I
wake at five in the morning, heavy eyed and lethargic. I suppose you would have to know me to realize that I don't usually see
5 A.M. Unless I had stayed up all night to get somewhere. Actually waking up at five... well, I can't remember the last time it happened until now. This time I woke up out of a nightmare sweating and terrified. The images of Spencer morphing into a monster with huge, sharp teeth and long razor claws and tearing into me are so vivid my knees feel weak. I shower, eat breakfast, and sit down to do the studying I should have done last night. My concentration is sketchy at best, but it's better than nothing. Dad knocks on my door at seven thirty, as usual. My school is on his way to work so he drops me off in the morning. I pack up my things and am ready to go early, for a change, when the doorbell rings. Dad looks at me but I just shrug. I'm certainly not expecting anyone. Figuring it must be an industrious paperboy, in spite of the fact that I don't think we even get the paper, I stay in the kitchen while Dad answers the door. When I hear the familiar, husky voice, my stomach lurches and I wonder if I am about to lose my breakfast. "Good morning, sir. I'm here to pick up Sabine." Spencer says in a smooth, even tone. I stand rooted to the middle of the kitchen floor, legs so rubbery I am utterly unable to move. "At seven thirty in the morning?" Dad demands askance. "Who are you?" "Spencer, sir. Spencer James. I attend classes with your daughter. We have some things to discuss about the upcoming play and I thought I could take her to school this morning so we would have a chance to talk." I move to the doorway, biting my lip. How amazing he appears this morning and how smoothly the lies roll off his tongue. Dad turns to look at me with an arched brow. He doesn't like this at all, I know. He would have me stay ten forever, I think. He hates that I am old enough to date now, I don't know if he just doesn't want me to get pregnant or if he is worried about me getting hurt. It's hard enough to wrest control of the car from him, let alone control of my life. What to do? I can blow this apart with one quick shake of my head, can call him a liar, or even just call it a misunderstanding, but I don't. A traitorous weakness has me in thrall and I am more concerned with praying that Dad doesn't embarrass me than wriggling out of this.
Instead I lift my one shoulder in a casual, calculated gesture and I can only hope that my breathless state passes unnoticed. "Oh, I forgot. Sorry, Dad, you don't mind, do you?" He does mind. It's in his eyes, Mom calls them cow eyes, big and rich and brown and sometimes so sad. I call them puppy dog eyes because he can do the pathetic look so well, but we are far from pathetic right now. He jerks his head toward the kitchen. "Please excuse us for a moment, Spencer." Dad says with just enough sarcasm on the last syllable for me to know I am in for a battle. Truthfully, I don't want to go with him that bad - no, I don't want to go with him at all, I decide before I grit my teeth and wonder just when I started lying to myself. I don't know what it would take to release me from this nauseating devotion, but the real truth is that I desperately want to go anywhere with him for any reason. And what if... I cut the thought off before it is fully formed. I refuse, categorically refuse to wallow in a pigsty of rosy, romantic slop. I bow my head as the thought creeps in anyway. What if he was really affected by that kiss? What if, what? What if he's suddenly decided he's madly in love with me on the basis of one bone-melting kiss? Grow up, Sabine, and join the real world. It doesn't happen that way. Remember, you aren't going to wallow? Oh, right. I try not to get too excited because if I know Dad, he will likely knock my chances of being alone with Spencer right out the window. This time, he surprises me. Actually, it's an out and out shock to find that all he wants to do is tell me to be careful, to behave, and to tell him next time this is going to happen.
Oh Lord... my knees wobble, but I'm playing it cool and easy. I grab my backpack and head out the door. Spencer shakes hands with Dad again and gives him a bit more smooth talk. I could tell him to quit wasting his breath, that Dad is more protective of me than a lion with a cub and isn't going to be impressed by a silver tongue but I don't. Part of me is still screaming in protest, saying that the last thing I want to do is get into a confined space with Spencer James, and especially not that flashy little sports car. If I recall correctly, it was paid for out of his father's retirement money - after the man committee suicide that is. That's so bad of me, I know, to propagate that rumour. It was never proven that he killed himself but talk was thick and furious and Spencer never lived it down. It had to be hard on him, losing his father and then winding up as a prime cog on the rumor wheel.
Spencer opens the door for me like a good little gentleman and I send him a look to let him know how unimpressed I really am. A half smile quirks at the corner of his full lips and my stomach flutters traitorously. Oh God am I in trouble... and it isn't even eight in the morning yet. He shuts the door firmly and moves around to the other side with such graceful elegance I feel heat spreading through my abdomen. His driving is much more sedate this morning than it was last night. No more squealing wheels and rubber streaks on the road though how much of that is regained control and how much for my father's benefit, I have no idea. He maintains the polite smile all the way out to the main road where he heaves a sigh and glances at me.
"Your father is quite a character." He comments, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. "He worries about me." I shrug, tearing my eyes away from the sculpted planes of his face, the shock of silky black hair spilling over his high forehead, the long straight nose, and the tiny dimple creasing one cheek. "With good reason." He observes, turning his gaze to the streams of traffic flowing by in front of us. "Meaning?" "Nothing." He shrugs. "Just that you're attractive, smart, witty...I expect he has a lot of problems with guys trailing after you. That's all." "Oh my, the shit is getting deep in here." I think, without realizing I am thinking out loud. "Believe what you like, Sabine." He murmurs and spins the little red convertible out onto the street with an expert manoeuvre. I flush with embarrassment, over his outrageous flattery and my disparaging commentary as well as his skilful parry. I am totally outclassed here, I acknowledge.
"So what do you want?" I demand with no little amount of irritation. "Why were you at my door at such an ungodly hour?" "Well - I - uh - I wanted to explain something." Much to my surprise, he fumbles a dull flush rising in his pale cheeks. Spencer James, disconcerted... this is one for the history books, I think, wondering what could be causing this kind of reaction. "If this is about yesterday, I don't need any explanations." I counter, sparing him the agony. I assume he is going to tell me about little miss prom queen and I can't stand to hear about it. I suppose he could be psyching himself up to tell me about that nasty little creature that grabbed me but so far I've avoided thinking much about that thing and I am hoping to continue avoiding it. "No, I owe you and apology and an explanation, although I don't really have a good excuse..." "Just forget it. "I can't. I - I want to apologize for kissing you."
Humiliation burns in my cheeks accompanied by tears in my eyes and I can barely hearing the rest of his words over the roaring in my ears. No, he is not apologizing for screwing the head cheerleader in public and he is not explaining about the nasty critter, he is telling me how sorry he is that he kissed me. Bitter betrayal rips through me, and I feel a shocked tingle ripple through my body. My stomach clenches and heaves, once, twice, three times until I am fairly certain I'm about to toss it all up. "I mean I don't want you to get the wrong idea." And that would be what? I wonder with a savage surge of hatred, but I don't have the courage to say it. Instead, I stare with fixed determination down at my white knuckled hands and manage only a single syllable. "Oh?" "I'm sort of with someone and I well..."
Another wave of shame flushes through me. He's with someone, so he'd really rather I keep my mouth shut about the whole thing, I'm sure. I fidget just a bit, wondering how I could ever have been so stupid as to entertain the possibility that he could be interested in me. Hadn't he made it only too clear that I wasn't what he wanted last spring? As the fragile pieces of my morning fantasy shatter around me, a small voice protests that he definitely responded to me last night. His entire body was taut and straining - but even that bubble pops as common sense takes over. Of course his dick was hard, you moron. He's a teenage boy. A good stiff breeze gives him a hard-on, let alone your ass rubbing against him. Did you really think that meant true love? "You do understand?" Spencer brakes gently, pulling to a stop for a red light, and turns his body to face me, an earnest expression on his elegant features but I can't sit here anymore. I jerk the door open and am on the sidewalk in a flash, dragging my heavy backpack behind me.
"Sabine? Where are you going? Sabine! Come back here - I said I was sorry." He yells after me. "Sure, I understand. I just need a little air." I call back, face turned away from him. "Thanks for the ride - you're secret is safe with me." The tears I've been fighting won't be held back any longer. I duck my head, letting my hair fall forward and I hear a voluble curse from behind me as I step into the street and cross with the light. He follows, driving slowly alongside me, evidently oblivious to the impatient honking behind him. "Get in the car, Sabine," he snarls. Amazing. I didn't know he could snarl, but then I've never seen him angry before. What has he got to be angry about, I wonder, resentful. "No, it's, " I stop, horrified when my voice breaks and sink my teeth into my lower lip hard enough to draw blood.
"This isn't - damn it!" He swears again and guns the engine, all four tires emitting tortured squeals right in front of the police station, which isn't the most intelligent thing I've ever seen him do. I shouldn't smile when the siren whines for a moment and the lights flash by, I really shouldn't but I can't help it. I'm sure there's a special place in hell for me for taking such vindictive delight in the misfortune of others. Still, I can allow myself this small pleasure because I know full well I will pay for this indulgence in some way. I walk by the navy blue police car parked directly behind Spencer's red convertible on a side street, and hear spare snippets of their conversation. "Argument - girlfriend - sorry, sir -" "Keep - off - street -" Girlfriend...the word stabs at my heart and I roll my eyes - soon they are going to be slapping each other on the back and commiserating about how incomprehensible females are. The good old' boys club, sorry, Sabine, you don't have the balls to belong to it. Ah well, that's probably for the best.
