Masterpiece Theater

There was no heavy necking and handwork this time. Laurel kept her hand on my thigh as I drove. We kept the music low-some old-school Breaking Benjamin. I smoked lazily and she smoked frantically, finishing three cigarettes to my one.

I didn’t think she’d had a fresh breath of air the whole way to her apartment, in between smoking and giving me directions.

We parked and I grabbed her hand so she wouldn’t fidget. “It’ll be okay.” I assured her, even though I didn’t have a clue. What I did know was that both of us looked like a war zone. We each had hickeys in a few different places, not all of which could be covered. My back burned from the claw marks she left, and I could bet that bruises were already forming on her sun-kissed skin from where I dug my fingers in.

The small idea of her brother I had formed in my brain pointed to all signs that he would not be okay with these sights.

We just didn’t have a way to do anything about it.

Well, I didn’t. Laurel probably possessed a myriad of potions and lotions to cover up the problem.

“Well, he hasn’t called.” She muttered with a nervous chuckle. “That’s a good sign.”

I followed her lead in getting out of the car. She slid her arm around me cautiously and tucked herself against my side. As we walked, I put my arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head, matching her step for step up the iron stairs to the second floor.

“Jason?” She called tentatively as she unlocked and pushed the door open. Her body visibly relaxed as she opened it all the way and pulled her keys out, holding her arm out as a gesture for me to come in.

“Guess they’re still in the mountains.” She shut the door and hung up her bag and jacket. Two things she never seemed to be without despite what she was doing.

“You both live here?” I asked, stunned. I took in the bare walls with peeling paint, the box TV on an end table barely holding on, a few boxes sitting on either side, half of them still taped up. The couch was definitely a dumpster pick up, and the coffee table was chipped and battered to hell and back.

I reminded myself that they had just moved and that she only worked as a waitress, but it still came as a shock. Not because I had more money than I knew what to do with, but because I couldn’t understand how anyone could fit two grown people, all their stuff, and all their issues, in such a small space. I didn’t need to peek into the small enclave to know that there was only one bedroom and one bathroom.

She shrugged as she headed to the small kitchen with the small plastic table that wasn’t suited for anything except a game of Go Fish. Or Battleship.

“It’s not so bad. He’s gone during the day usually, and I work at night, so it works out.” She had her back to me as she started a pot of coffee but I didn’t need to look at her to hear what she didn’t say.

Made me wonder what Danny thought of the living arrangement.

And then I felt like an asshole for even thinking about the guy. Clearly, if he mattered, he would be here, and I wouldn’t.

But then I thought, he’s already been here, dumbass. He had her before you did.

The inner monologue wouldn’t stop.

I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her, sliding my hands under her shirt and forming a triangle with my index fingers and thumbs around her belly button, my fingertips barely slipping beneath the band of her jeans. I nuzzled her neck, kissing the crook of it, and rested my chin on her shoulder.

“You’re tense.” I pointed out.

She sighed and spun out of my embrace. Out of place or uncomfortable, I couldn’t tell, but she wanted her own bubble, so I gave it to her. I sat down at the table and lit a cigarette.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Mugs are in the cabinet on the right. Milk is in the fridge. Sugar is next to the coffee maker.”

I didn’t point out that she already had a shower, with me, because what happened this morning couldn’t be called a shower. I gave her a soft smile. “Okay.”

She smiled back before walking away. I couldn’t help it and watched her go, almost positive she sashayed her hips just because she knew I was watching.

The water got turned on just as the coffee finished brewing, so I stood and fixed myself a cup, only adding enough milk to coat the bottom of it. When I put the milk back, I noted the extreme lack of contents in the fridge and the various take out boxes and bags in the trash can next to it.

Newly caffeinated, I wandered back into the living room, trying to get a sense of who she was and what her interests were through what I could physically see.

A short bookshelf, with only three shelves, sat against the wall. The middle shelf bowed with the weight of a few hardbacks, all James Patterson and all priced with primary-colored dot stickers, two dollars or less. The top shelf held some beloved paperbacks, the spines worn and faded. I pulled one out to see what it was.

Looking for Alaska by John Green. I hadn’t heard of it, but then the only thing I’d read in a while was interviews and music charts, my nose buried in all the magazines the band had been featured in.

I pulled out another book, surprised I actually knew it. To Kill A Mockingbird. Vaguely, I remembered suffering through it as required reading in high school, but from the looks of the taped on front cover, she’d read it many times over.

On the bottom shelf, there weren't any books, but photo albums. I picked one out to look through it but didn’t get beyond opening the front cover before an irritated voice startled me.

“Who the fuck are you and what the hell are you doing?”

Slowly, I straightened and turned. “You must be Jason.” I greeted, with no enthusiasm, but walked over and held my hand out. “I’m Brian. I’m a friend of Laurel’s.”

Friend. Such a pathetic word, but I didn’t think boyfriend would sit too well with him, or Laurel for that matter.

“Well, you’re not Ali, and you’re not Danny, so you must be the bastard she’s been moping about for over a week. Which, again, begs the question, what the fuck are you doing here?”

I dropped my hand. Moping? She’d been moping, too?

My heart fluttered, just for a second.

“She invited me. To meet you, actually.”

“So where is she?”

He stepped closer and I got a whiff of pine and smoke, but not like cigarette smoke. More like from burning wood, from a fireplace or bonfire. I honestly hadn’t expected him to be sober, but he was, or seemed to be at least, although there was no sign of the boyfriend Laurel had mentioned.

And I wondered why I cared so much. About the boyfriend or the way he smelled.

“She’s in the shower.”

The look he gave me was not friendly.

“Aren’t you famous or somethin’?” He asked.

“Yeah. I’m the guitarist for Avenged Sevenfold.” I didn’t see a reason to lie to him, especially now that Laurel knew, and she wasn’t that upset about it, or didn’t seem to be.

“That explains it.” He mumbled.

“What?”

“Laurel always goes for the guitarists. Fast fingers.” He wagged his eyebrows, all the while giving me a good look over.

It didn’t exactly make me uncomfortable, but I was apprehensive. Laurel had acted like it would be such a huge deal for him to find out we were together. So far, he seemed completely chill.

“You fuck her yet?”

“Excuse me?”

He stopped his observations and sat down on the couch, pulling a pipe out of his pocket, along with a bag of weed. Something in me shivered at the sudden lack of closeness. Goosebumps rose on my arms.

“Have you slept with her yet?”

“I don’t see how-”

“Let my tell you something, Gates,” he started, not giving me a chance to speak. He packed down the weed in his bowl with his lighter.

“If you hurt her, I will come find you. I will find you and I will hurt you.”

I swallowed, not because I was scared-I could easily take him in a fight-but because the calmness in which he delivered the cliche threat caused my dick to twitch behind my zipper.

“I’m not gonna let that happen.” I promised.

He smirked, a feral gleam in his eye. “We’ll see.”

I needed to do something, anything to get my mind off what was going on. I took a sip of my coffee and choked. It had gone cold. I used the distraction to step away from him and go back into the kitchen to reheat it.

Mercifully, Laurel came out of the bathroom showered and dressed, marks covered. She’d done it so fast, I wondered if she’d had much practice in covering up love bites.

Her attention, however, wasn’t on me, but her brother. She squealed with delight and bounded over to him, practically climbing into his lap as she hugged him.

“How was it? Tell me everything!”

I left them to their quasi peace, staying in the kitchen, burning my throat with now too-hot coffee, trying to shake the feeling that was crawling all over me.

The last time I’d had this feeling, it had been a very drunk, drugged out night and it was never mentioned again.