Distance
Cheaters.
"But I haven't seen you outside of school in weeks, Danica. You definately haven't been with Tre that entire time."
"Billie, stop making this difficult."
"How the fuck am I making this difficult? I want to see you tonight, babe. You haven't been over in so long."
I heard her exasperated sigh over the phone.
"I'll try to come over. But if it's too late-"
I was not even about to let her finish that thought. I cut her off before she had a chance to parcel out another lame excuse.
"Danica, we both know what an insomniac I am. Come over whenever you're done with Tre."
She sighed again and gave in.
"Alright. I'll be home around eleven thirty or so. You can sneak in around midnight."
I hung up the phone without saying goodbye, and switched on my stereo. The opening track of Pink Floyd's 'Dark Side of the Moon' came floating quietly out of my speakers, and I shut it off impatiently.
One of Danica's CD's, I thought angrily, and took it out in favor of the grinding guitar riffs of Nirvana.
Danica and I had been carrying on for almost a month, and goddamn it, the whole business was complicated as fuck.
On the one hand, I was just the 'other man'. The good time. The quick fuck. But it was a role I had no interest in playing, and Danica knew it.
Yet, she insisted on forcing me into it. She was trying her goddamn best to keep Tre as the 'boyfriend', and me as the 'benefits'. It wasn't working.
Sometimes, when she wasn't paying attention, we slipped into boyfriend-girlfriend behavior, a certain tenderness in her actions that she should have been saving for Tre. Her body language spoke of her love for me, yet the words that spilled from her mouth provided ample contradiction.
And wanting her was putting a strain on my relationship with Tre.
I picked fights with him over little things, his rhythms, his vocals, even his hair sometimes. Our band practices usually ended with me storming out of the room in fury, unable to put into words the actual reason for my rage.
Mike knew something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. I no longer rode in his car, or spent much time with him outside of school or band practices. We rarely talked.
I spent my time sneaking around with Danica, stealing kisses, making love to her anywhere we could.
But the second the sex was over, the arguments resumed.
I loved her so goddamn much. I wish I'd realized that I couldn't deal with not having her. I wish I'd realized that I would never be happy as long as Tre was still the one that she went home with every night, instead of me.
* * *
Danica lay curled on my chest, her hair in disarray. God, why was this the only time I was ever happy?
She traced patterns into the pale skin of my chest with the callused fingers of her left hands. Goosebumps erupted on my skin, but I said nothing. I was savoring this moment, when I could pretend that she was mine.
"You seem so far away." She whispered. "What's wrong?"
God, that statement. She never should have asked. Something abuot it ignited a flame of pure, unduluted rage in my gut. I was literally shaking.
I nearly smacked her. Instead, I contented myself with shoving her off of me and swinging my legs over the side of her bed. I yanked on my pants and stood up. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely buckle my belt.
Danica was shocked.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" She asked.
"What the hell is wrong with me?!" I snapped. "What the hell do you think is wrong with me?!"
"Well, I don't know. That's why I'm asking you." She replied cooly.
God. I hated her. I hated her so much right then. And I didn't know what to do, because I couldn't live with myself if I'd hit her.
So I put my fist through her wall.
* * *
"Billie! What the fuck!" Her voice was a terrified whisper as I pulled my fist out of the wall. A trickle of blood ran down my knuckles. It hurt like a bitch, but it distracted me from her.
She tried to grab my fist, tried to soothe away my pain, but I jerked away.
"No, you just shut up for once, Danica, and stop being a fucking self-centered bitch!" I screamed.
Later, I realized it was a bloody miracle her parents weren't home that night.
"Billie, would you just fucking explain to me why you're so pissed off?" She demanded, her face flushed.
"Because you're fucking using me, Danica! You're using me as your fucking security blanket!"
"I-"
I didn't want to hear her excuses. I couldn't take it, so I just talked over her as if she wasn't even speaking.
"Everytime you and Tre have a fight, you call me up and then you fuck me in the backseat of your mom's car. Everytime Tre has to work and you're horny, you call me up. I'm your fucking second choice, and it's fucking ridiculous. I can't stand it anymore, Danica, being the boy you're too ashamed to take out in public. I'm not gonna be a cheap fuck for you anymore."
For a moment, she was silent. Then she smacked me hard across the face.
"What the fuck did you think you were doing in December, then, huh, Billie?"
I took a deep breath.
"You and I both know that's a completely different issue. How do you know we wouldn't have had a relationship after that?"
"Because when you want a relationship with someone, you don't try to fuck them inside a vacant house, or in the boys' Locker Room at school."
I wanted to rip my hair out.
"Maybe if you had the balls to stick around instead of running away, things would have been different." I snapped.
She smacked me again, which really did nothing to improve my mood.
"DON'T FUCKING HIT ME!" I bellowed, with all the pent-up rage I'd carried around over the past few weeks. All my anger at being forced to sneak around, about being treated like a dirty little secret that no one could now about.
I slapped her hard across the face and her head jerked around. She was shocked, and I have to admit, so was I.
"GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!" She screamed at me, tears of rage rolling down her cheeks.
I didn't even care enough to scream something back at her. All the rage had drained out of me, and I felt strangely empty. I grabbed my shirt off the dresser, and stalked out the door.
***
I was shaking.
A tiny voice in the back of my head informed me that I shouldn't be driving. It told me to call Mike, Tre, anybody else.
I completely ignored it.
***
Police Report, May, 8th, 2006.
Male, seventeen years old. Found at scene of car crash on 4th and Parkway. No evidence of substance abuse. Victim is in critical condition, no sign of passengers. Taken to hospital, where he has yet to regain conciousness. No follow-up necessary.
"Billie, stop making this difficult."
"How the fuck am I making this difficult? I want to see you tonight, babe. You haven't been over in so long."
I heard her exasperated sigh over the phone.
"I'll try to come over. But if it's too late-"
I was not even about to let her finish that thought. I cut her off before she had a chance to parcel out another lame excuse.
"Danica, we both know what an insomniac I am. Come over whenever you're done with Tre."
She sighed again and gave in.
"Alright. I'll be home around eleven thirty or so. You can sneak in around midnight."
I hung up the phone without saying goodbye, and switched on my stereo. The opening track of Pink Floyd's 'Dark Side of the Moon' came floating quietly out of my speakers, and I shut it off impatiently.
One of Danica's CD's, I thought angrily, and took it out in favor of the grinding guitar riffs of Nirvana.
Danica and I had been carrying on for almost a month, and goddamn it, the whole business was complicated as fuck.
On the one hand, I was just the 'other man'. The good time. The quick fuck. But it was a role I had no interest in playing, and Danica knew it.
Yet, she insisted on forcing me into it. She was trying her goddamn best to keep Tre as the 'boyfriend', and me as the 'benefits'. It wasn't working.
Sometimes, when she wasn't paying attention, we slipped into boyfriend-girlfriend behavior, a certain tenderness in her actions that she should have been saving for Tre. Her body language spoke of her love for me, yet the words that spilled from her mouth provided ample contradiction.
And wanting her was putting a strain on my relationship with Tre.
I picked fights with him over little things, his rhythms, his vocals, even his hair sometimes. Our band practices usually ended with me storming out of the room in fury, unable to put into words the actual reason for my rage.
Mike knew something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out what. I no longer rode in his car, or spent much time with him outside of school or band practices. We rarely talked.
I spent my time sneaking around with Danica, stealing kisses, making love to her anywhere we could.
But the second the sex was over, the arguments resumed.
I loved her so goddamn much. I wish I'd realized that I couldn't deal with not having her. I wish I'd realized that I would never be happy as long as Tre was still the one that she went home with every night, instead of me.
* * *
Danica lay curled on my chest, her hair in disarray. God, why was this the only time I was ever happy?
She traced patterns into the pale skin of my chest with the callused fingers of her left hands. Goosebumps erupted on my skin, but I said nothing. I was savoring this moment, when I could pretend that she was mine.
"You seem so far away." She whispered. "What's wrong?"
God, that statement. She never should have asked. Something abuot it ignited a flame of pure, unduluted rage in my gut. I was literally shaking.
I nearly smacked her. Instead, I contented myself with shoving her off of me and swinging my legs over the side of her bed. I yanked on my pants and stood up. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely buckle my belt.
Danica was shocked.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" She asked.
"What the hell is wrong with me?!" I snapped. "What the hell do you think is wrong with me?!"
"Well, I don't know. That's why I'm asking you." She replied cooly.
God. I hated her. I hated her so much right then. And I didn't know what to do, because I couldn't live with myself if I'd hit her.
So I put my fist through her wall.
* * *
"Billie! What the fuck!" Her voice was a terrified whisper as I pulled my fist out of the wall. A trickle of blood ran down my knuckles. It hurt like a bitch, but it distracted me from her.
She tried to grab my fist, tried to soothe away my pain, but I jerked away.
"No, you just shut up for once, Danica, and stop being a fucking self-centered bitch!" I screamed.
Later, I realized it was a bloody miracle her parents weren't home that night.
"Billie, would you just fucking explain to me why you're so pissed off?" She demanded, her face flushed.
"Because you're fucking using me, Danica! You're using me as your fucking security blanket!"
"I-"
I didn't want to hear her excuses. I couldn't take it, so I just talked over her as if she wasn't even speaking.
"Everytime you and Tre have a fight, you call me up and then you fuck me in the backseat of your mom's car. Everytime Tre has to work and you're horny, you call me up. I'm your fucking second choice, and it's fucking ridiculous. I can't stand it anymore, Danica, being the boy you're too ashamed to take out in public. I'm not gonna be a cheap fuck for you anymore."
For a moment, she was silent. Then she smacked me hard across the face.
"What the fuck did you think you were doing in December, then, huh, Billie?"
I took a deep breath.
"You and I both know that's a completely different issue. How do you know we wouldn't have had a relationship after that?"
"Because when you want a relationship with someone, you don't try to fuck them inside a vacant house, or in the boys' Locker Room at school."
I wanted to rip my hair out.
"Maybe if you had the balls to stick around instead of running away, things would have been different." I snapped.
She smacked me again, which really did nothing to improve my mood.
"DON'T FUCKING HIT ME!" I bellowed, with all the pent-up rage I'd carried around over the past few weeks. All my anger at being forced to sneak around, about being treated like a dirty little secret that no one could now about.
I slapped her hard across the face and her head jerked around. She was shocked, and I have to admit, so was I.
"GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!" She screamed at me, tears of rage rolling down her cheeks.
I didn't even care enough to scream something back at her. All the rage had drained out of me, and I felt strangely empty. I grabbed my shirt off the dresser, and stalked out the door.
***
I was shaking.
A tiny voice in the back of my head informed me that I shouldn't be driving. It told me to call Mike, Tre, anybody else.
I completely ignored it.
***
Police Report, May, 8th, 2006.
Male, seventeen years old. Found at scene of car crash on 4th and Parkway. No evidence of substance abuse. Victim is in critical condition, no sign of passengers. Taken to hospital, where he has yet to regain conciousness. No follow-up necessary.