‘loves himself more than anything else in the world.’ I believe those were your exact words.”

Bridgette blushed, and Olivia snickered, flipping her raven hair over her shoulder. Bridgette drummed her fingers against her lips, trying to find the words to explain it.

“I…I was wrong,” Bridgette murmured, and Olivia’s hand flew over her heart, a loud gasp escaping her lips.

An elderly woman a few feet away glowered at her, and she apologized sheepishly. Bridgette’s face turned more red as she held back giggles.

“No way! The great, perfect, brilliant Bridgette Thomas was wrong?” she asked dramatically, her eyes wide. Bridgette smacked her playfully, rolling her eyes.

“I may have judged him to quickly. Once you get past all of that, he’s a real person,” she explained, leaning against the counter.

“Yeah,” Olivia snickered. “A really hot person.”

“Liv, I’m being serious,” Bridgette whined, biting down on her lip. Olivia chuckled, giving a warm, sincere smile.

“I know, Bee. But my way’s more fun.”

Olivia winked, disappearing as she picked a box up from under the counter. Bridgette scuffed her toes against the beige carpeting, waiting for Olivia to resurface.

The box landed with a thud on the counter, and a few people around scowled. Olivia ignored them, breaking the tape sealing off the top of the cardboard box.

“What are you doing?” Bridgette asked curiously, raising an eyebrow.

Olivia froze, the box-cutter dangling haphazardly in her pale hand. Bridgette winced, carefully pulling Olivia’s wrist down to the wooden desk, along with the gleaming blade.

“I have to restock with this month’s magazines. They just arrived today,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, a look of confusion plastered all over her face.

“Okay. Just be careful with that,” Bridgette nodded toward the box-cutter. “We don’t want a repeat of senior year.”

Olivia shot her a look that could’ve killed. “Hey now, be fair. That wasn’t my fault.”

“Um, if I remember correctly, you were cutting toward yourself, after I told you not to. So, whose fault was it again?”

“It was obviously the box. Or maybe the knife or my wacky hand spasm. But not me,” she protested. Bridgette rolled her eyes, snatched the cutter, and opened the box herself.

“Yeah, okay. You ended up in the hospital for like, a week,” Bridgette reminded her, pushing the cardboard box across the counter top and back to Olivia, who shrugged.

“I still have the scar, too.”

“That’s just fabulous, Liv. You would think it would remind you never to go near those things again.”

“Hey, Olivia Annabelle Swenson fears nothing,” she retorted, placing her hands on her hips and puffing out her chest.

Bridgette cracked a smile, running her hand over her face. She shook her head, trying not to encourage it, but couldn’t help herself.

“Olivia, you’re just…ugh!” she laughed, and Olivia raised her scrawny shoulders before dropping them again.

“What can I say? It’s what I do.”

“It’s a wonder you survived high school,” Bridgette teased, and Olivia hit her playfully across the arm.

Bridgette’s mind wandered as Olivia struggled to unfold the box beside her. When the cardboard finally gave and flapped open, all the air gushed from Olivia’s lungs.

“Oh my god,” she mumbled softly.

Bridgette’s attention shot up as she went on her tiptoes, trying to see what was going on. Olivia snapped the box shut again, her eyes widened noticeably.

“Olivia,” Bridgette warned, her heart thudding loudly in her chest. Olivia shook her head, still looking petrified.

“Bee, you don’t wanna do that,” Olivia warned as Bridgette eyed the brown cardboard suspiciously.

“Then tell me what the hell’s going on,” she demanded, her voice rising a few octaves.

Olivia took a deep breath, her long fingers trembling as they carefully grasped the flaps. Bridgette watched, feeling as if she was going to hurl. Everything seemed to go slower when you were terrified.

“I’m sure it’s just a bunch of media crap, and total tabloid lies, but…” she trailed off, handing a glossy magazine to Bridgette.

Bridgette inhaled sharply, her eyes landing on the gleaming, airbrushed-to-perfection cover. One of the main headlines held a familiar name, complete with an incriminating picture.
She dropped the magazine, spinning on the heel of her boot toward the glass double-doors. Olivia watched helplessly, calling after her.

“Bee! Bridgette, wait,” she stage-whispered, taking a quick glance back at some people watching her warily. The library really wasn’t a place for these types of conversations.

“What?” Bridgette snapped, not slowing her pace.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go have an open and honest discussion with my boyfriend.”

“Bridge, it’s probably just crap.”

“Well, then the conversation shouldn’t take very long. I’ll see you later, Liv.”

Olivia sighed, as the doors slammed shut, echoing throughout the old building. Multiple college students were shooting daggers at her, and she shrunk behind the counter.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, reaching to restock the magazine rack.



Bridgette raised her fist to knock against the door, but before she got the chance, it swung open. She blinked a few times, losing a bit of composure at the shock. James stood before her, a baffled expression on his face. Slowly, it transformed into an easy smile.

“Hey, I was just headed to the studio,” he said apologetically.
She shook her head, her lips in a frown. James’ smile slowly faded away as he caught on to her mood.

“This won’t take long,” she replied, wrapping her arms around herself.

“What’s going on, Bridge?” he asked, suddenly forgetting everything about recording. Bridgette looked away, unable to meet his hazel eyes.

“I was just with Liv at the library, and well, the new magazines for the month came in, and the cover story said something about you and other girls, and there was a picture of you with one and—“ Bridgette paused her rambling, sucking in a breath.

James was watching her carefully, his eyes unreadable. She could feel her tear ducts tingling anxiously. She hated that about herself; whenever she got worked up or angry, she had a tendency of crying. At the moment, it wasn’t helping. At all.

“Hey, slow down,” James said softly, placing his hands on her shoulders. She nodded, breathing in through her nose.

“Sorry. I just have to know it’s not true. It’s just rumors,” she mumbled slowly, looking at her feet.

“Bridgette, I told you, you’re the only one I’m with,” he said calmly.

“Okay. What about the picture?” she asked quietly.

“I don’t know, it could have been anyone. You sure it wasn’t you?”

“Of course it wasn’t me. I think I know what I look like,” she grumbled, her hands folding into fists at her side.

“Well, what did she look like?” James asked, scratching the back of his head.

“James!”

James chuckled a bit. “Sorry. I was just trying to figure it out.”

“Do you really hang out with that many girls on a regular basis that you can’t remember who the hell you were with?” she asked, exasperated.

“Well, it’s not just that. It could be a picture from a few months ago, or farther back,” he said defensively.

“Well it wasn’t. You were wearing the shirt you bought last month when you took me to the boardwalk,” she retorted.

James fell silent in thought, and Bridgette could feel her impatience rising.

“It was probably just someone from work. Bridge, you’re the only one I’m with,” he repeated, a bit of annoyance seeping through.

“It’s not that I have a problem with you having friends that are girls, honest. I know I said I wouldn’t blame you for your past, but I need to know what I should expect from the media stories. How many other girls were there?”

James pursed his lips; his gaze hardening a bit on Bridgette’s flushed features.

“This is holding the past against me!” James said angrily, his voice rising a bit.
Bridgette didn’t flinch, instead, her eyes turned to ice and her nostrils flared a bit. Their eyes couldn’t seem to look away from each other.

“No, it’s not,” she argued, tugging at her hair a bit in frustration. “I just need to know that I won’t open a magazine or go online and find pictures of you with a new girl every single week, even if they are just old girlfriends, and the pictures are from months ago!”

“I don’t know what to tell you!” James shouted, throwing his arms up.

“What do you even mean?” Bridgette snapped back.

“I mean, there were a lot of them! I don’t know how many pictures there are, or how many girls I went on dates with! You knew this when you agreed to be my girlfriend!” he fumed.

She scoffed, her mouth forming a tight line. “So, you’re just gonna turn the blame around on me?”

“I’m just saying, you didn’t have to say yes! You didn’t have to get tangled in my life!”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” she said, her voice dangerously low. “And I don’t have to stand here and listen to this. God, I can’t even look at you right now!”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t!”

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes full of hurt. James could see the tears welling in her cold blue eyes, but his body was too full of frustration to do a thing about it. She nodded, her lips curling into a snarl.

“I don’t intend on it.”

She stormed past him and back toward the elevator. James watched her, an appalled expression on his face. She never even looked back as the gleaming silver doors closed behind her.

James kicked the door frame before stomping to the stairs, determined to forget the fight before the night was over.