Chapter Fifteen
My heartfelt thanks to Jenn, because if it wasn't for her, I don't think this chapter ever would have made it off the ground. You helped me when I doubted myself, and you answered all of my confusing questions with an honesty that surprised me. Thank you, so much. I owe you big time.
He had some sort of effect on her.
She smiled ruefully when that thought ran through her head as she leaned her hands n the edge of the downstairs bathroom sink, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Because that very thought was true. Chris did have some sort of effect on her, and she was beginning to like it. Who wouldn't like attention, though, she wondered. She had always shunned attention, shunned any kind of attention, really, but this was different. She practically craved this attention.
Sighing to herself, she made a face in the mirror. She wasn't vain, in fact, the furthest thing from it. Never before did she care what she looked like. Throw on a pair of jeans and a sweater, pull a brush through her brown hair, and she was fine. But for the first time in a long time, she was concerned what she looked like. Was that just a result of his attention, she wondered, as she took in the tear marked face in front of her, the messy hair, and flushed cheeks. Was it just because of him that she was worried if her sweater matched her pants, if her hair was shiny and straight, as if she had just brushed it.
She knew that she could never look like the women that Chris was used to. If she compared herself to the women that he associated with, she would end up at the very bottom of the list for attractiveness. He was surrounded by people that strived their best to look good for him, whether they were teenagers or occasional dates. Hell, she could never even touch Brooklyn's beauty, and that was his best friend. She could never compare her light brown eyes to the country singers emerald green that sometimes turned to the color of jade. Her plain brown hair was nothing like Brooklyn's mixture of brown and blonde that made a honey hue. She didn't have the tanned skin, or the brilliant smile. The height or the impossibly tiny waist. And she sure as hell couldn't compare their attitudes, because she would be on the bottom yet again.
No, Alex was plain, in her opinion, which didn't explain WHY Chris was giving his attention to her. She didn't have the expensive wardrobe, or the fancy perfume, or the strong attitude that his best friend had. Alex was a broken down woman, hiding behind years of insecurity and insults, hiding behind a sharp tongue and quick anger, because that was all she knew. She made herself as invisible as possible, because her mother had instilled that in her, when all she really craved was the attention, the lights, the fame...everything associated with being famous.
She shook her head and turned on the faucet, dipping her hands underneath only to bring them back up and scrub at her pale skin, trying to make the marks fade into nothingness. Her fingers worked fast and furious as she closed her eyes, refusing to look at herself.
What was so special about her? She had a talent with words, quick fingers to type them out...and that was about it. So why was he hanging around, why was he staying and trying to get through to her. It didn't make sense. None of it did, she thought as she reached blindly for a hand towel, rubbing it over her face gently before turning off the water. Her eyes opened slowly, wishing that the reflection in the mirror would change and there would be something about her, anything, that would deserve the attention that she deserved. But nothing changed. Same brown eyes, same brown hair, same everything.
Her eyes rolled as she threw the towel down on the counter in disgust before turning away and leaning on the counter, crossing her arms as she bent her head forward. Whatever happened to that old proverb or whatever it was, about beauty being in the inside, she asked herself. Even if it was true, what kind of beauty did she have? Almost everyone told her that she had a black heart, or worse than anything, no heart at all. She was a ruthless bitch, they would say. Someone that you didn't want to know. And they were probably right. She didn't try to make friends, didn't try to get anyone's attention. She just went through life, just doing the motions of living, and it left her...where? In an unfamiliar state, in an unfamiliar house, with a world famous pop singer in her living room, waiting for her. It was like something out of a movie. Something that wasn't real, dreamed up by a romance obsessed writer.
She didn't want to go out there, she didn't want to face him, but she knew that she had to. She knew that she couldn't hide herself in the bathroom the entire time. She was just buying time so that she wouldn't have to see him. Oh, she knew it was more true than anything, but eventually, Alex would have to go out there and face him. To leave him out there, wondering, would be mean, and, she thought sarcastically, she wouldn't be a good hostess.
But she needed an excuse. Why she was taking so long. Turning around, her eyes scanned the counter before she spied a hair brush. A smile appeared on her face, small but there, as she pulled it through her hair, wincing every time she hit a tangle. But that didn't take enough time. Biting her lip, she looked down again and saw a hair elastic. She practically thanked God at that moment, since she knew how long it took to actually pull her hair up and out of her face. It never seemed to co-operate.
It didn't take long enough this time. Because before she knew it, her hair was pulled up and brushing against her neck. Rolling her eyes, she slammed the brush back on the counter before looking up at the ceiling. "I never asked you for anything before, but now I know I don't like you anyway," she cursed, before turning around and stalking over to the door, swinging it open.
She stopped the moment that she had, and her entire body froze. She couldn't go out there, she couldn't face him. It hadn't been more than fifteen minutes ago that she had cried all over him. That she had let her life story, the story that she never told anyone slip from her lips. That he had almost...
No, she couldn't think of that. It would only make her rush back into the bathroom, blushing like a thirteen year old that just got her first meaningful kiss from her crush. She couldn't act like that. Instead, she crossed her fingers and took a deep breath before walking the slowest she ever had towards the living room.
Would it be possible to just walk in there, without him noticing? "Sure," she whispered to herself. "Great idea, Alex." Yeah, she was just going to walk into her OWN living room, and hope that he didn't notice. Even the least observant person would have noticed her. That would have been like bringing a gorilla into a classroom. Then again, she thought with an amused smile, that test had been done before, and half of the students didn't notice a gorilla. Maybe a little hope wouldn't hurt.
It didn't matter, though, because the moment that she walked into the living room, she could feel his eyes on her. Shaking her head, she said a quick prayer for strength inside her head and moved further in, over to the couch. She wouldn't allow herself to get near him. No, she couldn't do that, because they could very well have a repeat of what had already almost happened, and she couldn't handle that. Of course, she told herself, it could have just been a fluke. That wasn't the point, though. She knew that he was concerned (for what reason, she couldn't begin to fathom), and she knew that she had to say something intelligent to reassure him.
"Um...hi."
Yup, her old English teachers were rolling over in their graves.
He chuckled and watched as she slipped onto the couch, stretching out and resting the side of her face against a pillow that was on the arm. Slowly, her eyes met his. "Yeah, I knew that we forgot something before. Of course, you were on the phone them. So...hi, how are you?"
"Chris," she groaned in warning.
"No seriously. How's your day been? Mine was pretty good. I woke up, went...well, you don't need to hear about that. But then I went down to the kitchen for my first cup of coffee. Nothing like that first shot of caffeine in your body. After I finished the first one, I poured another one and escaped the kitchen, went upstairs for a shower. You'd probably enjoy hearing about that one, but I'm not going into details."
Turning around, she hid her face in a pillow and smiled to herself. "Christopher," she warned again, his name coming out as no more than a mumble.
Clearing his throat, he went on with his story. "Okay, so then I went and got dressed. That didn't take long, but by then, my coffee was cold. So I went and got some more. Sounds more exciting than it really was. But when I got back in there, Justin was doing cartwheels in his boxers, and miraculously, sometime during the night, Brooke turned into a man."
Her eyes rolled from where they were pressed into the pillow. "Uh huh, sure," she said dryly.
"Okay...so the Brooke thing was a lie, but I swear, Justin really was doing cartwheels in his underwear. Scariest thing I had ever seen. So, anyway, back to my story. I had another cup of coffee, and then another, and then another. Somewhere in between, I read the paper. I only got through the news and entertainment, though. I still have to read the sports section. Oh, and I have to check on my stocks."
Raising her head slightly, she looked at him. "Don't you have enough money already?" she asked before her face went back down to hide her growing smile.
He nodded, even though she couldn't see. "Sure, but I like to gamble, and since I'm nowhere near Vegas, I figure that investing in clams and Post-Its is pretty good. After all, they go hand in hand." She bit back her laughter, motioning for him to shut up. "Oh, no, I'm not done yet. Because then, I decided to escape the circus, and walk down the road to come here."
"I think I know the rest," she said quietly, hoping that he would get the clue.
She didn't wish hard enough, obviously, because he continued on. "I know that, but I'm supposed to be telling you about my day. Stop interrupting me, and it'll be a lot quicker. So, I came down here and listened to a hilarious one sided phone conversation, tried not to choke to death when I took a drink of water, which I have to applaud you for. No one can really do that to me. From there, I learned a lot more about the beautiful yet jaded woman down the road, even if it did cause a few tears. After she disappeared, I turned on the radio, and now I'm listening to R.E.M while waiting for her to laugh. End of story, that's all." She paused before giggling into her pillow, while he applauded. "There, I knew it would work. So how was your day?"
Once her laughter quieted down, she rolled over to look at him. "Let's see. Woke up, showered, drank coffee, got a call from my mother, you came to annoy me, turned into a embarrassing and crying mess, washed my face, came back, and was annoyed by you yet again. The end." Smiling, she looked towards the radio. "I didn't even notice that you turned it on."
"That's because you pretty well killed the reception when you walked in, not that I'm complaining or anything. You beat Losing My Religion any day. Besides, radio reception sucks up here in the mountains." Getting out of the arm chair, he walked over to the radio and snapped it off. "It was pretty well just static to begin with. So, tell me more about this shower of yours," he said with a grin.
Alex picked up a pillow and threw it at him. "Use your imagination."
Shaking his head, he threw the pillow back to her. "That's a dangerous thing to say. I might just do that," he teased, before the smile dropped off of his face and he regarded her seriously. "You look better."
Her eyes rolled. "As opposed to normally? Thanks." Sighing, she rolled over to look at the ceiling. "I guess I feel a little better, if that's any consolation for having me sob all over you...which I'm still sorry about."
"We all have our moments when we completely break down. No one's immune to it, Alex. You've just been stopping yourself. And I would think that you would feel better. You've kept that in for a lot of years. I don't know how you did it," he told her honestly. "Wasn't there someone that you could have told before?"
She shook her head. "I could just imagine what my editor would have said. 'Oh, gee, that's too bad. By the way, write another novel to fulfill your contract, Alexandra.' That would have been wonderful. Although...there was one person before. A guy that I had been seeing, but it didn't turn out. I was about to tell him, since he kept asking me, but he started to get jealous."
"Of your editor?"
"Close, but not him. He was jealous of my writing. When I'm back home in Seattle, I lock myself in a room and just write for hours...or I used to. He didn't like the fact that I was spending so much time doing that. In fact, he was downright pissed off, not that I could do anything about it. When an idea comes, you have to get it down as soon as possible, or else it won't come out right. And when you really start to write, you don't stop. It just keeps going and before you know it, you've spent five hours in front of the computer, and you're so far into the plot, you don't know if you'll ever come out of it. But he didn't like that. He was jealous of my characters, and how much time I spent with them. So I did the only thing I could when we broke it off." Turning to him, she grinned. "I killed him off in the fictional sense. Gave me a lot of gratification, too. I still haven't found anyone that can deal with my writing." Or my secrets, she thought to herself.
Surprisingly, he nodded. "You got burned because of your career. Been there, done that, sang the damned song. If you knew how many women have asked me to choose between them and my singing...well, actually, you could count them on one hand, but I know where you're coming from. And people wonder why I'm so against romance."
"It sucks," she said bitterly, looking at the ceiling again. "If that's true, though, explain to me why I have the movie Sabrina hidden in my bedroom, for every Valentine's Day. The only romance that I allow myself."
Chris smiled as he looked over at her. "The original or the remake?"
"Remake. There's no one I'd rather spend Valentine's Day with than Harrison Ford. Besides, there's more sarcasm in that movie than anything."
He nodded. "Yeah, I've got the original one in my house, too, for that day, too." A strange expression covered his face. "Okay, that's weird. I've never met anyone that watches that movie on that day. Hell, no one knows that I watch that movie."
She shrugged. "There's probably millions of people that watch that movie. I mean, come on. It's your classic boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, girl gets into a sort of love triangle, guy that is the ass ends up winning and turning nice. Besides, it's got enough humor in it to keep you entertained, so it's not completely a romantic movie. You could also apply the ugly duckling theory to it."
"Do you have to justify everything?" Chris asked with a laugh.
Nodding, she looked over at him. "Of course. I'm an author. When you write, you have to justify every little thing or else the reader gets confused. Sure, you can leave it hanging if you're writing a series, and pick it up in the next book, but everything has to have a reason in a story. First rule of creative writing." Turning away, she closed her eyes and tapped one hand against her thigh for a moment. "Take Colwell for example, since you like his work. His wife was murdered, and he was held accountable for the murder. There's a reason WHY, it just hasn't been printed and bound yet. But, you know, that at the end of the series, when it does end, you'll know the reason. Same as Stephen King's 'The Dark Half'. There's a reason why the writer's alter-ego and pen name became a real person instead of just a thought, and there was a reason why he was kicking ass and killing people throughout the book. In writing, there's a reason for everything."
He nodded, thinking about what she said. "But Alex, this isn't a book. This is real life. There aren't reasons for everything."
"Maybe not for everything, but for a lot of things. I'm not a big believer in destiny or fate or anything, but there's still a reason for most things. There's a reason that explains why Earth doesn't just fall from where it is. There's a reason that explains why JFK was shot. There's probably a reason why you and I met. Just because we don't know the reason, and we may never know, doesn't mean that there isn't a reason."
Chris sat up straighter and smirked. "But if you don't know the reason, how can you say there is a reason?"
Her head turned back to him, and she opened her eyes as she regarded him carefully. "Someone will find out the reason one day. Just because you may be part of the equation doesn't mean that you have to know the answer to the question."
"Are you and I part of the question?"
Shaking her head, she sighed. "I'm beginning to think so."
Pursing her lips, Brooklyn stared at the door in front of her and wondered if she actually had the strength to open it. If she actually had the guts...the balls, she thought idly, to open up the door and walk inside. She was beginning to doubt that she did, but as soon as she thought that, her hand turned the gold colored knob and swung the door open.
"I hate it when my hand has a mind of its own," she grumbled to herself, stepping inside the room and taking a deep breath, as she looked around. Everything looked the same since she had left it that morning. The fire was still going, a pair of her discarded jeans were tossed over a chair, and the lump in the middle of the bed, under all the covers, was still there, too. She looked towards it, wondering if he was still breathing or not, before shaking her head and walking further into the room towards the adjoining bathroom.
She jumped in fright and almost let out a scream when someone spoke from behind her. "Mind if I ask what you're doing, New York?"
Crossing her arms in defense, she turned around and stared at the lump that had suddenly moved. "Planning on putting some Nair into your shampoo, so that you can get rid of that ridiculous hair cut. Why, does that bother you?" she asked sweetly, before dropping the smile. "I was going in to see if I left my Chapstick in there."
JC smirked sleepily from where he was sitting up in the massive bed. "You don't wear Chapstick. You said that it tastes like crap and feels the same way."
Her eyes rolled quickly. "Fine, my lip gloss. Whatever you want to call it. It really doesn't matter what you call it, but having dry, chapped lips is not exactly my idea of fun. Does that answer all your questions, Mr. Chasez, or am I not allowed to go and get it."
Smiling, he reached over and picked up something off of the night table and tossed it at her. She caught it one handed and looked down at what she was holding. Her lime flavored lip gloss, the same one that she was going to look for. Nodding, she turned on her heel and started towards the door again. "The least you can do is thank me, you know."
He watched as her back moved with her sigh, before she raised her head and stared at the door. "Thank you, JC," she said softly, before reaching for the doorknob again.
He moved quickly, rolling out of the bed and placing his feet on the floor before covering her hand with his. "Come on, New York. We need to talk, and it doesn't really work when you start avoiding me. I swear, if you were about to plunge to your death, you'd probably refuse my hand to help you up, and let yourself turn into a pretty splatter on the sidewalk instead."
"Probably, but I'm not too keen on the idea of dying. Watching you suffer...now that should be an Olympic sport. I would have the gold medal by now, too." She pulled her hand out from under his and examined her nails. "I need a manicure."
"Well, I'm glad that we established that fact," he said dryly. "Do you need to cut your hair, too? Get a new lip stick? Your car needs detailing? What else are you going to use just so that you can avoid talking to me about what we really need to talk about."
Turning around, she looked at him, her eyes drooping with boredom. "It's a jeep, thank you very much, and no, it doesn't need to be detailed. However, that mop ontop of your head would be perfect for the whole 'wax on, wax off' thing, you know?"
His eyebrows went up slightly. "Why don't you just have me scalped, then? If you're wondering, I'm already making an appointment to get my hair cut and dyed back it its original color. Does that make you a little happier?"
"No, because you'll still look like an egotistical ass. You'll need plastic surgery to get rid of that," she said in response before moving away from him and walking towards the bed to sit down. "So, what did you want to talk about? Last night's hockey game, because it was great. A real barn burner. Oh, I know. How about Justin's little gymnastics routine in the kitchen this morning. I think he wants to try out for the summer Olympics, and don't tell him this, but he doesn't have a chance."
It was his turn to cross his arms and look away, a small smile on his face. "New York, you know damned well what we have to talk about, and you avoiding the subject only makes it worse, because then you know that the two of us are going to start screaming at each other, and I think everyone is sick of being our personal bodyguards."
She shrugged and crossed her legs, leaning back on her elbows as she looked at him. "Not my fault. My automatic defense is a nasty right cross, and a foot that immediately heads south of the border. If you want someone to blame for that, blame my brother. He was the one who taught me to protect myself."
"Remind me to send him a thank you note," he said, thinking back to the slap she had put against the side of his face. "Tell me the truth, New York. Am I off of your Christmas card list?"
She chuckled dryly to herself. "Tis the season to beat up on your significant other," she told him sarcastically before shaking her head. "You're definitely not number one anymore, but you're still in contention for the top ten. Of course, you're also on my shit list, so I wouldn't try anything too daring right now."
He shook his head. "We all know who number one is, but I better not be number two." Now she shook her head to tell him that he wasn't. "I'm sort of safe, then. I have sort of a...strange question to ask you."
"That's not a first, and it's not original, but continue anyway."
Rolling his eyes, he looked back to her. "Does Chris know that we were fighting about him? Well, in the beginning we were, but both of us took it a little too far, and don't you dare blame this on PMS."
Sighing, she thought about how her best excuse just flew out the window with that one statement, before she raised her eyes back to his. "No, he doesn't. He asked what it was all about, and I told him that I couldn't tell him. That sounded like an oxymoron. Anyway, he has no clue what the fight was about, and if I have my way, he's never going to know, until the day that he finds out what kind of a bitch and a liar Miss Alexandra is."
He raised his hand to cut her off for a moment. "We're going right back to what we were talking about that night, and that's what started this whole thing."
Bringing a hand up, she rubbed her forehead, chuckling ruefully. "No, what started the whole thing is that both you and I are as stubborn as they come, and that's never a good combination. Normally, we can look past that, but now...I don't know. Maybe we have to accept the fact that we just can't find any middle ground."
"New York..."
"No, don't 'New York' me. Let me finish. I'm done running this through my head yet, and it helps if I can actually hear the words instead of just thinking them." She took another deep breath and looked at him seriously. "We're different, Josh, and yet we're still the same. Explain that one to me. No wait, don't. I'm still not finished." He laughed softly as she ran a hand through her hair in confusion, messing up her curls. "I...we're both stubborn sons of bitches, and we don't like to change. In fact, we both hate it, but that's the problem, and that's why we rub each other the wrong way and end up having these pitiful and stupid fights. That's part of who we are, though. The magazines definitely don't know what they're talking about when they call us the 'Golden Couple', because we are definitely not perfect."
JC sighed and moved to sit beside her on the bed, both of them looking at the wall across from them. "Yeah, but nothing in life is perfect, New York. We're a prime example of that." His shoulders slumped, but that was the only thing in the room that was moving, besides the flames of the fire. "We're in trouble, aren't we?"
"Well, I'd say that the fight is over. If you and I can sit here without killing each other, verbally or physically, then we're okay in that capacity. But...I don't think that anything is wrong, besides the fact that the honeymoon period is officially over. God, I'm talking like we're married or something." Suddenly, she turned to look at him. "We have a lot of things to think about, and a lot of stuff to work through. We were using this as a test period to see if we could live together, rather than just stay at each other's place for a week or so. If we can't even co-exist...how do we expect to keep this going?"
"I don't know. I don't know much of anything anymore, New York," he sighed. Falling back on the bed, he closed his eyes, mentally questioning everything that was happening when he felt her stand up. He could hear her moving around the room, and throwing something into a corner before he opened his eyes and sat up to watch her. Her arms were already filled with jeans and shirts, all hers. "What are you doing?" he asked.
Brooklyn looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. "What does it look like to you?" she asked in a dry tone.
His eyes got wider as she continued to gather her clothes. "You're breaking up with me again?"
"Yeah, Josh, that's exactly what I'm doing." Shaking her head, she started to laugh. "I'm doing my laundry. I don't know about you, but I'm not going to wear a pair of jeans that have been already worn twice, I think, and left on the ground for a week." Smiling, she readjusted the mound of clothes in her arms. "I'm not saying that we should just toss away all of this, I'm just saying that we need to put things into perspective...including my laundry."
Groaning, he rubbed his eyes. "Don't scare me like that when I just wake up."
Nodding, she reminded herself to do the same thing the next morning. "No problem. What are you doing sleeping so late, anyway? I know that it's vacation, but you're usually up before noon."
JC shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I haven't been sleeping well. It's hard to, when I know that any minute, my girlfriend could come in here with a butcher's knife and hack it all off. And I'm not talking about the hair."
A playful look entered her eyes as she started towards the door. "What is there to hack off?" she asked innocently before laughing and running out the door, with JC close at her heels, threatening to get her back for that.
Chapter Sixteen
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