Like Fire & Gasoline

"So, tell me again why I'm being dragged to this movie?" James asked, tearing his eyes away from the road and glancing at Bridgette from behind his sunglasses.

She rolled her eyes at him from the passenger's seat, although the action was hidden by her shiny aviators. The wind from the open window tousled her wild blond curls, despite her best efforts to push them from her face.

"Don't go all macho on me Maslow. I'm not dragging you to this. We both know that deep, deep down you're just dying to see this chick flick with me," she teased, and it was his turn to roll his eyes.

"Oh, you're right. It's my heart's desire to watch you drool over some photo-shopped guy with abs of steel while I fall asleep to the lame, sappy plot," James answered in the same sarcastic tone.

"I knew it," Bridgette laughed, and just the sound of it made James want to do the same, even at his own expense.

"You must really be something if you convinced me to do this. I mean, James Maslow just doesn't get caught dead at chick flicks."

Bridgette snorted loudly, and James glared. "Well, you must be a zombie then. Or a vampire. 'Cause I do believe that's the theater right there James Maslow, and you agreed to see the movie with me."

"I assure you none of my body parts fall off, I don't crave human flesh, and I most definitely do not sparkle," James clarified, crinkling his nose at the last word with distaste. Bridgette giggled wordlessly as James pulled into a parking space.

"Oh good, you're alive, I'm not a necrophiliac, everyone's happy. Now c'mon babe, let's go see the movie." She unbuckled her seat belt and shot out of the car before James even had a chance to protest or respond.

Naturally James complied, but not without a few goodhearted complaints. Bridgette mainly ignored them, holding tight to his hand as she wove through the throngs of people. They were just inside the glass doors and three away from the ticket counter when James saw someone that made his spine stiffen.

He prayed she didn't see him or wouldn't recognize him, but there was no such luck. A head of teased blond hair made its way toward them, the smirk she wore changing into a maniacal smile on her made-up face once she saw an unsuspecting Bridgette.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my bar buddy," Vanessa chuckled, although to James, it sounded more like a witch's cackle. "And this must be the girlfriend. Or at least I hope."

Bridgette looked between them, her eyebrows furrowing together slightly. "Hi, I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. I'm Bridgette, his girlfriend."

"Oh, we definitely haven't met. But I know your boyfriend very well. I'm Vanessa."

The concern on Bridgette's face deepened, and James could feel his fists balling up in anger. Who the hell did she think she was, doing this? Sometimes, he really hated people. He gritted his teeth, silently willing her to leave. Of course, she didn't.

"James, what's going on?" Bridgette asked softly, her gaze flickering towards Vanessa and back.

"Nothing," James muttered.

"Nothing? Oh it's good to know our little moment meant that little to you," Vanessa pretended to sound hurt. It almost could've worked, if she hadn't been grinning. Even her eyes seemed to be sparkling.

"James," Bridgette's voice wavered as her eyes widened at him.

"We kissed. Well, almost kissed, until he remembered little old you," Vanessa informed her. Bridgette didn't listen to another word.

"James," she repeated.

James looked at the ground, his hair hanging in front of his downcast eyes. He made no attempt to say or do anything about the accusations. Bridgette had heard enough.

"Well, this whole thing has been lovely, and it was very nice meeting you, but it seems you two have some catching up to do, maybe there's another little moment for you two to have," Bridgette muttered before turning on her heel and escaping from the suddenly crowded room.

The sense of claustrophobia combined with the ringing in her head wasn't doing her any good. She pushed past people until she could feel the cool breeze against her warm, red face. And then, she kept going.

She wasn't even sure where she was going to go. She just knew she needed to get the hell out of there. Away from Vanessa. Away from James. Just away would work for her.

Her plan was flawed, though. It was James's car, and he had the keys. It was much too far to walk back to her house. She was leaning against the brick wall of the theater almost twenty feet away from the doors when she heard footsteps pounding against the pavement. She didn't have to look up to know who it was.

"You know, I really don't feel like talking to you right now. Can you blame me?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I know everything she said sounded really bad, and I didn't do anything to help the situation. But you gotta let me explain," James pleaded. Bridgette glanced up, her eyes full of hurt.

"So explain, since your mouth obviously wasn't doing anything to help you back there. Let's hear it," Bridgette mumbled coolly.

"It was after one of our fights. I was at the bar with the guys. I had to much to drink, and I was mad, and then Vanessa was just there. She was just like all the girls I was used to, and I wasn't thinking straight. But I didn't kiss her. I stopped before it got that far."

"What a relief to know you just almost kissed another girl. Is it always gonna be like that when we fight? You go almost hook up with some random girl from some random bar?"

"That's not fair."

"You know what's not fair? The fact that I don't know if we can ever go somewhere without seeing a girl you’ve 'had a moment' with.”

"C'mon don't-"

“I don't think I can keep doing this, James. Look at us.”

Tears were starting to well in Bridgette's eyes as she looked directly at him. Her nose was red with emotion, and he could feel his own cheeks burning. They both fell quiet as the weight of the words hit them. James was the first to break the silence, his voice hoarse and strained.

“Bridge, I care about you!” She scoffed, running a hand through her hair.

“Do you really? I mean, people care about their parents and friends and dogs. Yeah, you care about me. But do you want to be with me? Do you love me, or even just think that you could?”

James fell mute, struggling to find words. None came out. Bridgette laughed bitterly, swiping her index finger under her eye, smudging her mascara onto the delicate pale skin.

"I think you just answered."

"I'm sorry," James croaked, reaching for her. She sidestepped him, walking right past.

"This is it, James. We gave it a shot, but it didn't work; we're just too different. You don't really want a committed relationship anyways."

James stood dumbfounded and wordless. Bridgette was a good five feet away before she stopped, looking back at him with her tear-streaked face. He wanted so bad to say something, anything, but he couldn't. Instead, he listened.

“On our first date, you asked me why I never get too close, and I said I didn’t know. Well I do now. It’s because there are people like you who just screw me over.”

"Bridgette!" he called after her, but it was too late.

She turned in a graceful circle and was gone, while James was still stuck to the cement, his tongue heavy with unsaid words and his eyes full of biting tears for the girl he watched walk away.