Dante opened his eyes to pitch black, punctuated by the glow of the alarm clock. Three in the morning, and he had to wake up in less than two hours to go to work.
He remembered the last week in bits and pieces. He remembered turning his hand into a pincushion, and he remembered arguing with her. As far as Astrid knew, this was all he remembered. He also remembered -- though the memories were hazy -- spending two, maybe three days drinking. He thought he had shown up at her house -- and she told him he had -- but he did not remember driving.
He promised himself it would never get that bad again, and he went back to sleep.
* * * * *
The day passed slowly. By the time he left the tattoo shop he had started apprenticing at two weeks ago, all he wanted was a drink. A little shot would be enough to make the day worth it; he had spent the day watching everyone else tattoo, never getting the chance to pick up a machine himself. He knew he would have to learn a lot more before Doug, the shop owner, would let him do any real work, but he was getting really tired of cleaning bathrooms after pansy first-timers threw up.
He dialed Astrid's number from a pay phone; his cell phone had gotten shut off two days earlier. If he didn't find some real work soon, he was going to be in a lot of trouble.
This week had gone considerably better, at least compared to the last: they were speaking, but tentatively. Astrid made sure to keep herself busy with work so she didn't have to think about the insanity that happened. She also knew if she kept questioning herself, she'd go crazy - she was in the unfortunate habit of constantly questioning and second-guessing herself, something she needed to stop.
At this point, she was on her way home when he phone rang; glancing at the face and peering at the unknown number. Normally she wouldn't pick up, but she knew about Dante's phone, and figured it was him, a safe assumption. Thumbing the answer key as she slowed to a stop at a red light. "Hello?"
"Hey babe," he sang. "Whatcha doin'?" He stood with the phone cradled on one shoulder, both hands shoved in his pocket. Traffic buzzed by, cars skating through the intersection. "I'm headed out of work. You wanna..." He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and quickly counted the bills there. "...get some ice cream?"
Ice cream? She broke into a small smile, unable to help herself. "Sure. Where are you? I'll come pick you up." Work had been terrible for her - working as a manager in a grocery store tended to suck, what with irate customers and incompetent cashiers. Still, it was not too far from home, so she couldn't complain. Flicking on her turn signal at the last second, trying to remember exacly where he worked.
He glanced at his own car, less than twenty feet away in the grassy area of what the owner of the tattoo shop called a parking lot. If he remembered correctly, the needle sat just a hair away from empty on his gas gauge. "All right, sounds good. I'm at work. It's the little hellhole-in-the-wall on that side street." Side street, side street, what the hell was the name of the street? "Cooke," he said. "Right?"
"You're asking me?" Glancing over her shoulder as she turned, craning her neck to peer down the busy road. Cooke was not far away at all. "Just hang out by the sidealk and keep an eye out for me. I'll be there in a few minutes." Astrid hated having phone conversations while driving. Hanging her phone up, she let it drop into her lap, leaning over to turn down the volume knob on her radio as she alternately glanced from the road, to the signs posted, and back and forth. Finally spotting Cooke, turning right onto the street and seeing him standing there. The pain from last week's events still lingered, but she couldn't help but be glad to see him. Pulling up alongside him, the window rolled down as she unlocked the door. "Hey, stranger, get in."
"Ooh, I like it when you get all bossy on me," he said, climbing in. He kissed her quickly on the lips, touching her face for a second before moving back into his seat. "How was your day?"
Her eyes closed when their lips met. In spite of everything, he still managed to make her heart flutter and she alternately hated and loved him for that. "It was okay," she said with a small smile, pulling away from the curb. "Same shitty, dumb-ass customers." Turning the car around, pulling back onto the main street. "How was yours? Oh, and did you really want ice cream? 'cause we can go get some food, if you want. I just got paid, so." Gotta love pay day.
"Aw, no, my treat. Food sounds good," he said, calculating what was in his wallet as he spoke. Could he get away with eating less than usual? "Day was pretty fucking fantastic, but at least I've got a job." Right. One that he could barely live off of. He almost wished he were unemployed; he would probably make more money off of the state than he made at the shop.
"Denny's sound good?" He suddenly craved breakfast.
Astrid reached over, gently rubbing his knee. "Don't worry, babe, it'll get better soon. Apprenticeships can be rough, but I think if you stick with it, it'll work out. Besides, you're an amazing artist. You'll see." Giving him a little nudge; Astrid, ever the optimist. It was true, though, she knew that everyone wanted to apprentice at tattoo shops, and few made it. But then again, they weren't half the artist Dante was, nor were they as dedicated.
The mention of Dennys struck up memories from years ago, and in spite of herself, she broke into a huge grin. "Sounds good to me."
"If all else fails, I can be a guitar bum." He grinned. "Yeah, I'm sure they'll give me the gun in no time." The lie burned on his tongue like an orange out of season, but he did not want to disappoint her.
"Remember the first time we went to Denny's? After what's-his-name's party?"
"Or just be a bum." She grinned at him sidelong, reaching over again to tousle his hair.
"I do!" It was like the dam burst, the way the memories flooded over her; thinking about drinking in Chris's basement, meeting him, and bailing right after - for Denny's. "God, it feels like forever ago. I mean, it was forever ago, but still." Astrid pursed her lips and smiled to herself as she gazed out onto the road, navigating her way to Denny's. She hadn't thought about Denny's in forever, but oddly enough, it was a perfect choice.
"He actually came into the shop the other day," Dante said, ducking too late. "You're lucky you're driving." He cracked the window and lit a cigarette. "He got a pinup on his bicep and tried to get me to come to a party later." He grimaced. "I told him I'd rather hang from my toes and listen to Eminem."
"Oh my God, did he really?" The sound of the lighter sparking prompted her to fish out a smoke from the pack in her pocket with one hand, awkwardly, handing it to him to light for her. "That's ridiculous. Yeah, he came into the store a few months ago to buy beer. Someone else's party, though." Astrid gave him a sidelong look, hardly able to suppress her smirk. "Then who's copy of The Marshall Mathers LP is that in your bedroom?"
"My ex-girlfriend's," he said too quickly, handing her now lit cigarette back to her. "His old stuff was good, anyway."
The bright Denny's restaurant sign rose out of the clutter of the busy street. Dante's stomach gurgled as if in greeting. "Don't judge me," he said, feigning a pout.
"Riiiight," she snickered with a knowing smile, purposely averting her gaze - because they had arrived to their destination. It'd been quite some time since she'd been to this particular Denny's; probably because this was the Denny's she and him had hightailed it to after ditching Chris's crappy basement party. Oh, high school, you did provide some good memories. Pulling up and into a space not far from the door, she grabbed her bag and climbed out of the car. "I ... never thought I'd be so happy to be at a Denny's," she muttered as her own stomach rumbled low; her palm resting on the gentle curve of her belly as they stood in the parking lot. Suddenly, she reached out with her free hand to seize his, pulling him closer to her a bit abruptly. "Baby. Give me a hug."
"Whoa, easy there, we're in a public place!" He winked at her as he pulled her in tightly for a hug. "Though I guess we could always get back in the car," he said, body tensing as he waited for the playful swat she usually gave him.
"Shut up," Astrid grumbled into his collarbone, letting a few seconds tick by so she had the element of surprise - and then she bit gently - but still firmly - into the soft, yielding flesh of his neck, giving a little growl. "Besides," she said after a few beats, releasing him and giving him a small shove, "I thought you liked it when I was affectionately aggressive in public." A cursory glance into her back window - her backseat was so crammed full of junk that they wouldn't fit even if they tried. Damn. She slipped her hand back into his, this time to lead him to the front door.
"Baby, I am putty in your hands," he said, following her and adjusting his jeans. He felt as if the other night had never happened, as if it had maybe happened to someone else, somewhere else. "Pancakes and bacon and eggs and English muffins, here I come!"
"Hi, how are you today?" A waitress with short, spiky black hair bounced up to them. "Two?"
"Yep," he said, letting Astrid go ahead of him as the waitress led them to a booth. "She's even shorter than you." He snorted.
It wasn't the most enlightened method psychologically, but Astrid too had pushed the memory from the far reaches from her mind, at least for the time being. The only evidence of everything having happened were the healing wounds on his hand and wrist, though they would fade in time as well. "I don't know what I'm going to get," she pouted, biting down on her bottom lip.
Placing a gentle by well-aimed jab to his ribs with her elbow for that short comment, she followed the waitress to the booth. "Be nice!" Smiling at the waitress who cocked her head at the two of them, but smiled congenially.
"Can I get you guys something to drink?" She asked once the two were seat, and out came the notepad.
"I'll have a Dr Pepper, no ice," Astrid said, settling in and resting her feet on the seat across from her, next to his legs.
"Uh..." He flipped the menu to the drink section. The choices were juice, coffee, and several different kinds of soda; friendly, family choices. Sober choices. "Oh. Um." His hands shook slightly as he considered his options. "Ya know, I'm kinda in the mood for apple juice. With a little ice."
"Apple juice, it is," said their waitress, jotting down their drinks. "Are you guys ready to order or do you need a sec?"
Dante flipped the menu to the breakfast section. He had a pretty good idea of what he wanted. He hadn't really eaten anything all day. His cupboards and refrigerator were bare; dinner would require some creativity with ramen noodles. "Babe? Do you know what you want?"
Astrid was busy examining her menu, though out of the corner of her eye, she notice how his hand wavered. It concerned her for the briefest of moments, but before the uncertainty grew to paranoia, he stilled his hand after placing his order. She let go of the breath she didn't even realize she had been holding. "Oh! Yeah, uhm ..." A cursory glance to the menu. "Could I have the cheeseburger, please? With regular fries?"
"Got'cha," nodded the waitress, scribbling furiously before aiming the end of her pen at Dante. "And for you?"
"Uh." His chest felt tight. "Ya know, I uh, I'm not sure."
"I can come back," the waitress said, twirling her pen between two fingers.
Dante scanned the menu again. "No, it's uh, it's okay. I'll just have a, uh, waffle with a side of, um, bacon."
The waitress scribbled down their orders. "I'll be back with those drinks," she said, hurrying away without looking back.
"I think I need some air," Dante said, eyes darting to the door. "Too many Marlboros." He stood, then sat back down. "Nah, fuck it. I'm okay." He ran a hand through hair that needed a trim, like the lawn in front of his apartment. "So how was your day?"
Astrid folded her menu, handing over to the waitress; curious gaze lifted to her boyfriend. What on earth had gotten into him? "It was okay," she said, a bit suspiciously. Watching him stand, then sit, forced her to cock her head at a curious angle, brows knitted together. Dante was never this mixed up, indecisive. "Babe, you okay? What's wrong with you?" His behaviour wasn't frightening, exactly, but it still rubbed her the wrong way.
"Ah, forgot my Ritalin today," he said, winking at her. "I'm fine. Just tired. Long day."
The waitress set their drinks down and went as quickly as she had come.
He picked at a piece of dirt under his middle finger nail. His nails needed to be trimmed. He made a mental note to find the nail clippers when he got home. "You know." He took a sip of his iced apple juice and inhaled slowly. "Just like Ma used to make, straight from the Motts jug." He grinned at Astrid. "I'm fine. Really. Now tell me about your day."
Part of Astrid felt guilty for being so suspicious. She knew it was in her nature, questioning everything, and Dante seemed to do everything in his power to make her second-guess herself -- were the little things really there, or did she imagine them? Was he as flighty as she felt he was, or was it all in her head? Thinking like that was making her head hurt, and she was realized when her drink was set before her, a grateful smile flashed to the waitress.
"It was okay," she said finally, turning the events of the day over in her mind. She knew he really did not care that much about the ins and the outs of her afternoon, but there was a strange, thick tension that hung between them. He was acting a bit oddly, but then again, Dante always had been an odd bird. Still ... "This woman freaked out on me because we wouldn't take her expired coupons. I mean, there's signs all over the store saying that starting May first we wouldn't take anymore. Everyone else seems to get it, but not this woman. She threw them at my face, screaming something about how the fascist, Nazi dictators in charge of our company and nation were to blame for this." Her regal brow furrowed slightly at the memory, face twisted in a half-amused expression, half-grimace. The ignorance of people continued to shock the hell out of her.
"How about you? How was the shop today?"
"Huh." He shook his head. "People can't read." He took another sip of the apple juice, his hand trembling a little. "Well, work was..." He rubbed at the stubble on his face. "I need a shave. Well, everyone's freaking out about getting laid off. They're bitching about joining a union or some shit. We only got three cars this week, so really I guess they don't exactly need ten guys. I dunno." He didn't say that he would probably be the first to get a pink slip. Not showing up to work consistently sort of guaranteed that kind of thing.
"But really, she threw coupons in your face? I think I see a little paper cut." Dante winked.
Astrid wrinkled her nose when he mentioned paper cuts. "I probably do." She breathed in, heaving a gigantic sigh, the trembling of his hand just barely escaping her notice. "I know what you mean, though. They've been cutting hours at the store. I've been safe so far, but you know. You never know ..." She trailed off almost morosely, taking a sip of her Dr. Pepper when the waitress reappeared at their table.
"Were you guys all set to order, or did you still need a few minutes?" She asked sweetly, causing Astrid to drop her gaze down to the face of the menu.
"Oh," she muttered, shaking her head and looking up at first Dante, then the waitress. "I know what I want -- I'll have the cheeseburger, no pickles, please." Leaning back, she passed her menu over to the waitress, before glancing back at Dante. "You know what you want, babe?"
Thinking about cut hours and the rent waiting to be paid made Dante nauseous. "Uh..." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Ya know what, I think I'll just have a cup of coffee."
"You sure? We've got great specials..." The waitress winked at them both.
"Yeah, I'm sure." He rubbed his temples with his fingertips.
The waitress smiled and quickly disappeared.
Dante sighed. "Well." He couldn't think of anything to say. The nausea began to ebb, but he still felt anxious. He could see himself slapping a few dollars on the table and hitching a ride home. There were plenty of truckers outside. He could go home, find one of his nearly empty bottles, and relax. Everything would be okay if he could just get a drink and relax. He drummed his fingers on the table some more and stared out the window next to their booth.
Astrid felt her stomach turn over once he got all silent, all fidgety. That could only mean that one thing was on his mind. She tried to remember a point of time to reference when, exactly, his drinking got so bad, so out on control - part of her wondered that maybe he was always like this, and she had just been too blind to realize. She glanced down at the table, rolling up the wrapper to her straw between her fingertips, and tried very hard not to cry.
When she could find her voice, she attempted to sound as natural as she possibly could, hoping that her eyes weren't red, or glassy. "How have you been feeling?" The question bubbled up suddenly, and she leveled her gaze to him. "I mean, since last week. Is everything okay? Aside from cut hours at work." Obviously, she meant the night he busted up his hand, the purple-red wounds fading, but still evident on his hand and wrist. Sitting up, Astrid leaned forward slightly to gauge his reaction, her eyebrows knitted together.
His body twitched at the sudden sound of her voice. He turned slightly toward her, not quite facing her. He cleared his throat. He didn't want to outright lie to her, but he didn't know what else to do. "Yeah, everything's great, babe."
He turned back to the window. Hell, even if he didn't have anything left at the house, he could probably tap into his savings account for a couple bucks to buy beer. Not that he wanted Natural Ice, but it was better than nothing. He tapped his foot on the greasy floor.
The waitress set his coffee down with creamers and hurried away without another word. He wondered how obvious it was that he was losing his mind.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
In Dreary Times
Two days. It was two days after he broke his mirror and bloodied his hand, two days after he called her a tyrant and she kicked him out of her car in front of the emergency room. Two days, and he kept trying to call her, but she didn't want to talk to him. At that point, she opted to simply turn her phone off, laying around in bed all day crying like a huge baby. This is ridiculous, Astrid was what she kept telling herself - but even more ridiculous than her crying was the way he snapped on her. Thinking about it broke her heart all over again, and she felt a fresh wave of emotion and tears and snot welling up inside her. "Goddamnit," she sniffled, climbing out of her bed and crossing the room for more tissue. Her phone had been off for two hours at this point, and she didn't even want to think of how many text messages and voicemails awaited her.
"You have reached the voice mail box of..." He pressed the End button and took another swig from the bottle with his good hand. He had ended up needing a total of twenty-two stitches. The doctors had told him he was lucky it hadn't gotten infected, since he had waited so long to get medical attention.
"Well if my girlfriend had gotten me a shot," he had slurred. They had encouraged him to take one of their beds in the Behavioral Health section of the ER, but he had refused. Once he had gotten some stitches and a nice dose of painkillers, Dante had spent the next two days cruising bars and repeatedly dialing Astrid's phone number. It was no use, though; he was pretty sure she hated him.
"Only one thing to do," he said. He slowly got up from the living room floor and stumbled into the kitchen, looking for his keys. "Gotta go get my girl." He got into the car and tucked the bottle of whiskey beside him, and twenty minutes later he stood at Astrid's front door. He used his bandaged hand to ring the doorbell, cradling the bottle with his good hand and tapping one foot impatiently.
Astrid was in the middle of blowing her nose when the doorbell rang. Fuck. She was pretty certain she knew who it was, but you never knew. Wiping her nose and tossing the tissue away, she went downstairs and to the front door, getting up on tiptoe to peek out the window - and saw Dante. With a bottle of booze. Straightening herself up, she felt her stomach lurch, her eyes stinging all over again. This was not going to be pretty. She steeled herself, made sure her composure and her will was firm, and then unlocked, opened the front door. "Dante, what are you doing here?"
"I think your phone is off," he said, rocking on his heels a little. Each time he moved forward, gravity threatened to forget about him. "Can I come in?"
He was shitfaced. Astrid bit down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming, especially after she caught sight of his car haphazardly parked in the driveway next to hers. Her initial reaction was to slam the door in his face - but then he'd just get back in the car and God knows what would happen. "You can come in, but you have to give me the whiskey. No more drinking while you're here, you're plenty drunk already." She stood her ground, her body pressed between the door frame and door.
"Oh-kay," he said, nearly singing. He put the bottle to his lips and took another swig, then handed it to her. "All yours." He grinned and moved toward the door. "Can I come in now?"
This was a mistake, a huge mistake and Astrid could feel it. But she couldn't turn him away if not for the simple fact that she did not want him out on the road driving around drunk. Accepting the bottle, she took a step back, letting him inside - thankful that nothing valuable or breakable was really nearby. "Sit down on the couch and don't move," she commanded sternly, glaring at him. She backed up, before disappearing in the kitchen, presumably hiding the bottle. She was gone for only a minute before she came back out into the living room, folding her arms. "You're not leaving here until you're sober," she said with a sigh, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from him.
"Is that an order? You gonna tie me up, too?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her and then lay his head in her lap. Looking up at her, his intentions clear in his eyes, he brushed her cheek with his finger. "Hi," he whispered.
"Stop it," she said, pushing his hand away. "I'm really pissed at you, you know." Not that you're sober enough to care, she wanted to add - but she didn't feel like fanning the flames anymore than she already might of. "This is ridiculous, Dante. I don't like you behaving like this."
"Ridiculous?" He sat up as if she had caught on fire. "What would you like me to be, then? Hmn? Want me to be 'straight-edge' and wear tight pants?" He slumped back into the couch on the opposite end and dug through his pockets, looking for the pack of cigarettes he had bought -- if he had even bought any. His fingers found a single cigarette tucked behind his ear. It broke in half when he tried to grab it. He stuck the wrong end of one half in his mouth and lit the filter end, inhaling deeply.
"You know what your problem is?" He inhaled again and grimaced. The cigarette tasted like crap, but he couldn't figure out why. "You need to relax. Just, what, a week ago, we got a hotel room and," he said, inhaling again, "did all kinds of coke and shit, and you're telling me I have a drinking problem? Come on, babe. Seriously?" He held the cigarette out in front of him and made a face. "Fuck, I lit the wrong end."
"You don't need to remind me what we did a week ago." Astrid remembered the hotel - it had been fun, yes, but that had been more of a one time kind of thing. With the exception of that night, Astrid was fairly 'straight edged': she smoked cigarettes, sure, and smoke some pot here and there, and even drank a little bit. But the difference between her and Dante was self-control, and it was becoming rapidly apparent to her that he lacked it.
Leaning over to the coffee table, grabbing her pack of smokes and lit two up - handing him one, then keeping one for herself. "The fact that we did what we did last week should show you that I'm not closed minded about this. At all. But when this shit starts to affect our relationship? That's different." She jabbed her cigarette in the air, as if punctuating her statements. "I'm telling you that I think you have a drinking problem because I have every reason to believe that. You drove here drunk, for fuck's sake!" Her anger was rising, and her voice had taken on a sharper edge. She was trying to calm herself, but the thought of him driving, swerving across the road to get here almost made her blood pressure shoot through the roof. "I cannot think of a more despicable, disgusting thing for you to do -- and you're telling me to relax?!" She wasn't yelling, not yet, but she was damn near close.
"Fine," Dante said, and jumped up. He tripped over his own feet and almost fell into the coffee table. He managed to steady himself at the last second and fell back into the couch. "Fine, I'll go." He stood up again, cigarette clenched between his teeth. "Next time, pick up your fucking phone." He headed toward the door.
Astrid shook her head back and forth quickly, getting up after him. "Are you kidding me? I chew you out for driving drunk, and you're going to go do it?" She was incredulous, but then again, he was drunk, and therefore, not rational. She was also quicker than him: beating him to the door and pressing her back against it, effectively blocking him off. "You're not leaving here until you're sober."
"Then I guess I'm not leaving!" He folded his arms across his chest and stood, swaying a little. He took a few puffs on his cigarette, perched on his lower lip and threatening to fall at any second. "So bossy," he said.
"God, how old are you?" Astrid rolled her eyes, folded her arms across her chest. She narrowed her eyes at him through the haze of smoke that separated them. They had been together for so long ... had this been happening the whole time and she missed it? Was she really that oblivious? Or had this crept up on him slowly, like a cancer before putting him in a stranglehold? She knew one thing was for sure, and that was that this wasn't the Dante she had fallen in love with. Dante before had been so full of life, dreams, and ambition. And now, he looked like the ghost of a man she barely knew. "Go on, sit down." If she kept thinking about it anymore, she knew she'd start to cry again. And she did not feel like dealing with the fallout from that.
"'Go on, sit down,'" he said, sitting down. "So freaking bossy."
He looked down at his hands. Two nights ago, he had called her a tyrant. Obviously, those words had gouged in deep. He felt like he had no control over his mouth anymore. He sighed and took one more drag before dying the cigarette out. "So," he said, letting the words hang. He didn't know what to say, and couldn't organize his thoughts long enough to figure out what he should be saying. "I'm pretty fucking tanked," he said, laughing.
It took every ounce of inner strength she possessed not to scream or to hit him. She remained leaning up against the door for several long beats before coming to take a seat in the chair across from him. Her cigarette lay smoldering in the ash tray, but she picked it up and started to smoke it again. When that one was done, she lit up another one. "I know," she said finally, exhaling a lungful of smoke. "Why?"
"Uh." He checked his pockets again for the pack of Marlboros he had bought earlier. "Dammit." He lifted his ass off the seat just enough so that he could fish the now crushed pack from the back pocket of his jeans. There were still a couple good cigarettes left, but most of them had been destroyed.
He lit one up and tapped ash obliviously onto his knee. "Why am I drunk...?" His eyes drooped and his chin sank forward.
In spite of herself, Astrid lunged forwards, snatching the cigarette away from him. "Jesus Christ - you know what? This is bullshit." She ground the cigarette out in the ashtray and stood up. "Listen, just give me your keys, okay? Give me your keys and just ... sleep it off. I can't deal with this right now."
He slowly lifted his head. "Huh?" He squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them. They felt as if they had been freezer burnt. "Why? Where're you going?"
"Nowhere. I'm not going anywhere." It took a few tries, but Astrid managed to soften her tone, just a bit. "I just want your keys just to be on the safe side. You can have them back once you're feeling better, okay?" If she could take his keys, she'd feel a lot better: at least he could pass out on her couch for awhile and let her do her own thing.
He tossed his keys onto the coffee table and turned onto his side. His eyes were already getting heavy. "Come here?" He scooted back on the couch a little. He knew she was mad, but couldn't remember why.
At first Astrid said nothing, watching him through the haze of smoke coming from her cigarette. Grinding the butt out, she slowly got up and moved over onto the couch in front of him. "Better?"
"Mmn-hmn," he said, and his eyes slid shut. He wouldn't be awake again for a while.
At least her couch was big enough. She looked at him for several long moments, before exhaling a big, gusty sign and laying down next to him. He may have been drunk, but he was still Dante. And besides, it was exhausting being do angry. She'd sleep for now; maybe things would be better once they both woke up.
"You have reached the voice mail box of..." He pressed the End button and took another swig from the bottle with his good hand. He had ended up needing a total of twenty-two stitches. The doctors had told him he was lucky it hadn't gotten infected, since he had waited so long to get medical attention.
"Well if my girlfriend had gotten me a shot," he had slurred. They had encouraged him to take one of their beds in the Behavioral Health section of the ER, but he had refused. Once he had gotten some stitches and a nice dose of painkillers, Dante had spent the next two days cruising bars and repeatedly dialing Astrid's phone number. It was no use, though; he was pretty sure she hated him.
"Only one thing to do," he said. He slowly got up from the living room floor and stumbled into the kitchen, looking for his keys. "Gotta go get my girl." He got into the car and tucked the bottle of whiskey beside him, and twenty minutes later he stood at Astrid's front door. He used his bandaged hand to ring the doorbell, cradling the bottle with his good hand and tapping one foot impatiently.
Astrid was in the middle of blowing her nose when the doorbell rang. Fuck. She was pretty certain she knew who it was, but you never knew. Wiping her nose and tossing the tissue away, she went downstairs and to the front door, getting up on tiptoe to peek out the window - and saw Dante. With a bottle of booze. Straightening herself up, she felt her stomach lurch, her eyes stinging all over again. This was not going to be pretty. She steeled herself, made sure her composure and her will was firm, and then unlocked, opened the front door. "Dante, what are you doing here?"
"I think your phone is off," he said, rocking on his heels a little. Each time he moved forward, gravity threatened to forget about him. "Can I come in?"
He was shitfaced. Astrid bit down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming, especially after she caught sight of his car haphazardly parked in the driveway next to hers. Her initial reaction was to slam the door in his face - but then he'd just get back in the car and God knows what would happen. "You can come in, but you have to give me the whiskey. No more drinking while you're here, you're plenty drunk already." She stood her ground, her body pressed between the door frame and door.
"Oh-kay," he said, nearly singing. He put the bottle to his lips and took another swig, then handed it to her. "All yours." He grinned and moved toward the door. "Can I come in now?"
This was a mistake, a huge mistake and Astrid could feel it. But she couldn't turn him away if not for the simple fact that she did not want him out on the road driving around drunk. Accepting the bottle, she took a step back, letting him inside - thankful that nothing valuable or breakable was really nearby. "Sit down on the couch and don't move," she commanded sternly, glaring at him. She backed up, before disappearing in the kitchen, presumably hiding the bottle. She was gone for only a minute before she came back out into the living room, folding her arms. "You're not leaving here until you're sober," she said with a sigh, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch from him.
"Is that an order? You gonna tie me up, too?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her and then lay his head in her lap. Looking up at her, his intentions clear in his eyes, he brushed her cheek with his finger. "Hi," he whispered.
"Stop it," she said, pushing his hand away. "I'm really pissed at you, you know." Not that you're sober enough to care, she wanted to add - but she didn't feel like fanning the flames anymore than she already might of. "This is ridiculous, Dante. I don't like you behaving like this."
"Ridiculous?" He sat up as if she had caught on fire. "What would you like me to be, then? Hmn? Want me to be 'straight-edge' and wear tight pants?" He slumped back into the couch on the opposite end and dug through his pockets, looking for the pack of cigarettes he had bought -- if he had even bought any. His fingers found a single cigarette tucked behind his ear. It broke in half when he tried to grab it. He stuck the wrong end of one half in his mouth and lit the filter end, inhaling deeply.
"You know what your problem is?" He inhaled again and grimaced. The cigarette tasted like crap, but he couldn't figure out why. "You need to relax. Just, what, a week ago, we got a hotel room and," he said, inhaling again, "did all kinds of coke and shit, and you're telling me I have a drinking problem? Come on, babe. Seriously?" He held the cigarette out in front of him and made a face. "Fuck, I lit the wrong end."
"You don't need to remind me what we did a week ago." Astrid remembered the hotel - it had been fun, yes, but that had been more of a one time kind of thing. With the exception of that night, Astrid was fairly 'straight edged': she smoked cigarettes, sure, and smoke some pot here and there, and even drank a little bit. But the difference between her and Dante was self-control, and it was becoming rapidly apparent to her that he lacked it.
Leaning over to the coffee table, grabbing her pack of smokes and lit two up - handing him one, then keeping one for herself. "The fact that we did what we did last week should show you that I'm not closed minded about this. At all. But when this shit starts to affect our relationship? That's different." She jabbed her cigarette in the air, as if punctuating her statements. "I'm telling you that I think you have a drinking problem because I have every reason to believe that. You drove here drunk, for fuck's sake!" Her anger was rising, and her voice had taken on a sharper edge. She was trying to calm herself, but the thought of him driving, swerving across the road to get here almost made her blood pressure shoot through the roof. "I cannot think of a more despicable, disgusting thing for you to do -- and you're telling me to relax?!" She wasn't yelling, not yet, but she was damn near close.
"Fine," Dante said, and jumped up. He tripped over his own feet and almost fell into the coffee table. He managed to steady himself at the last second and fell back into the couch. "Fine, I'll go." He stood up again, cigarette clenched between his teeth. "Next time, pick up your fucking phone." He headed toward the door.
Astrid shook her head back and forth quickly, getting up after him. "Are you kidding me? I chew you out for driving drunk, and you're going to go do it?" She was incredulous, but then again, he was drunk, and therefore, not rational. She was also quicker than him: beating him to the door and pressing her back against it, effectively blocking him off. "You're not leaving here until you're sober."
"Then I guess I'm not leaving!" He folded his arms across his chest and stood, swaying a little. He took a few puffs on his cigarette, perched on his lower lip and threatening to fall at any second. "So bossy," he said.
"God, how old are you?" Astrid rolled her eyes, folded her arms across her chest. She narrowed her eyes at him through the haze of smoke that separated them. They had been together for so long ... had this been happening the whole time and she missed it? Was she really that oblivious? Or had this crept up on him slowly, like a cancer before putting him in a stranglehold? She knew one thing was for sure, and that was that this wasn't the Dante she had fallen in love with. Dante before had been so full of life, dreams, and ambition. And now, he looked like the ghost of a man she barely knew. "Go on, sit down." If she kept thinking about it anymore, she knew she'd start to cry again. And she did not feel like dealing with the fallout from that.
"'Go on, sit down,'" he said, sitting down. "So freaking bossy."
He looked down at his hands. Two nights ago, he had called her a tyrant. Obviously, those words had gouged in deep. He felt like he had no control over his mouth anymore. He sighed and took one more drag before dying the cigarette out. "So," he said, letting the words hang. He didn't know what to say, and couldn't organize his thoughts long enough to figure out what he should be saying. "I'm pretty fucking tanked," he said, laughing.
It took every ounce of inner strength she possessed not to scream or to hit him. She remained leaning up against the door for several long beats before coming to take a seat in the chair across from him. Her cigarette lay smoldering in the ash tray, but she picked it up and started to smoke it again. When that one was done, she lit up another one. "I know," she said finally, exhaling a lungful of smoke. "Why?"
"Uh." He checked his pockets again for the pack of Marlboros he had bought earlier. "Dammit." He lifted his ass off the seat just enough so that he could fish the now crushed pack from the back pocket of his jeans. There were still a couple good cigarettes left, but most of them had been destroyed.
He lit one up and tapped ash obliviously onto his knee. "Why am I drunk...?" His eyes drooped and his chin sank forward.
In spite of herself, Astrid lunged forwards, snatching the cigarette away from him. "Jesus Christ - you know what? This is bullshit." She ground the cigarette out in the ashtray and stood up. "Listen, just give me your keys, okay? Give me your keys and just ... sleep it off. I can't deal with this right now."
He slowly lifted his head. "Huh?" He squeezed his eyes closed and then opened them. They felt as if they had been freezer burnt. "Why? Where're you going?"
"Nowhere. I'm not going anywhere." It took a few tries, but Astrid managed to soften her tone, just a bit. "I just want your keys just to be on the safe side. You can have them back once you're feeling better, okay?" If she could take his keys, she'd feel a lot better: at least he could pass out on her couch for awhile and let her do her own thing.
He tossed his keys onto the coffee table and turned onto his side. His eyes were already getting heavy. "Come here?" He scooted back on the couch a little. He knew she was mad, but couldn't remember why.
At first Astrid said nothing, watching him through the haze of smoke coming from her cigarette. Grinding the butt out, she slowly got up and moved over onto the couch in front of him. "Better?"
"Mmn-hmn," he said, and his eyes slid shut. He wouldn't be awake again for a while.
At least her couch was big enough. She looked at him for several long moments, before exhaling a big, gusty sign and laying down next to him. He may have been drunk, but he was still Dante. And besides, it was exhausting being do angry. She'd sleep for now; maybe things would be better once they both woke up.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Ouch! (Part II)
Astrid paused, for several heart pounding seconds: regarding him carefully with big wet eyes. Her body was tense, muscles locked - the fight or flight instinct had taken over her, but was slowly subsiding. The hurt in his eyes killed her, and she knew that he really didn't mean it. But she also knew that there was still something wrong; not necessarily between them or because of her, but ...
Taking a deep, shaky breath, her eyelids dropped shut, letting the tears that welled up drip down her cheeks. "Okay," she said with a small hiccup, furrowing her brow - but leaned into his arms, pressing her face to his chest, letting her arms encircle him. She began to cry again, softly and quietly, not really able to hold it all back. The emotions that ran rampant throughout the night were unexpected, wore her down a bit, and all she could really do was try and catch her breath. "Okay," she repeated when she was calm enough, pulling back slightly from his body and rubbed her eyes with her fists, forcing a small smile. "I'm sorry. Do you ..." not really knowing why she was apologizing, maybe to keep him from getting upset again, "... want me to finish dinner?" She was going to ask him to talk, but ... it didn't seem right: the tension was still high in the air, thick.
"Eh," he said, waving a hand and turning away from her. He felt as if something had broken inside of him at the sight of her face, the tears running from her eyes. It was him that was wrong, and yet she was apologizing. Bile sloshed in his stomach and he cupped a hand to his mouth.
"There's nothing to be sorry for," he said through his fingers, afraid to turn around and face her. "Excuse me." He brushed past her toward the bathroom, eyes watching the floor. If he could get into the bathroom, maybe see if there was a little nipper under the counter or something, he could take back control of himself.
Astrid watched him helplessly, feeling a sudden chill ravage her body. Biting down on her bottom lip, she resisted the urge to break down and cry again - Jesus Christ, why was she such a goddamned crybaby? She liked to think of herself as a tough kind of chick, but when emotions were involved, she was prone to bursting into tears. Cursing her sensitive nature, she realized that there was little she could do for the moment. Climbing to her feet, using the kitchen counter for support, she leaned over the sink and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face to try and calm herself down.
Giving herself a few minutes to relax, because maybe if she was relaxed, then he would calm down, too. Her finger throbbed, she noticed dimly, but she tried to put it past her mind. The door to the bathroom was shut, ominously quiet - maybe he needed some space, too. She took the moment to carefully reapply her make-up in the bedroom - using waterproof eyeliner and mascara, this time - to let a few minutes pass. When there was nothing coming from the bathroom, she walked up to the door, knocking softly. "Dante? Dante, are you okay? Let me in."
Nothing, there was nothing. Dante stared at his reflection in the mirror, horrified. There wasn't even a mouthful of mouth rinse, and the worst part about that was that he had actually considered drinking Listerine. I think I might have a problem, he thought, and shook his head at his reflection. No. He just needed something to calm him down, something stronger than a Marlboro or a hit of cheap city weed.
His mouth felt as if it were coated in baking soda. "Yeah?"
There was a hint of desperation in his voice that threatened to break him, and she heard it, closing her eyes for a few brief seconds. "Dante, are you okay?" The feeling of impending doom washed over her, took root in her belly and worked its way through her body. She felt sick as she reached up a trembling hand, grasping the door knob and turning it, finding it unlocked.
Nudging the door open with a shoulder, she let it open to look at him standing there, gripping the sink. "Dante .... talk to me." She could see his resolve weakening, see that there was something very, very wrong with him; firming her tone slightly to show that she was strong, to show that she could handle whatever he would threw her way. All she wanted was to know what was wrong, do her best to try to help.
He clamped down on his tongue, fighting the explosive words that threatened to break free. His nostrils flared and he peeked at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked worried, innocent.
"Get... Get..." He turned from her, facing the glass shower, shaking. His mind raced and his fists clenched. He couldn't control himself, but the corners of his mouth threatened to curl up. Part of him enjoyed the mindless lack of self he now was. Part of him wanted to embrace the rage, to shatter that glass shower door. A small part of him remembered that he was a lot bigger than her, and that he needed to control himself if only so that he didn't scare her. He didn't think he would hurt her, but hadn't he already?
This was a side of him she had never seen - and it terrified her. He was upset about something, to say the least, and he was a bomb just waiting to go off. Part of her wanted to stay and try and comfort him, but the rational side of her overrode any maternal instinct that welled up inside her. She had to get out of here, and she had to go fast. She knew he would never hurt her purposefully, but she knew that if provoked, she would be in the way of a very dangerous man.
"Okay."
Her mouth was slightly open, fearful: but she obeyed his unfinished demand. Slowly backing up away from him until her back hit the wall, prompting her to turn for the bedroom and, very quickly and quietly, gather her purse and keys. She didn't know what else to do: she could hear him breathing heavily in the bathroom as she approached the door opening it and stepping out onto the porch. She'd wait here. She'd give him a few minutes, see what he did, and if things didn't change, she'd bounce. If only it were that simple.
He listened to her keys jingling off-beat with her footsteps, and when the door closed behind her he threw his fist into the medicine cabinet mirror. A few shards of glass sprayed onto the floor, but most of the mirror was now in his fist. He slid to the tiled floor and buried his face in his hands.
"Scissorhands," he said, voice cracking as the first of his tears burst and trickled down his abraded cheek. Little beads of blood sprang out from the wounds in his fist, but he didn't bother getting up to take care of it. He had given Astrid his last Band-Aid, and now he was pretty sure she was gone.
Astrid had just lit up a cigarette and taken a well-needed drag off of it when she heard the muffled, albeit noisy explosion of glass. Nearly dropping her cigarette and her keys, she turned around and flung the door open, dashing back into the apartment. It was a good thing she waited around, although she was not prepared for the sight that awaited her. This time, she did drop her purse and keys to the floor, not even hearing the clatter: mouth falling open and letting the cigarette fall to the tiles.
"My God, Dante," she choked out, pressing a hand to her mouth as she fell to her knees, crawling on the floor into the bathroom, careful to avoid any shards of glass, but even more careful of him on the off-chance he was primed to explode. She had a feeling, though, that this was the fallout of his rage and she didn't have anything to fear. She did, however, have to tend to his wounds - starting off by reaching a comforting hand out to him.
"I thought you left," he said. Lyrics from an old song came to him, something about being half a man, and then the fragment was gone. He didn't want to think about who he was; he wasn't even sure he knew anymore.
He held his damaged hand out in front of him. It didn't look good; some of the glass looked like it was in deep, and he thought he would probably need stitches. "I can handle this. It's okay. Really. You can just go home, or something." He tried his best to sound reassuring, to be the stone that he normally was for her, but the effort was half-assed.
"I didn't want to," she pointed out. Never mind that, though, this wasn't the time to be arguing or debating. He was seriously injured, whether he wanted to admit to it or not. Shaking her head as she gently took hold of his wrist, holding the hand up. It was a grotesque looking injury, one that he could most definitely not handle on his own.
"No way. I'm not leaving you like this." Astrid didn't want to leave him ever, but ... banishing the thought from her mind, she slowly stood up, holding onto the door jamb for support. "I'm taking you to the emergency room," she said finally, that firm tone seeping back into her voice. "I'm taking you, and you are not going to argue with me. I can't handle this, and neither can you. Come on, get up ..." Whoa! When did Astrid grow a spine? Her eyes were glassy like she was going to cry all over again, but she grounded her stance and bit the inside of her cheek. He was starting to bleed badly now, and she was growing more anxious with every moment that passed.
He tried to grin, but grit his teeth instead. "Really, it's fine," he said. "I can just pull these out with pliers and--" He knit his brows together. "Ooh, okay, okay. I might need to go to the ER."
He flexed his hand out in front of him. "Ooh, man that's bad. Shit," he said. "I might need a drink." He forced a grin and looked at her dead on. "Oh, man it hurts!"
Astrid shook her head, pale pink strands of hair coming loose from her pony tail, but she ignored them, still holding onto his wrist. "Baby, come on, get up. I'm going to take you to the ER." Slowly climbing to her feet, ever so gently pulling him up along with her.
"You don't need a drink, you need medical attention." Shaking her head - if only she realized how telling his own admission had been. It lingered in her mind when she helped him out the door and out to her car, but concern took over immediately. She found that her hands were shaking, fumbling with the keys before she actually got the car started, backing out of her parking space. "Just ... relax, okay?" God, why did he have to go and do that? He was bleeding all over himself, her car - not that she cared about that. At least he wasn't fighting her on the hospital bit.
"Fuck me, this hurts," he said as he swung the passenger door shut. "I feel like I'm gonna pass out." He held his hand in his lap, letting it bleed into his already soaked jeans. "If we could just stop somewhere real quick, get me a shot so I don't start screaming like a little girl in front of my girl..." He turned and winked at her, then winced. It actually did hurt pretty bad, but he didn't really care about the pain. He wanted to scream at her, to shake her, but that wouldn't get him anywhere. He needed to stay calm, cool.
He kept mentioning alcohol. She knew he drank often, but she never really considered the extent; though when he asked her to stop somewhere so he could get a shot, her early suspicion was beginning to seep back into her mind. It was a sobering thought - no pun intended, of course - that threw her into a tailspin of emotions: first concern, then anger, then annoyance, then ... well, she wasn't sure what she was feeling. Knitting her brows together, tossing him a dirty look. "Alcohol thins the blood, so you'll bleed even more than you already are." He was trying to be cute, but it wasn't going to work this time. As she drove, she wondered how many times she fell for this same trick, wondered just how bad his problem with alcohol really was.
"Come on, babe." He pulled at a piece of the glass in his hand, then drew his hand back when it hurt too much to fully pull out. "If you love me, you'll do this little thing for me. I'm already bleeding like a pig, anyway." He wiggled his hand for emphasis.
Astrid couldn't help it: she was beginning to feel quite angry at him at this point. All she had wanted was a nice, quiet night at his place to have dinner, relax, and forget about everything. This became evident long ago that this wasn't going to happen - and she was less than pleased that she had to drive him to the emergency room after he scared the everloving shit out of her. "No." Thank God the ER wasn't too far off, she could see the lights on top of the building in the distance. "Dante, I think you have a problem."
"Yeah, I think so, too," he said, not bothering to cover up the anger anymore. "It's my tyrant of a fucking girlfriend." The second the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. He wanted the drink even more, so he let the words hang, anticipating the inevitable argument that he was hoping would follow.
And she was here to let him down. She braked suddenly when he spoke those words, gasping softly in surprise - and then nothing. She couldn't even begin to formulate the words, the feelings that washed over her,m but she knew that if she even attempted to speak, she'd probably wind up hitting him in the face. Thankfully, they had reached the hospital; pulling up by the ER's sliding doors, she braked again, a little harder than necessary. "Get out." Her words were cold, her hands clutching the steering wheel so tight her knuckles began to turn white - her jaw was set, fighting back the tears.
He froze, unable to make even his good hand work the car door. He had, obviously, not anticipated this.
"Babybabybaby, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry. I'm just freaking out. I mean, I think I'm like delirious or something. It's the blood loss. I don't know what the fuck I'm saying. I'm just scared. I'm sorry." He glanced from the ER doors to Astrid's face as he spoke.
"Jesus FUCKING Christ, Dante, get the hell out of my car!!" Astrid had exploded suddenly, slamming both her fists on either side of the steering wheel. It was better than bursting into tears all over again, which she would be damned if she did that in front of him again. But she was pissed off, and understandably so, and right now, she wasn't sure she could stand to be around him anymore - even if she did feel concerned about his hand. Reaching across his lap, pushing the door open and then squared her shoulders, hands back on the wheel.
He got out and walked away, taking brisk steps in the opposite direction of the ER doors. Fuck his hand. He needed a drink.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, her eyelids dropped shut, letting the tears that welled up drip down her cheeks. "Okay," she said with a small hiccup, furrowing her brow - but leaned into his arms, pressing her face to his chest, letting her arms encircle him. She began to cry again, softly and quietly, not really able to hold it all back. The emotions that ran rampant throughout the night were unexpected, wore her down a bit, and all she could really do was try and catch her breath. "Okay," she repeated when she was calm enough, pulling back slightly from his body and rubbed her eyes with her fists, forcing a small smile. "I'm sorry. Do you ..." not really knowing why she was apologizing, maybe to keep him from getting upset again, "... want me to finish dinner?" She was going to ask him to talk, but ... it didn't seem right: the tension was still high in the air, thick.
"Eh," he said, waving a hand and turning away from her. He felt as if something had broken inside of him at the sight of her face, the tears running from her eyes. It was him that was wrong, and yet she was apologizing. Bile sloshed in his stomach and he cupped a hand to his mouth.
"There's nothing to be sorry for," he said through his fingers, afraid to turn around and face her. "Excuse me." He brushed past her toward the bathroom, eyes watching the floor. If he could get into the bathroom, maybe see if there was a little nipper under the counter or something, he could take back control of himself.
Astrid watched him helplessly, feeling a sudden chill ravage her body. Biting down on her bottom lip, she resisted the urge to break down and cry again - Jesus Christ, why was she such a goddamned crybaby? She liked to think of herself as a tough kind of chick, but when emotions were involved, she was prone to bursting into tears. Cursing her sensitive nature, she realized that there was little she could do for the moment. Climbing to her feet, using the kitchen counter for support, she leaned over the sink and turned on the faucet, splashing cold water on her face to try and calm herself down.
Giving herself a few minutes to relax, because maybe if she was relaxed, then he would calm down, too. Her finger throbbed, she noticed dimly, but she tried to put it past her mind. The door to the bathroom was shut, ominously quiet - maybe he needed some space, too. She took the moment to carefully reapply her make-up in the bedroom - using waterproof eyeliner and mascara, this time - to let a few minutes pass. When there was nothing coming from the bathroom, she walked up to the door, knocking softly. "Dante? Dante, are you okay? Let me in."
Nothing, there was nothing. Dante stared at his reflection in the mirror, horrified. There wasn't even a mouthful of mouth rinse, and the worst part about that was that he had actually considered drinking Listerine. I think I might have a problem, he thought, and shook his head at his reflection. No. He just needed something to calm him down, something stronger than a Marlboro or a hit of cheap city weed.
His mouth felt as if it were coated in baking soda. "Yeah?"
There was a hint of desperation in his voice that threatened to break him, and she heard it, closing her eyes for a few brief seconds. "Dante, are you okay?" The feeling of impending doom washed over her, took root in her belly and worked its way through her body. She felt sick as she reached up a trembling hand, grasping the door knob and turning it, finding it unlocked.
Nudging the door open with a shoulder, she let it open to look at him standing there, gripping the sink. "Dante .... talk to me." She could see his resolve weakening, see that there was something very, very wrong with him; firming her tone slightly to show that she was strong, to show that she could handle whatever he would threw her way. All she wanted was to know what was wrong, do her best to try to help.
He clamped down on his tongue, fighting the explosive words that threatened to break free. His nostrils flared and he peeked at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked worried, innocent.
"Get... Get..." He turned from her, facing the glass shower, shaking. His mind raced and his fists clenched. He couldn't control himself, but the corners of his mouth threatened to curl up. Part of him enjoyed the mindless lack of self he now was. Part of him wanted to embrace the rage, to shatter that glass shower door. A small part of him remembered that he was a lot bigger than her, and that he needed to control himself if only so that he didn't scare her. He didn't think he would hurt her, but hadn't he already?
This was a side of him she had never seen - and it terrified her. He was upset about something, to say the least, and he was a bomb just waiting to go off. Part of her wanted to stay and try and comfort him, but the rational side of her overrode any maternal instinct that welled up inside her. She had to get out of here, and she had to go fast. She knew he would never hurt her purposefully, but she knew that if provoked, she would be in the way of a very dangerous man.
"Okay."
Her mouth was slightly open, fearful: but she obeyed his unfinished demand. Slowly backing up away from him until her back hit the wall, prompting her to turn for the bedroom and, very quickly and quietly, gather her purse and keys. She didn't know what else to do: she could hear him breathing heavily in the bathroom as she approached the door opening it and stepping out onto the porch. She'd wait here. She'd give him a few minutes, see what he did, and if things didn't change, she'd bounce. If only it were that simple.
He listened to her keys jingling off-beat with her footsteps, and when the door closed behind her he threw his fist into the medicine cabinet mirror. A few shards of glass sprayed onto the floor, but most of the mirror was now in his fist. He slid to the tiled floor and buried his face in his hands.
"Scissorhands," he said, voice cracking as the first of his tears burst and trickled down his abraded cheek. Little beads of blood sprang out from the wounds in his fist, but he didn't bother getting up to take care of it. He had given Astrid his last Band-Aid, and now he was pretty sure she was gone.
Astrid had just lit up a cigarette and taken a well-needed drag off of it when she heard the muffled, albeit noisy explosion of glass. Nearly dropping her cigarette and her keys, she turned around and flung the door open, dashing back into the apartment. It was a good thing she waited around, although she was not prepared for the sight that awaited her. This time, she did drop her purse and keys to the floor, not even hearing the clatter: mouth falling open and letting the cigarette fall to the tiles.
"My God, Dante," she choked out, pressing a hand to her mouth as she fell to her knees, crawling on the floor into the bathroom, careful to avoid any shards of glass, but even more careful of him on the off-chance he was primed to explode. She had a feeling, though, that this was the fallout of his rage and she didn't have anything to fear. She did, however, have to tend to his wounds - starting off by reaching a comforting hand out to him.
"I thought you left," he said. Lyrics from an old song came to him, something about being half a man, and then the fragment was gone. He didn't want to think about who he was; he wasn't even sure he knew anymore.
He held his damaged hand out in front of him. It didn't look good; some of the glass looked like it was in deep, and he thought he would probably need stitches. "I can handle this. It's okay. Really. You can just go home, or something." He tried his best to sound reassuring, to be the stone that he normally was for her, but the effort was half-assed.
"I didn't want to," she pointed out. Never mind that, though, this wasn't the time to be arguing or debating. He was seriously injured, whether he wanted to admit to it or not. Shaking her head as she gently took hold of his wrist, holding the hand up. It was a grotesque looking injury, one that he could most definitely not handle on his own.
"No way. I'm not leaving you like this." Astrid didn't want to leave him ever, but ... banishing the thought from her mind, she slowly stood up, holding onto the door jamb for support. "I'm taking you to the emergency room," she said finally, that firm tone seeping back into her voice. "I'm taking you, and you are not going to argue with me. I can't handle this, and neither can you. Come on, get up ..." Whoa! When did Astrid grow a spine? Her eyes were glassy like she was going to cry all over again, but she grounded her stance and bit the inside of her cheek. He was starting to bleed badly now, and she was growing more anxious with every moment that passed.
He tried to grin, but grit his teeth instead. "Really, it's fine," he said. "I can just pull these out with pliers and--" He knit his brows together. "Ooh, okay, okay. I might need to go to the ER."
He flexed his hand out in front of him. "Ooh, man that's bad. Shit," he said. "I might need a drink." He forced a grin and looked at her dead on. "Oh, man it hurts!"
Astrid shook her head, pale pink strands of hair coming loose from her pony tail, but she ignored them, still holding onto his wrist. "Baby, come on, get up. I'm going to take you to the ER." Slowly climbing to her feet, ever so gently pulling him up along with her.
"You don't need a drink, you need medical attention." Shaking her head - if only she realized how telling his own admission had been. It lingered in her mind when she helped him out the door and out to her car, but concern took over immediately. She found that her hands were shaking, fumbling with the keys before she actually got the car started, backing out of her parking space. "Just ... relax, okay?" God, why did he have to go and do that? He was bleeding all over himself, her car - not that she cared about that. At least he wasn't fighting her on the hospital bit.
"Fuck me, this hurts," he said as he swung the passenger door shut. "I feel like I'm gonna pass out." He held his hand in his lap, letting it bleed into his already soaked jeans. "If we could just stop somewhere real quick, get me a shot so I don't start screaming like a little girl in front of my girl..." He turned and winked at her, then winced. It actually did hurt pretty bad, but he didn't really care about the pain. He wanted to scream at her, to shake her, but that wouldn't get him anywhere. He needed to stay calm, cool.
He kept mentioning alcohol. She knew he drank often, but she never really considered the extent; though when he asked her to stop somewhere so he could get a shot, her early suspicion was beginning to seep back into her mind. It was a sobering thought - no pun intended, of course - that threw her into a tailspin of emotions: first concern, then anger, then annoyance, then ... well, she wasn't sure what she was feeling. Knitting her brows together, tossing him a dirty look. "Alcohol thins the blood, so you'll bleed even more than you already are." He was trying to be cute, but it wasn't going to work this time. As she drove, she wondered how many times she fell for this same trick, wondered just how bad his problem with alcohol really was.
"Come on, babe." He pulled at a piece of the glass in his hand, then drew his hand back when it hurt too much to fully pull out. "If you love me, you'll do this little thing for me. I'm already bleeding like a pig, anyway." He wiggled his hand for emphasis.
Astrid couldn't help it: she was beginning to feel quite angry at him at this point. All she had wanted was a nice, quiet night at his place to have dinner, relax, and forget about everything. This became evident long ago that this wasn't going to happen - and she was less than pleased that she had to drive him to the emergency room after he scared the everloving shit out of her. "No." Thank God the ER wasn't too far off, she could see the lights on top of the building in the distance. "Dante, I think you have a problem."
"Yeah, I think so, too," he said, not bothering to cover up the anger anymore. "It's my tyrant of a fucking girlfriend." The second the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to take them back. He wanted the drink even more, so he let the words hang, anticipating the inevitable argument that he was hoping would follow.
And she was here to let him down. She braked suddenly when he spoke those words, gasping softly in surprise - and then nothing. She couldn't even begin to formulate the words, the feelings that washed over her,m but she knew that if she even attempted to speak, she'd probably wind up hitting him in the face. Thankfully, they had reached the hospital; pulling up by the ER's sliding doors, she braked again, a little harder than necessary. "Get out." Her words were cold, her hands clutching the steering wheel so tight her knuckles began to turn white - her jaw was set, fighting back the tears.
He froze, unable to make even his good hand work the car door. He had, obviously, not anticipated this.
"Babybabybaby, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry. I'm just freaking out. I mean, I think I'm like delirious or something. It's the blood loss. I don't know what the fuck I'm saying. I'm just scared. I'm sorry." He glanced from the ER doors to Astrid's face as he spoke.
"Jesus FUCKING Christ, Dante, get the hell out of my car!!" Astrid had exploded suddenly, slamming both her fists on either side of the steering wheel. It was better than bursting into tears all over again, which she would be damned if she did that in front of him again. But she was pissed off, and understandably so, and right now, she wasn't sure she could stand to be around him anymore - even if she did feel concerned about his hand. Reaching across his lap, pushing the door open and then squared her shoulders, hands back on the wheel.
He got out and walked away, taking brisk steps in the opposite direction of the ER doors. Fuck his hand. He needed a drink.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
Ouch!
It was a few days after their wild hotel escapade, and she was standing in his kitchen, preparing dinner. No real reason, except she wanted to, and he looked like he could stand to eat a few meals. So earlier in the day, while he was at work, she went to the grocery store and purchased two decently sizeable, thick steaks, some potatoes, and corn on the cob.
Now here she was, fading-pink hair tied back in a messy ponytail, mouth twisted to the side of her face in fierce concentration as she defrosted the steaks, calling into the living room, “Hope you’re hungry!” Sounding way too cheerful - slowly, surely, she was getting into the ‘housewife’ routine. And, frighteningly enough, was rather enjoying it.
Slumped over on the couch, eyes dully watching the images flickering on the television, Dante grunted in response. For the most part, he loved that she was with him, making dinner, putting a little light in his life. A tiny part of him, though, wished she would just leave. He hated that part of himself, but no matter what he did, it would not go away. The bottom line was, he wanted a drink. As long as Astrid was around, he couldn't have one. It was grating on his nerves, setting him on edge, and the more he hated himself, the more angry he was becoming.
Still, he managed to call back with a hearty, "Starving!" and began to flip through the channels. He felt like the biggest piece of shit in the world.
Sigh. Astrid is a woman, Dante, she’s got something called womens’ intuition! She knows when something is wrong! Most other girls would have been happy with his response, but she caught the note of aggravation in his voice, and rolled her eyes in spite of herself. She was getting sort of fed up with him too, thought for much different reasons. He’d been like this for weeks now - on edge, agitated, and he wasn’t talking to her.
Just ignore him, she told herself, putting the steaks on the mini Foreman grill, and closed the lid, setting about the peeling the potatoes. Withdrawing a kitchen knife from the drawer, she began to slice and dice -- and knicked her finger in the process. “Shit!” The knife clattered to the floor as she grabbed her hand, hissing sharply in pain. “Fuck!”
Jumping up from the couch, Dante made it into the kitchen in less than two seconds. "What happened?" The words came out much more rough than he meant them to, and he instantly amended: "Are you okay?", his voice much softer.
She pressed the tip of her wounded finger in between her lips, sucking hard on it - as if it would make the pain go away. When he stepped into the kitchen, her eyes were wide at his tone, and she stopped, total deer in headlights look. Poor Astrid. When she spoke, her voice was tiny, meager even: “I cut myself.”
Her lower lip stuck out in a pout as she relaxed, holding her bleeding fingertip out to him. “See?” Her tone was childish; half hoping to charm him into submission, hoping to relax him from whatever was bothering him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, blood hot and rushing through his veins. What the fuck was the matter with him? He turned the water on in the kitchen sink and led her to it, sticking her finger under the cold tap. The scent of cooking food calmed him a bit, but his level of anger seemed to just keep rising; the angrier he became, the more angry he became at himself. It didn't have to make sense--it just was.
She moved with him mutely, inhaling sharply at the cold water rinsing off the blood. The cut was small, minor, and stopped bleeding after a few minutes. But as he held her hand in place, she winced. “Oww ...” She tried to tug her arm away. “Baby, you’re hurting me. Is everything okay?” His anger coalesced throughout his body, and she could feel it. It pervaded the air of the kitchen, overtook the scents of her cooking, and she found herself oddly frightened - trying to move away from him. Sheer instinct.
He released her arm, flexing his fingers; he hadn't realized he was holding her wrist so tightly. Still, he found his voice coming out choked and forced. "Why don't you want to be near me?"
Astrid cradled her wrist in her free hand, her eyes wide as she stepped back against the refrigerator. “I ... you’re scaring me,” was all she could manage out, her voice barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong? Why can’t you talk to me?” She looked scared, defenseless; she was completely in fight or flight mode, his radiating intensity setting her nerves afire, on edge.
"Ah, fuck," he said, slamming his fist into the oven door, creating a little dent in it. He turned to the sink, knuckles white, he was gripping the counter so tightly. He splashed cold water on his face and stood, staring out the sink window, water dripping from his face and hair.
"I can't fucking do this anymore," he whispered, voice still razor sharp but filled with a sadness so thick no knife could cut through it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He didn't want to look at her; his head was buzzing with the childish idea that if he refused to turn around and talk to her, it would all go away.
Poor Astrid. Poor, scared stiff Astrid. She was helpless - clueless on what to do. He was going mental, and she did not have the faintest idea of what to do to help. She flinched at the oven door being punched, shirking away into a corner, several paces away from him, shaking like a leaf the whole while. His anger scared her - not the anger itself, but because she had no idea what was forcing it.
The despondent tone in his voice absolutely crushed her heart, and she deflated visibly, gigantic tears pooling in her eyes. Her lower lip was trembling uncontrollably, but she did not blink, refusing to let the tears spill over. Why she was crying, she didn’t know. All she wanted to do was help.
Without a word, without a glance at her, Dante went into the bathroom. He refused to look at himself in the mirror; he had a feeling if he did, he might crack completely. He sat down on the edge of the tub and buried his face in his hands. Things were spinning out of control, and fast. She was getting scared, and that made him angry. Angry at himself, but he found himself projecting his anger outward--in an unhealthy way.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Stood from the tub and tore open the medicine cabinet. A tin Band-Aid box stared back at him. He took it down from the shelf, and was graced with a single Band-Aid. He placed the Band-Aid on the counter and looked back into the cabinet. Ah, the emergency one-hitter, packed and ready to go. He took a hit and closed his eyes, holding the smoke in for as long as possible. Exhaled. Took another hit and put the piece back in its place.
Consequently, when he shut the cabinet, he caught his reflection. He could feel the drug taking its effect; the anger was seeping out of him and he just felt indifferent. He opened the bathroom door and took the ten or so steps toward Astrid, Band-Aid extended to her in one sweaty palm.
When he left, she let out the breath she had no idea that she had been holding, letting it all all in one gusty sigh. Then she hiccuped, and then it was all over - the tears tumbled down her cheeks, trailing mascara with them, damnit. She drew her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms and legs, and silently cried.
It was her fault. She didn’t know how, or why, but she just knew that this was all her fault, and that made her cry harder. To make things more annoying, she just could not stop hiccuping, and so she was a gasping, sniveling mess when he returned to her. Glancing up at the proffered Band-Aid, she took it with trembling fingers - the wound had reopened - and sniffled, unwrapping it and bandaging her wound.
Yet she still could not quite bring herself to look at him, afraid of inciting his rage.
"Sorry. I," he paused, holding his arms out to her. "Guess I'm just overtired," he said.
She froze, her head cocked to the side, her expression blank. "What did I do?" She whispered with a sniffle, the tears threatening to return.
"Nothing, baby, nothing," he said, arms still outstretched. "I'm just grumpy. I'm sorry." Hoping against hope that she wouldn't cry. Not again.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Now here she was, fading-pink hair tied back in a messy ponytail, mouth twisted to the side of her face in fierce concentration as she defrosted the steaks, calling into the living room, “Hope you’re hungry!” Sounding way too cheerful - slowly, surely, she was getting into the ‘housewife’ routine. And, frighteningly enough, was rather enjoying it.
Slumped over on the couch, eyes dully watching the images flickering on the television, Dante grunted in response. For the most part, he loved that she was with him, making dinner, putting a little light in his life. A tiny part of him, though, wished she would just leave. He hated that part of himself, but no matter what he did, it would not go away. The bottom line was, he wanted a drink. As long as Astrid was around, he couldn't have one. It was grating on his nerves, setting him on edge, and the more he hated himself, the more angry he was becoming.
Still, he managed to call back with a hearty, "Starving!" and began to flip through the channels. He felt like the biggest piece of shit in the world.
Sigh. Astrid is a woman, Dante, she’s got something called womens’ intuition! She knows when something is wrong! Most other girls would have been happy with his response, but she caught the note of aggravation in his voice, and rolled her eyes in spite of herself. She was getting sort of fed up with him too, thought for much different reasons. He’d been like this for weeks now - on edge, agitated, and he wasn’t talking to her.
Just ignore him, she told herself, putting the steaks on the mini Foreman grill, and closed the lid, setting about the peeling the potatoes. Withdrawing a kitchen knife from the drawer, she began to slice and dice -- and knicked her finger in the process. “Shit!” The knife clattered to the floor as she grabbed her hand, hissing sharply in pain. “Fuck!”
Jumping up from the couch, Dante made it into the kitchen in less than two seconds. "What happened?" The words came out much more rough than he meant them to, and he instantly amended: "Are you okay?", his voice much softer.
She pressed the tip of her wounded finger in between her lips, sucking hard on it - as if it would make the pain go away. When he stepped into the kitchen, her eyes were wide at his tone, and she stopped, total deer in headlights look. Poor Astrid. When she spoke, her voice was tiny, meager even: “I cut myself.”
Her lower lip stuck out in a pout as she relaxed, holding her bleeding fingertip out to him. “See?” Her tone was childish; half hoping to charm him into submission, hoping to relax him from whatever was bothering him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, blood hot and rushing through his veins. What the fuck was the matter with him? He turned the water on in the kitchen sink and led her to it, sticking her finger under the cold tap. The scent of cooking food calmed him a bit, but his level of anger seemed to just keep rising; the angrier he became, the more angry he became at himself. It didn't have to make sense--it just was.
She moved with him mutely, inhaling sharply at the cold water rinsing off the blood. The cut was small, minor, and stopped bleeding after a few minutes. But as he held her hand in place, she winced. “Oww ...” She tried to tug her arm away. “Baby, you’re hurting me. Is everything okay?” His anger coalesced throughout his body, and she could feel it. It pervaded the air of the kitchen, overtook the scents of her cooking, and she found herself oddly frightened - trying to move away from him. Sheer instinct.
He released her arm, flexing his fingers; he hadn't realized he was holding her wrist so tightly. Still, he found his voice coming out choked and forced. "Why don't you want to be near me?"
Astrid cradled her wrist in her free hand, her eyes wide as she stepped back against the refrigerator. “I ... you’re scaring me,” was all she could manage out, her voice barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong? Why can’t you talk to me?” She looked scared, defenseless; she was completely in fight or flight mode, his radiating intensity setting her nerves afire, on edge.
"Ah, fuck," he said, slamming his fist into the oven door, creating a little dent in it. He turned to the sink, knuckles white, he was gripping the counter so tightly. He splashed cold water on his face and stood, staring out the sink window, water dripping from his face and hair.
"I can't fucking do this anymore," he whispered, voice still razor sharp but filled with a sadness so thick no knife could cut through it. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He didn't want to look at her; his head was buzzing with the childish idea that if he refused to turn around and talk to her, it would all go away.
Poor Astrid. Poor, scared stiff Astrid. She was helpless - clueless on what to do. He was going mental, and she did not have the faintest idea of what to do to help. She flinched at the oven door being punched, shirking away into a corner, several paces away from him, shaking like a leaf the whole while. His anger scared her - not the anger itself, but because she had no idea what was forcing it.
The despondent tone in his voice absolutely crushed her heart, and she deflated visibly, gigantic tears pooling in her eyes. Her lower lip was trembling uncontrollably, but she did not blink, refusing to let the tears spill over. Why she was crying, she didn’t know. All she wanted to do was help.
Without a word, without a glance at her, Dante went into the bathroom. He refused to look at himself in the mirror; he had a feeling if he did, he might crack completely. He sat down on the edge of the tub and buried his face in his hands. Things were spinning out of control, and fast. She was getting scared, and that made him angry. Angry at himself, but he found himself projecting his anger outward--in an unhealthy way.
He inhaled. Exhaled. Stood from the tub and tore open the medicine cabinet. A tin Band-Aid box stared back at him. He took it down from the shelf, and was graced with a single Band-Aid. He placed the Band-Aid on the counter and looked back into the cabinet. Ah, the emergency one-hitter, packed and ready to go. He took a hit and closed his eyes, holding the smoke in for as long as possible. Exhaled. Took another hit and put the piece back in its place.
Consequently, when he shut the cabinet, he caught his reflection. He could feel the drug taking its effect; the anger was seeping out of him and he just felt indifferent. He opened the bathroom door and took the ten or so steps toward Astrid, Band-Aid extended to her in one sweaty palm.
When he left, she let out the breath she had no idea that she had been holding, letting it all all in one gusty sigh. Then she hiccuped, and then it was all over - the tears tumbled down her cheeks, trailing mascara with them, damnit. She drew her knees to her chest, burying her face in her arms and legs, and silently cried.
It was her fault. She didn’t know how, or why, but she just knew that this was all her fault, and that made her cry harder. To make things more annoying, she just could not stop hiccuping, and so she was a gasping, sniveling mess when he returned to her. Glancing up at the proffered Band-Aid, she took it with trembling fingers - the wound had reopened - and sniffled, unwrapping it and bandaging her wound.
Yet she still could not quite bring herself to look at him, afraid of inciting his rage.
"Sorry. I," he paused, holding his arms out to her. "Guess I'm just overtired," he said.
She froze, her head cocked to the side, her expression blank. "What did I do?" She whispered with a sniffle, the tears threatening to return.
"Nothing, baby, nothing," he said, arms still outstretched. "I'm just grumpy. I'm sorry." Hoping against hope that she wouldn't cry. Not again.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Sinful
Tonight was the night she had been waiting for. She and Dante had gotten the wild idea in their heads one rainy day about a week ago. Get a hotel room for a night or two, stock up on lube, condoms, and plenty of drugs. And why the hell not? They’d just gotten paid, and it was a change of scenery from Dante’s place.
So anyway, she was waiting in the parking lot of Dante’s place, waiting for him to come down with all his bags, her engine idling. As the minutes ticked by, she grew more and more anxious - breathing a sigh of relief when her boyfriend ambled into view. “Finally!” Mumbled to herself, unlocking the doors.
“Took you long enough,” she teased.
"Yeah, yeah," he said, bending down to kiss the tip of her nose. A beat up leather bag was slung over his shoulder; he held his other bag, a green duffel, in his other hand. Part of him couldn't believe they were doing this. The other part was on the verge of bursting, he was so pumped.
"I got it," he said, lowering his voice. "Jugs hooked me up with his coke guy and I got it."
She was every bit as giddy as he was! In her possession, she had an ounce of some dank marijuana, and a fifth of Jack, plus her bong and shot glasses, with chaser. “Good. I think we’re all set, then.” No idea what else he had on him, but one thing was for certain: If they got pulled over, they would be royally fucked. But for some reason, the fear didn’t touch her; she felt relaxed, elated.
Fortunately, the hotel was a ten minute drive down the road into Naperville, and she was able to take back roads, wisely avoiding any cops. Pulling into the parking lot, she got out, grabbing the bags. “Alright. It’s go time.”
Shaking his head, Dante took the bags from her. "Don't think so, you." He flashed her a quick grin, eyes simulataneously scanning the parking lot and hotel entrance for cops. He had no luck with cops, and didn't want to push what little luck he had left.
Seeing that the coast was clear, he led Astrid to the entrance and managed to hold the door and balance all of their bags.
She had a printed copy of their reservation in her pocket, and so helped him through the door, before walking up to the front desk. “Hi, we’re checking in. The reservation is under Astrid Liljegren, L-i-l-j-e-g-r-e-n.” Resting an elbow on the counter, her chin in her palm as she waited, glancing back a few times to grin at Dante.
The woman at the desk ignored the glances, shuffling around and finding two room keys. “Here you go,” droned the front desk clerk. “Check out is at noon. We have breakfast from 6.30 to 8.30AM.” Her gaze was already slipping back to the mini television behind the desk.
“Thanks,” snickered Astrid, scooping up the keys and a bag, hightailing it to the elevators.
Chuckling to himself, Dante pressed the elevator button and wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Think we've got time between here and our floor?"
She swatted his hand. “No getting any ideas! We need to stay discreet until we’re behind closed doors.” Oh, she was dying for this. But she wasn’t about to get majorly busted, either. And so the small girl lead him down the hall, finding their room - 813 - and unlocked it, opening the door ... finding a DO NOT DISTURB sign, and immediately hung it on the knob.
"Someone's in a hurry," he said, whistling innocently at he put their bags down on the floor. He flopped down on his back onto the bed, resting his head on his arms. "Man, that ceiling's nice." It was one of those bubbled ceilings, the kind you felt you could reach out and pop. As a kid he'd thought that all bubbled ceilings were caused by Vicks Vaporizers. Now he wasn't so sure, but thought the theory was still up for grabs.
He pointed up. "How do ceilings get that way?"
She dropped everything and locked the door, joining him on the bed. Stretching herself out luxuriously beside him, coiling an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss against his neck. “Mmn.” She blinked, following his finger to the ceiling. “Good question. I have no idea.” Really, the last thing on her mind at this point was the ceiling.
"No, seriously. Vicks Vaporizers?" He looked at her, keeping his eyes as blank and widely innocent as possible.
“Dante!” Whine! She puffed her cheeks out and exhaled a greeeeat big sigh. “Yes, Vicks Vaporizers. You win!” She went back to kissing his neck in an effort to distract him, to bring him back for their true purpose of being there; a hand lifting the hem of his t-shirt up to expose his stomach.
Biting his lip to keep from laughing, he caught her hand in his and kissed her brow. "So what first?" He sat up and removed wallet and keys from pockets, tossing them onto the nightstand. "Let's see what we've got." He grabbed the duffel bag and hauled it onto the bed, pulling zippers open and removing bags of coke, weed and accompanying bowls and straws.
Her gaze immediately dropped to the bags of cocaine, a wide grin splitting her features. “How about some Colombian marching powder, first? Then the reefer to take the edge off.” She was already pulling out a small hand held mirror, deftly opening a baggie and tamping a small pile of the good stuff onto the mirror. Fishing a razor blade out of her wallet, she set to work cutting out lines.
“Pack a bowl. We’ll need it a little later.”
Raising his eyebrows in surprise at her obvious former experience with the stuff, Dante did as he was told, breaking his weed and whistling a little Stone Temple Pilots. "Smell this," he said, passing the packed bowl under Astrid's nose. "It's haze."
Hey, she wasn’t a total cokehead! But she did enjoy it from time to time, albeit very rarely - she didn’t like to screw with it more than a couple times a year. She was in the middle of cutting down a few straws when she leaned in and closed her eyes, inhaling the heady scent of greens. “Aah ... Smells good!” She grinned. “This is so going to be worth blowing my entire paycheck.”
"Yeah, and then some. I took out a loan for some of this." He grinned at her, setting the bowl down on the nightstand next to his wallet. The last time he had done coke--he liked to stick to drinking and smoking--had been with Jugs, the only real cokehead he knew. That had been a few years ago, and he couldn't remember much of the occasion. He had gotten so messed up he had blacked out and woken up in the IOU section of Yale. So much for partying in the dorms. Looking back, he couldn't even really remember who he had been with or whose dorm they had been in. Now his binge drinking occurred in the closet. Well, except for tonight.
He got up from the bed and put the AC on low. Natural curiosity led him to the computer desk in the corner of the room. There was a remote and some takeout menus. The remote was the only thing that interested him. He doubted there was anything on tv on a Sunday night but wanted something in the background; the paranoid part of his mind kept reminding him they had neighbors, and those neighbors would be the first to call the cops. Television on and blaring some MTV crap, he returned to the bed, sprawling on his stomach and watching Astrid finish up the honors.
As he fiddled with the television, she slipped one end of a straw into her nostril, the other end at the beginning of one line. Sniffing the powder deep into her skull, she switched nostrils and inhaled the second line right after the first. Immediately her eyes became glassy, a strange smile on her face as she traced a fingertip over the surface of the mirror, rubbing the remnants on her gums. The small mirror was set down on the table for Dante, if he so choose; she took over the remote.
Flipping idly through the channels, she found some HBO softcore porn, leaving the channel on in a moment of interest. Something inside her stirred, but wasn’t incited by the two faux-lesbians on screen, and so after a few beats, she turned it off. Settling back on MTV, the volume turned way low, but still enough to be slightly distracting. Her muscles tensed; she began to grow jittery.
He watched her for a moment, then leaned over the mirror. As he inhaled deeply, he caught his reflection; he looked like shit. He watched for a bit longer. Watched his eyes turn red, glossy, dull. Blinked, slowly. Blinked. Wiggled his eyebrows. Took another hit. He waggled his eyebrows some more, and snorted, blowing what little what left on the mirror out of line.
She closed her eyes. “I brought porn. And the PS2. We can hook that up to the TV, couldn’t we?” Wondering out loud to herself - now her lips were loose, same with her morals. A little sniffle as she sat up from the bed, glancing over at him, smiling slightly.
“How do you feel?”
He watched her for a second, feeling strangely chatty. "Like I jumped out of a plane and kept falling." He paused. "Haven't done this in a while." Crawled over to her and rested his head in her lap. "I like, want to go into the hall and talk to whoever's across from us."
“Probably not the best idea,” she snickered. “We’ll have to keep an eye out, and see who’s around.” Don’t want to arouse too much suspicion. “I know how you feel, though. If we were at home, I’d probably be cleaning by now.” A little laugh, then a slight grimace. The Drip! Scowling as her throat went numb - it would take a little bit to adjust to this euphoria, to feel it out, then decide what to do.
Her fingers dipped into his hair, stroking it; winding strands around them and giving a playful little tug. Uh oh ... look out, Dante! Someone’s feeling feisty.
"Mmn." He leaned into her, enjoying the way her fingers felt in his hair, cocking his head a bit. He wrinkled his nose, sniffling a little. Floating. Distantly he wanted a drink, but fought to just enjoy the moment. He sat up quickly, facing her, sitting Indian-style on the bed. "Favorite song. Quick."
She pursed her lips, licking them, closing one eyes thoughtfully. “Mmn ... at the moment?” She shrugged. “Anything off Very Proud of Ya. Been into old-school AFI lately.” Why, she wasn’t sure. “But I do like that ‘Hey There Delilah’ song. And the ‘Crazy Bitch’ song, too. By Buckcherry, I think.” She didn’t really listen to the radio much, anyway.
“What about you? Any new bands? I need new music. I’m getting kind of bored of everything I have.” It was true. She hadn’t changed the CD in her car stereo, which was Hellbilly Deluxe, for quite some time now.
He rocked back and forth, back and forth. Slow. "Eisley. That hasn't left my car since I got the new album. Other than that, haven't found anything that catches my ear. Wish I had my guitar here but I didn't want to accidentally break it. I've gone through a few in the last couple months." He paused. Took a breath. "I'm talking a lot."
Astrid snickered, rearranging her legs. “So am I. That’s what this devil drug does to you ... but that’s alright. At least we’re here, alone, together, and talking to each other. I’d rather be fucked up with you than by myself.” She stood up, and promptly began pacing. Glancing around, before she spun on a heel, facing him.
“I’m hot,” she said simply, even though the air conditioning was on low. And so she promptly shed her shirt; her pale skin slightly flushed and moist. Tossing the shirt aside, she grinned at him as she sat down at the computer desk. “All better. Aren’t you warm? Or am I just geeked out?”
"I'm dying," he said, shedding his own shirt and turning up the air. He turned to her and pulled her to the edge of the desk, until the lines of their bodies met. "This is crazy," he whispered, kissing her full on the lips.
The blush crawled up her neck, coloured her cheeks as he pulled her close; her hands gently grasping his arms. A soft purr in agreement, muffled by their lips melting together - she nibbled, sucked on his bottom lip. “I know,” she whispered, releasing it, the tip of her tongue flicking out to lash against it. “That’s the best part of tonight.”
He put a hand at the small of her back, caressed the nape of her neck with the other hand. "Like, I just have this need to ramble. And I don't known if I'm going to say something stupid. So, I want to keep my mouth shut but can't. Let's trash this place," he said, looking around at the neat and tidy room.
Astrid snickered. “Dante, since when have you ever worried about saying something stupid?” Shaking her head - she was losing him. Her hand drifted down to his hip, fingertips dipping past the waistband of his boxers to turn his attention back to her.
“Not yet. It’s too early, too soon. Wait, wait for the crest of this high, beautiful wave. It’ll come, and it will be glorious. Plus I need to make sure I still have enough money to cover all of this.” Now she was rambling, her hands burrowing in Dante’s pants, yet her mind was distracted.
"Yeah, I always say stupid somethings and never worry about them." He tipped his head back and brought it forward, pressing his lips to hers. "Hope this desk is sturdy," he said against her mouth, tongue darting in and flicking around hers.
“And that is why I love you,” she murmured against his lips; propping her rear on the edge of the desk, denimed legs rising and encircling Dante’s waist. Head tilted to the side and tipped back, holding the kiss, her tongue pressing against his, coiling around it, teasing it. Before long, she reached a hand up, pressing the palm to the back of his head to deepen the kiss, her hips raising up against his momentarily.
He let her deepen the kiss, grinding his hips against hers, thinking about what she had just said. Had he heard right or were the drugs fucking with just about everything? Was he supposed to say something? And if he did say something, what if he'd heard wrong? Why was he thinking about it so much? Did it really matter?
He gripped her hips, pulling her tighter against him, gently pressing the tightness of his jeans against her. He tried to remember what he had just been thinking about but suddenly it wasn't so important.
She didn’t expect him to say anything - hell, she wasn’t expecting that to come popping out of her mouth! But never mind that; she was quick on her feet, and distracted him with kisses, the hand on his head trailing down to the front of his chest, fingertips skipping across his nipple.
A low groan sounded in the back of her throat at the tightness pressed against her, her hips circling slightly to grind against it. She broke the kiss, panting slightly, nipping at his throat. “Jesus, Dante,” she gasped. “I’ve never wanted you so badly more than I do now.” She suddenly sounded slightly desperate, both hands resting on his shoulders to keep him pressed between her legs.
He moaned, eyes widening at her words. Fingers began working at buttons, zippers, clothing removed in a blur. His naked hardness pressed against her thigh as his hands worked at her jeans. He couldn't kiss her enough. If she kept talking like that, though, they might have to wait til later. He grimaced at the thought of disappointing her. "Now, now, now," he chanted under his breath, not realizing he was speaking aloud.
Astrid leaned back on her palms, lifting her hips up and untangling her legs from his lean waist: watching him peel off her jeans, her panties, kicking them aside to the floor. She leaned back up against him, legs tugging him right back to where he began, a hand reaching down to cup his aching erection. “Now?” A little grin.
"Now," he said, the words barely making it out of his mouth. The little tease. He took her hands in his, twining fingers, moving closer to her, finding the right angle. A deep breath, then he began to rock, plunging into her slowly, slowly. He kissed her, eyes rolling back at the sensation of being inside of her.
“Oh, God ...” Exhaling softly as she felt him press against her, eyes closing. Their hips met, and she gasped, her legs snaring him. Leaning forwards to press against his chest, her hips rocking back and forth to meet his thrusts; she leaned her head up, sinking her teeth into his neck, giving a little tug. “More, baby, more.” Her voice was an airy gasp, her tone pleading.
Silently enthralled with her bedside manner, he grabbed her ass and thrust into her as hard as he could, laying her back on the desk, thrusting in and out, faster and faster. Watching her the entire time. "How's that feel?" He leaned down to kiss her, words coming out in a breathy whisper. His thrusts slowed momentarily; he needed to catch his breath.
“Feels so good, baby ..” Her hips moved in time with his, quickening the pace, listening to the sound of their bodies moving together. It was all too much for her, nearing the edge - she was growing dizzy. Gasping, she loosened her legs from his waist when he slowed down and sat up.
“Lay down, baby, on the bed.” Still jittery from the coke, coupling that with the adrenaline rush from fucking him; she reached out, gently guiding him onto his back on the mattress, climbing on top of him afterwards. Once he was flat on his back, she turned around carefully, still straddling him - turned about so her ass was facing him. She glanced at him over her shoulder, a wicked little smirk curling her lips. Her hips lifted, then lowered in an agonising slowness.
"Mmn." He struggled to lay still, fingertips racing along her sides, running over the smoothness of her skin. He welcomed the bed; he didn't know if it was the coke or the adrenaline rush he got from her but his heart was racing and he was finding it harder and harder to catch his breath. Maybe a hit from the bowl after this would do them some good.
For the time being, though, she rode him as hard and as long as she could - though after several minutes, she collapsed, laying on her back and gasping for breath. She closed her eyes as she reached for him, pulling him close, on top of her.
He thrust into her, moving his hips in tiny circles, trying new angles.. and suddenly felt white fire rushing through him, different somehow from all the other times. Coke laced fire. He felt himself coming and pulled out at the last second, cursing and collapsing onto his back, hot liquid pooling onto his stomach. He took his hand in hers, laying there silently.
Pleased by his quick recovery, there was only a small lapse in movement - before long, she was pinned to the mattress underneath him. She was moaning, panting breathless little encouragements in his ear; shuddering from her own climax just as he did his.
She sank back against the cool pillows, lacing her fingers with his - still breathing heavily, her free hand pressed to her chest to feel her heart. Yes, bowl time was now. Sitting up, she located her piece and a lighter, sparking it up and torching the bowl, passing it over to her drained lover.
He took it, carelessly burning numb fingertips. He could feel himself coming off from the coke; suddenly he was thinking of all the things he needed to do, but too tired from the sex to do anything about it. Instead he lifted his head just enough to take a hit without spilling anything. Held his breath. Exhaled. Took a second hit and passed it back to Astrid. He lay there for another moment, then sat up and began searching for his cigarettes.
Frantically he opened his duffel bag, tearing out clothing and an undeterminable number of coke and weed baggies. A small bottle of Jack Daniels tumbled out; he didn't notice. "Cigarettes, cigarettes, what the fuck..."
The bowl was accepted, and she babysat it, watching him with minor amusement. “Check the side pocket. I saw you put them there earlier.” She curled up on the bed, setting the bowl aside and feeling her heartbeat regulate. Perhaps it was time for another bump - she considered this, but figured it’d be safer to wait for Dante to find his smokes. Geeze, he was even more on edge than her tonight.
He plucked the pack from the side pocket, eyeing her gratefully. "I thought someone took them. Maybe the neighbors or something." He lit one up, tossing them onto the nightstand and taking a coke baggie with him to the bed. "Round two? I'm losing it."
"So I noticed." She tilted her head to the side, raising a brow. "I'm down, but you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, just losing my edge." He dumped the coke into the mirror and began cutting lines for them. "I'm gonna kick the motherfucker's ass when I find him, hiding my cigarettes." He winked at her, not entirely sure himself whether he was joking.
"Guess you'll have to kick your own ass. I think you're losing it, babe." She shook her head, now a little uncertain of whether this was really a good idea. But she sniffed up her lines obediantly, squirming at the rush that filled her body. "Jesus," she gasped, closing her eyes.
He ran his fingers through his hair, scratching his head a bit and pulling at the dark strands. "I'm good, I'm good." He wasn't entirely certain himself, but then again, Dante never listened to the voice that said, "enough".
One eye opened to watch him curiously. No wonder why he didn’t do this drug so much. “Okay, well ... if things start getting bad, tell me.” She sat up slightly, and reached out for the cigarette, gently plucking it from his fingers and sneaking a drag off of it. Ugh .. menthol.
A short nod, and then Dante was leaning over the mirror, sniffing more into his system. Uncanny how fast it worked. It was better than Excedrin, the headache medicine. This time he didn't bother looking at his reflection; he knew he looked like shit but didn't care. Just finished up his line and inhaled, imagining it hitting the back of his skull, mixing in with his brain juices. He laughed. "Brain juices." Flopped backward and lay staring at the ceiling again, this time Vicks Vaporizers far from mind. "Incredible."
At least they weren’t shrooming - in that case, mirrors and reflections would have been a very bad idea at this point. She snuck another bump from one more line. Might as well climb up to his level. The insanity level was quickly rising. “Brain juices. Brain meats. Haha ..” Laughing to herself, rolling onto her back - still naked, her arms crossed above her head. “Fuck, I feel good.“
"Yeah," he agreed, remembering his cigarette and taking it back from her. "I'm fucking high."
So anyway, she was waiting in the parking lot of Dante’s place, waiting for him to come down with all his bags, her engine idling. As the minutes ticked by, she grew more and more anxious - breathing a sigh of relief when her boyfriend ambled into view. “Finally!” Mumbled to herself, unlocking the doors.
“Took you long enough,” she teased.
"Yeah, yeah," he said, bending down to kiss the tip of her nose. A beat up leather bag was slung over his shoulder; he held his other bag, a green duffel, in his other hand. Part of him couldn't believe they were doing this. The other part was on the verge of bursting, he was so pumped.
"I got it," he said, lowering his voice. "Jugs hooked me up with his coke guy and I got it."
She was every bit as giddy as he was! In her possession, she had an ounce of some dank marijuana, and a fifth of Jack, plus her bong and shot glasses, with chaser. “Good. I think we’re all set, then.” No idea what else he had on him, but one thing was for certain: If they got pulled over, they would be royally fucked. But for some reason, the fear didn’t touch her; she felt relaxed, elated.
Fortunately, the hotel was a ten minute drive down the road into Naperville, and she was able to take back roads, wisely avoiding any cops. Pulling into the parking lot, she got out, grabbing the bags. “Alright. It’s go time.”
Shaking his head, Dante took the bags from her. "Don't think so, you." He flashed her a quick grin, eyes simulataneously scanning the parking lot and hotel entrance for cops. He had no luck with cops, and didn't want to push what little luck he had left.
Seeing that the coast was clear, he led Astrid to the entrance and managed to hold the door and balance all of their bags.
She had a printed copy of their reservation in her pocket, and so helped him through the door, before walking up to the front desk. “Hi, we’re checking in. The reservation is under Astrid Liljegren, L-i-l-j-e-g-r-e-n.” Resting an elbow on the counter, her chin in her palm as she waited, glancing back a few times to grin at Dante.
The woman at the desk ignored the glances, shuffling around and finding two room keys. “Here you go,” droned the front desk clerk. “Check out is at noon. We have breakfast from 6.30 to 8.30AM.” Her gaze was already slipping back to the mini television behind the desk.
“Thanks,” snickered Astrid, scooping up the keys and a bag, hightailing it to the elevators.
Chuckling to himself, Dante pressed the elevator button and wiggled his eyebrows at her. "Think we've got time between here and our floor?"
She swatted his hand. “No getting any ideas! We need to stay discreet until we’re behind closed doors.” Oh, she was dying for this. But she wasn’t about to get majorly busted, either. And so the small girl lead him down the hall, finding their room - 813 - and unlocked it, opening the door ... finding a DO NOT DISTURB sign, and immediately hung it on the knob.
"Someone's in a hurry," he said, whistling innocently at he put their bags down on the floor. He flopped down on his back onto the bed, resting his head on his arms. "Man, that ceiling's nice." It was one of those bubbled ceilings, the kind you felt you could reach out and pop. As a kid he'd thought that all bubbled ceilings were caused by Vicks Vaporizers. Now he wasn't so sure, but thought the theory was still up for grabs.
He pointed up. "How do ceilings get that way?"
She dropped everything and locked the door, joining him on the bed. Stretching herself out luxuriously beside him, coiling an arm around his waist and pressing a kiss against his neck. “Mmn.” She blinked, following his finger to the ceiling. “Good question. I have no idea.” Really, the last thing on her mind at this point was the ceiling.
"No, seriously. Vicks Vaporizers?" He looked at her, keeping his eyes as blank and widely innocent as possible.
“Dante!” Whine! She puffed her cheeks out and exhaled a greeeeat big sigh. “Yes, Vicks Vaporizers. You win!” She went back to kissing his neck in an effort to distract him, to bring him back for their true purpose of being there; a hand lifting the hem of his t-shirt up to expose his stomach.
Biting his lip to keep from laughing, he caught her hand in his and kissed her brow. "So what first?" He sat up and removed wallet and keys from pockets, tossing them onto the nightstand. "Let's see what we've got." He grabbed the duffel bag and hauled it onto the bed, pulling zippers open and removing bags of coke, weed and accompanying bowls and straws.
Her gaze immediately dropped to the bags of cocaine, a wide grin splitting her features. “How about some Colombian marching powder, first? Then the reefer to take the edge off.” She was already pulling out a small hand held mirror, deftly opening a baggie and tamping a small pile of the good stuff onto the mirror. Fishing a razor blade out of her wallet, she set to work cutting out lines.
“Pack a bowl. We’ll need it a little later.”
Raising his eyebrows in surprise at her obvious former experience with the stuff, Dante did as he was told, breaking his weed and whistling a little Stone Temple Pilots. "Smell this," he said, passing the packed bowl under Astrid's nose. "It's haze."
Hey, she wasn’t a total cokehead! But she did enjoy it from time to time, albeit very rarely - she didn’t like to screw with it more than a couple times a year. She was in the middle of cutting down a few straws when she leaned in and closed her eyes, inhaling the heady scent of greens. “Aah ... Smells good!” She grinned. “This is so going to be worth blowing my entire paycheck.”
"Yeah, and then some. I took out a loan for some of this." He grinned at her, setting the bowl down on the nightstand next to his wallet. The last time he had done coke--he liked to stick to drinking and smoking--had been with Jugs, the only real cokehead he knew. That had been a few years ago, and he couldn't remember much of the occasion. He had gotten so messed up he had blacked out and woken up in the IOU section of Yale. So much for partying in the dorms. Looking back, he couldn't even really remember who he had been with or whose dorm they had been in. Now his binge drinking occurred in the closet. Well, except for tonight.
He got up from the bed and put the AC on low. Natural curiosity led him to the computer desk in the corner of the room. There was a remote and some takeout menus. The remote was the only thing that interested him. He doubted there was anything on tv on a Sunday night but wanted something in the background; the paranoid part of his mind kept reminding him they had neighbors, and those neighbors would be the first to call the cops. Television on and blaring some MTV crap, he returned to the bed, sprawling on his stomach and watching Astrid finish up the honors.
As he fiddled with the television, she slipped one end of a straw into her nostril, the other end at the beginning of one line. Sniffing the powder deep into her skull, she switched nostrils and inhaled the second line right after the first. Immediately her eyes became glassy, a strange smile on her face as she traced a fingertip over the surface of the mirror, rubbing the remnants on her gums. The small mirror was set down on the table for Dante, if he so choose; she took over the remote.
Flipping idly through the channels, she found some HBO softcore porn, leaving the channel on in a moment of interest. Something inside her stirred, but wasn’t incited by the two faux-lesbians on screen, and so after a few beats, she turned it off. Settling back on MTV, the volume turned way low, but still enough to be slightly distracting. Her muscles tensed; she began to grow jittery.
He watched her for a moment, then leaned over the mirror. As he inhaled deeply, he caught his reflection; he looked like shit. He watched for a bit longer. Watched his eyes turn red, glossy, dull. Blinked, slowly. Blinked. Wiggled his eyebrows. Took another hit. He waggled his eyebrows some more, and snorted, blowing what little what left on the mirror out of line.
She closed her eyes. “I brought porn. And the PS2. We can hook that up to the TV, couldn’t we?” Wondering out loud to herself - now her lips were loose, same with her morals. A little sniffle as she sat up from the bed, glancing over at him, smiling slightly.
“How do you feel?”
He watched her for a second, feeling strangely chatty. "Like I jumped out of a plane and kept falling." He paused. "Haven't done this in a while." Crawled over to her and rested his head in her lap. "I like, want to go into the hall and talk to whoever's across from us."
“Probably not the best idea,” she snickered. “We’ll have to keep an eye out, and see who’s around.” Don’t want to arouse too much suspicion. “I know how you feel, though. If we were at home, I’d probably be cleaning by now.” A little laugh, then a slight grimace. The Drip! Scowling as her throat went numb - it would take a little bit to adjust to this euphoria, to feel it out, then decide what to do.
Her fingers dipped into his hair, stroking it; winding strands around them and giving a playful little tug. Uh oh ... look out, Dante! Someone’s feeling feisty.
"Mmn." He leaned into her, enjoying the way her fingers felt in his hair, cocking his head a bit. He wrinkled his nose, sniffling a little. Floating. Distantly he wanted a drink, but fought to just enjoy the moment. He sat up quickly, facing her, sitting Indian-style on the bed. "Favorite song. Quick."
She pursed her lips, licking them, closing one eyes thoughtfully. “Mmn ... at the moment?” She shrugged. “Anything off Very Proud of Ya. Been into old-school AFI lately.” Why, she wasn’t sure. “But I do like that ‘Hey There Delilah’ song. And the ‘Crazy Bitch’ song, too. By Buckcherry, I think.” She didn’t really listen to the radio much, anyway.
“What about you? Any new bands? I need new music. I’m getting kind of bored of everything I have.” It was true. She hadn’t changed the CD in her car stereo, which was Hellbilly Deluxe, for quite some time now.
He rocked back and forth, back and forth. Slow. "Eisley. That hasn't left my car since I got the new album. Other than that, haven't found anything that catches my ear. Wish I had my guitar here but I didn't want to accidentally break it. I've gone through a few in the last couple months." He paused. Took a breath. "I'm talking a lot."
Astrid snickered, rearranging her legs. “So am I. That’s what this devil drug does to you ... but that’s alright. At least we’re here, alone, together, and talking to each other. I’d rather be fucked up with you than by myself.” She stood up, and promptly began pacing. Glancing around, before she spun on a heel, facing him.
“I’m hot,” she said simply, even though the air conditioning was on low. And so she promptly shed her shirt; her pale skin slightly flushed and moist. Tossing the shirt aside, she grinned at him as she sat down at the computer desk. “All better. Aren’t you warm? Or am I just geeked out?”
"I'm dying," he said, shedding his own shirt and turning up the air. He turned to her and pulled her to the edge of the desk, until the lines of their bodies met. "This is crazy," he whispered, kissing her full on the lips.
The blush crawled up her neck, coloured her cheeks as he pulled her close; her hands gently grasping his arms. A soft purr in agreement, muffled by their lips melting together - she nibbled, sucked on his bottom lip. “I know,” she whispered, releasing it, the tip of her tongue flicking out to lash against it. “That’s the best part of tonight.”
He put a hand at the small of her back, caressed the nape of her neck with the other hand. "Like, I just have this need to ramble. And I don't known if I'm going to say something stupid. So, I want to keep my mouth shut but can't. Let's trash this place," he said, looking around at the neat and tidy room.
Astrid snickered. “Dante, since when have you ever worried about saying something stupid?” Shaking her head - she was losing him. Her hand drifted down to his hip, fingertips dipping past the waistband of his boxers to turn his attention back to her.
“Not yet. It’s too early, too soon. Wait, wait for the crest of this high, beautiful wave. It’ll come, and it will be glorious. Plus I need to make sure I still have enough money to cover all of this.” Now she was rambling, her hands burrowing in Dante’s pants, yet her mind was distracted.
"Yeah, I always say stupid somethings and never worry about them." He tipped his head back and brought it forward, pressing his lips to hers. "Hope this desk is sturdy," he said against her mouth, tongue darting in and flicking around hers.
“And that is why I love you,” she murmured against his lips; propping her rear on the edge of the desk, denimed legs rising and encircling Dante’s waist. Head tilted to the side and tipped back, holding the kiss, her tongue pressing against his, coiling around it, teasing it. Before long, she reached a hand up, pressing the palm to the back of his head to deepen the kiss, her hips raising up against his momentarily.
He let her deepen the kiss, grinding his hips against hers, thinking about what she had just said. Had he heard right or were the drugs fucking with just about everything? Was he supposed to say something? And if he did say something, what if he'd heard wrong? Why was he thinking about it so much? Did it really matter?
He gripped her hips, pulling her tighter against him, gently pressing the tightness of his jeans against her. He tried to remember what he had just been thinking about but suddenly it wasn't so important.
She didn’t expect him to say anything - hell, she wasn’t expecting that to come popping out of her mouth! But never mind that; she was quick on her feet, and distracted him with kisses, the hand on his head trailing down to the front of his chest, fingertips skipping across his nipple.
A low groan sounded in the back of her throat at the tightness pressed against her, her hips circling slightly to grind against it. She broke the kiss, panting slightly, nipping at his throat. “Jesus, Dante,” she gasped. “I’ve never wanted you so badly more than I do now.” She suddenly sounded slightly desperate, both hands resting on his shoulders to keep him pressed between her legs.
He moaned, eyes widening at her words. Fingers began working at buttons, zippers, clothing removed in a blur. His naked hardness pressed against her thigh as his hands worked at her jeans. He couldn't kiss her enough. If she kept talking like that, though, they might have to wait til later. He grimaced at the thought of disappointing her. "Now, now, now," he chanted under his breath, not realizing he was speaking aloud.
Astrid leaned back on her palms, lifting her hips up and untangling her legs from his lean waist: watching him peel off her jeans, her panties, kicking them aside to the floor. She leaned back up against him, legs tugging him right back to where he began, a hand reaching down to cup his aching erection. “Now?” A little grin.
"Now," he said, the words barely making it out of his mouth. The little tease. He took her hands in his, twining fingers, moving closer to her, finding the right angle. A deep breath, then he began to rock, plunging into her slowly, slowly. He kissed her, eyes rolling back at the sensation of being inside of her.
“Oh, God ...” Exhaling softly as she felt him press against her, eyes closing. Their hips met, and she gasped, her legs snaring him. Leaning forwards to press against his chest, her hips rocking back and forth to meet his thrusts; she leaned her head up, sinking her teeth into his neck, giving a little tug. “More, baby, more.” Her voice was an airy gasp, her tone pleading.
Silently enthralled with her bedside manner, he grabbed her ass and thrust into her as hard as he could, laying her back on the desk, thrusting in and out, faster and faster. Watching her the entire time. "How's that feel?" He leaned down to kiss her, words coming out in a breathy whisper. His thrusts slowed momentarily; he needed to catch his breath.
“Feels so good, baby ..” Her hips moved in time with his, quickening the pace, listening to the sound of their bodies moving together. It was all too much for her, nearing the edge - she was growing dizzy. Gasping, she loosened her legs from his waist when he slowed down and sat up.
“Lay down, baby, on the bed.” Still jittery from the coke, coupling that with the adrenaline rush from fucking him; she reached out, gently guiding him onto his back on the mattress, climbing on top of him afterwards. Once he was flat on his back, she turned around carefully, still straddling him - turned about so her ass was facing him. She glanced at him over her shoulder, a wicked little smirk curling her lips. Her hips lifted, then lowered in an agonising slowness.
"Mmn." He struggled to lay still, fingertips racing along her sides, running over the smoothness of her skin. He welcomed the bed; he didn't know if it was the coke or the adrenaline rush he got from her but his heart was racing and he was finding it harder and harder to catch his breath. Maybe a hit from the bowl after this would do them some good.
For the time being, though, she rode him as hard and as long as she could - though after several minutes, she collapsed, laying on her back and gasping for breath. She closed her eyes as she reached for him, pulling him close, on top of her.
He thrust into her, moving his hips in tiny circles, trying new angles.. and suddenly felt white fire rushing through him, different somehow from all the other times. Coke laced fire. He felt himself coming and pulled out at the last second, cursing and collapsing onto his back, hot liquid pooling onto his stomach. He took his hand in hers, laying there silently.
Pleased by his quick recovery, there was only a small lapse in movement - before long, she was pinned to the mattress underneath him. She was moaning, panting breathless little encouragements in his ear; shuddering from her own climax just as he did his.
She sank back against the cool pillows, lacing her fingers with his - still breathing heavily, her free hand pressed to her chest to feel her heart. Yes, bowl time was now. Sitting up, she located her piece and a lighter, sparking it up and torching the bowl, passing it over to her drained lover.
He took it, carelessly burning numb fingertips. He could feel himself coming off from the coke; suddenly he was thinking of all the things he needed to do, but too tired from the sex to do anything about it. Instead he lifted his head just enough to take a hit without spilling anything. Held his breath. Exhaled. Took a second hit and passed it back to Astrid. He lay there for another moment, then sat up and began searching for his cigarettes.
Frantically he opened his duffel bag, tearing out clothing and an undeterminable number of coke and weed baggies. A small bottle of Jack Daniels tumbled out; he didn't notice. "Cigarettes, cigarettes, what the fuck..."
The bowl was accepted, and she babysat it, watching him with minor amusement. “Check the side pocket. I saw you put them there earlier.” She curled up on the bed, setting the bowl aside and feeling her heartbeat regulate. Perhaps it was time for another bump - she considered this, but figured it’d be safer to wait for Dante to find his smokes. Geeze, he was even more on edge than her tonight.
He plucked the pack from the side pocket, eyeing her gratefully. "I thought someone took them. Maybe the neighbors or something." He lit one up, tossing them onto the nightstand and taking a coke baggie with him to the bed. "Round two? I'm losing it."
"So I noticed." She tilted her head to the side, raising a brow. "I'm down, but you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine, just losing my edge." He dumped the coke into the mirror and began cutting lines for them. "I'm gonna kick the motherfucker's ass when I find him, hiding my cigarettes." He winked at her, not entirely sure himself whether he was joking.
"Guess you'll have to kick your own ass. I think you're losing it, babe." She shook her head, now a little uncertain of whether this was really a good idea. But she sniffed up her lines obediantly, squirming at the rush that filled her body. "Jesus," she gasped, closing her eyes.
He ran his fingers through his hair, scratching his head a bit and pulling at the dark strands. "I'm good, I'm good." He wasn't entirely certain himself, but then again, Dante never listened to the voice that said, "enough".
One eye opened to watch him curiously. No wonder why he didn’t do this drug so much. “Okay, well ... if things start getting bad, tell me.” She sat up slightly, and reached out for the cigarette, gently plucking it from his fingers and sneaking a drag off of it. Ugh .. menthol.
A short nod, and then Dante was leaning over the mirror, sniffing more into his system. Uncanny how fast it worked. It was better than Excedrin, the headache medicine. This time he didn't bother looking at his reflection; he knew he looked like shit but didn't care. Just finished up his line and inhaled, imagining it hitting the back of his skull, mixing in with his brain juices. He laughed. "Brain juices." Flopped backward and lay staring at the ceiling again, this time Vicks Vaporizers far from mind. "Incredible."
At least they weren’t shrooming - in that case, mirrors and reflections would have been a very bad idea at this point. She snuck another bump from one more line. Might as well climb up to his level. The insanity level was quickly rising. “Brain juices. Brain meats. Haha ..” Laughing to herself, rolling onto her back - still naked, her arms crossed above her head. “Fuck, I feel good.“
"Yeah," he agreed, remembering his cigarette and taking it back from her. "I'm fucking high."
The Sound of Waves
Not good. This. Was. Not. Good. Anxiety flooded her system, and depression overwhelmed her mind. Shit. She hated this, but most importantly, she hated when this happened here, in the comfort, the safety of Dante's apartment. Astrid wiped the tear and the running makeup from her face and got up off the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. Peering at her face, she groaned softly, and splashed cold water on her pale, mascara stained cheeks. Gotta hurry, though. She knew Dante was waiting for her, and if she took any longer, he'd get concerned, start asking questions. Make-up was dutifully reapplied, and she slipped back into the living room. "Sorry about that."
He looked at her carefully, noting the way her eyes were slightly red in the corners and her sudden pallor. "It's okay.." Still watching her, a frown now creasing his forehead. "It's your turn." He gestured to the Scrabble on the coffee table, then thought better. "Unless you're not in the mood anymore."
Normal. Things were okay now, she had her cry, she was done with this. But something deep inside her remained unsettled and discontent. An inaudbile sniffle as she sat back down, and shook her head. "No, we can still play." Exhaling softly, she looked at her letters, then those on the board. Only one word she could put down, really, and it still wasn't enough to catch up to his score. The wrter was having an off night! Slowly, but surely, she placed down the letter L in front of an open A, then K, then E.
Dante made a small noise, something between nostalgic yearning and concern. He said, "I haven't been to a lake or any body of water in a long time. Once it gets warm we should hit a beach." Still watching her carefully, for any sign of.. anything, really. She was hiding something, he knew it.
"I know." She sounded almost mournful as she spoke. "I don't want to wait until it gets warm." Elbows on her knees, she rested her chin in her palms, and stared down glumly at the board. The adrenaline and anxiety have been flushed away by her tears, but she still felt melancholy, and she couldn't explain why. In fact, she really just looked ... wilted, more than anything.
"You okay?" He asked finally, no longer at all interested in the game. He had had his day yesterday, and it seemed today was hers. Still, he wasn't used to seeing her so... empty.
"..." She didn't want to lie to him. She couldn't, in any case, she was terribly at hiding her emotions from him. So she buried her face deeper into her hands, fingers sinking into her hair and seizing handfuls. "Ugh. I don't know. No. I'm not. I'm sorry." Her voice was soft, muffled.
"Hey, hey." He moved closer to her and slung an arm around her, almost afraid to pull her any closer. "What's wrong? Talk to me?"
Astrid sniffled, restaining the urge to cry again. "I don't know what's wrong. I just .. I don't know. I don't want to be here right now. I want to go outside. I want to be near water, something, anything." She looked miserable, the poor thing.
The male "I'll fix it!" instinct kicked on, and Dante pulled her to her feet. "Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?" He'd drive all day and night if he had to, sure!
Whoa! She hadn't expected that, and blinked as he pulled her up. "Really? .." More blinking ensued, as she tilted her head to the side, eyes wide. " .... I'll give you some gas money if we can drive to Lake Michigan." She knew just where on the beach to go, too, where no one would be at this time of the evning.
He waved a hand impatiently. "I just got paid. Let's go." He pulled her into the bedroom and rummaged around in his closet. A moment later he held up a couple of blankets, a lantern, and two thick parkas, each in turn. "I can bring a Thermos full of soup, too, if you want."
She hadn't expected all this fuss, and she stood there, still blinking in mild confusion. "Uhm ... if you want. That sounds good ..." Her arms looped around her own waist, as if trying to keep herself warm; never mind the blazing heat in Dante's apartment. Watching him collect the blankets, the lantern, the coats - it was all very sweet, and a small smile touched her lips. His enthusiasm was infectious.
He smiled back, then hurried into the kitchen. He had a couple cans of Campbell's chicken noodle, and held these up for her approval, calling her into the small kitchen.
She was quick to follow, pulling on one of the parkas. "That's fine." Astrid was slowly starting to get excited -- the idea of the lake, the beach, even in the cold, cheered her right up.
The soup was heated and everything gathered into a large backpack--the same one he had used for their hiking expedition some time back, when their relationship had been young and just beginning--and then he had car keys in his hand. "Ready?"
"Ready." She smiled up at him, and led the way, opening the door for him; briefly taking the keys from his hand to lock the door, and shooing him off to the car. She followed, a few beats behind, but looked significantly happier already at the prospect of water - real, untouched, flowing water.
He opened the car door for her and then went around to his own side, starting it before he was fully in. Her excitement was catching; suddenly he wanted to be at the lake more than anything else. He started driving, keeping his speed up. "Is it just that? Just wanting to see the water?" He snuck glances at her while he got onto the highway.
She was looking out the window as they drove. "I don't know ... just ... something tells me that I'll feel a lot better ... if I'm near it. To see it, to hear it, to smell it ..." Astrid had read somewhere that all water signs had that need; that water refreshed, rejuvenated them, put them back on track. And she did find running water relaxing; more often than not, she found herself standing in the bathroom at work, letting the water from the sink running over her hands to relax her frazzled nerves.
If she had said that out loud, to Dante, he would have asked her what in hell helped soothe Tauruses. So far he could only think of one thing, and he didn't think she'd approve of it.
"All right," was all he said, taking her hand in his right hand, steering with his left.
Well, with his thirst for alcohol, he may as well have been a Pisces! Her small hand was cold in his warm palm, but her fingers locked over his, gave a reassuring squeeze. The closer they got to Chicago, the better she felt. Fortunately it was late enough to the point where rush-hour traffic had come and gone; they were flying, and it felt wonderful. "Get off at the next exit ... follow the road all the way down. It'll end at the beach." She closed her eyes.
"'Kay," he said, and did just that. The road was quiet--nice. He turned on the radio and the Beatles were on, a tune he knew but couldn't name. At least he knew it was the Beatles. Relaxing. Soothing. He risked a glance at his girlfriend to see how she was doing. They were almost there.
Astrid was okay - she appeared to be sleeping, but every now and again, her eyes would flicker open to look at their surroundings, check the road. Once the buildings around them thinned out to spacious residental homes and side streets, she sat up with a small smile, zipping up her coat. "Oh, good. We're here." The road curved, but she pointed out a space alongside the curb for him to park.
He ran around the other side, opened her door, and grabbed the backpack from the back seat. "Any particular spot in mind?" He put the backpack on, adjusting the straps, and turned the lantern on.
She got out of the car, and waited for him to get situated before she took his hand. "Uh huh. C'mon." She led him into the sand, and close to the lake. The night by the water was cool, perhaps around 40 degrees, or maybe a little less. Chicagons understood the lake effect. She led him to a spot near a cluster or monolithic boulders that jutted high from the sand, sheilding them from view in case Officer Friendly drove by on his rounds. "Here." She unzipped the backpack, and pulled out one of the blankets, laying it down. The shore was 10 feets away, and she stared longingly at it, mouth fixed.
"Go ahead," Dante said, seeing where her gaze ended. "I'll be right here." If she wanted him with her, she'd say so. Otherwise.. This was probably something she wanted to do alone.
"You can come, if you like." But she wouldn't object to going alone. She sat down on the blanket, and untied her shoes, pulled off her socks, and rolled the bottoms of her jeans up. Slanting her gaze up at him, she offered him a smile as she got back up, and made her way to the shore. Stepping into the frigid water - she didn't move, though she shivered. The lake was icy, it may as well have been frozen, but she waded out just a little further. Her thin body dropped in a cautious crouch, her hands cupped to capture the water, to smell it, feel it seep into her skin.
Dante watched her, wishing he'd brought towels. She's going to catch a cold, he thought, shaking his head. For whatever reason though, she needed it, needed the water bad enough to touch it, even though it had to be less than 30 degrees. He shivered, just thinking about it. She'd never get him to set foot in there. He would walk up to it, though.
He followed her, hanging back just a few feet, the breeze rifling through his hair. It was pretty calm, for a lake on a winter's night. Wanting to say something, Dante chose to keep his mouth shut, instead. She'd talk to him if she wanted to. All he could do was be there.
She let the water trickle through her fingers, and slowly rose, staring out into the distance. It was clear out, but the stars were masked by the bright lights of the city. She felt him walk up behind her, but did not move, did not speak. Not just yet. Her eyes closed, and she stood there, calm, peaceful - it was wonderful, every last bit of it. After several long minutes, she turned to him, and walked back up, reaching out to touch his hand. "Look." She pointed to her right, to the partial view of Chicago's skyline, all clear, and lit up. "Isn't i t beautiful?"
He looked. "Yeah," he said, distracted by his worry for her catching a cold. "C'mon, let's get you dried off, huh?"
Even if she caught cold, it was worth it. She was captivated by the beauty of the city, but smiled at his concerned. "You worry too much. All this Nordic blood in me prevents me from getting cold." A little nudge, but she complied, finally stepping out of the water, and walking back to the blanket, sitting back down.
He shook his head at her, wishing he'd brought one of those fire logs that burnt all night. They could have had a fire, and he wouldn't be so worried. He doubted he could get her back to the car so soon. And, of course, the very male and testosterone-filled part of him like having her here on the beach, alone. Especially when there were two blankets and a bunch of sand to roll around in... He sat down next to her and kissed the tip of her nose. His breath came out in little puffs and he kissed her again, this time on the cheek. "So."
They came so far! But she used the furthest corner of the blanket to dry her feet and hands, and reluctantly put her socks and shoes back on. The water was still nearby, and the sound of the waves was relaxing. "Thank you, Dante ..." She looked at him, then kissed him square on the mouth. "I really appreciate this." And she meant that. Completely.
"Why, no problem," he said, surprised. He hadn't known it had meant that much to her. Did the water really have that calming of an effect on her? He made a note to ask her about it later. For the moment, he had other business to attend to. He kissed her back and pulled her close, wrapping the other blanket around them.
She snuggled against him, drawn to his warmth, coiling in his arms, and closing her eyes. She listened to him breath, the sound of the water lapping the shore, and she was at peace. All the sadness, anxiety, fear had drained from her, and she felt rested, boneless. The most important thing to her, though, was that he was there to share this moment with her, to see the water, to hear it, and to just be.
He looked at her carefully, noting the way her eyes were slightly red in the corners and her sudden pallor. "It's okay.." Still watching her, a frown now creasing his forehead. "It's your turn." He gestured to the Scrabble on the coffee table, then thought better. "Unless you're not in the mood anymore."
Normal. Things were okay now, she had her cry, she was done with this. But something deep inside her remained unsettled and discontent. An inaudbile sniffle as she sat back down, and shook her head. "No, we can still play." Exhaling softly, she looked at her letters, then those on the board. Only one word she could put down, really, and it still wasn't enough to catch up to his score. The wrter was having an off night! Slowly, but surely, she placed down the letter L in front of an open A, then K, then E.
Dante made a small noise, something between nostalgic yearning and concern. He said, "I haven't been to a lake or any body of water in a long time. Once it gets warm we should hit a beach." Still watching her carefully, for any sign of.. anything, really. She was hiding something, he knew it.
"I know." She sounded almost mournful as she spoke. "I don't want to wait until it gets warm." Elbows on her knees, she rested her chin in her palms, and stared down glumly at the board. The adrenaline and anxiety have been flushed away by her tears, but she still felt melancholy, and she couldn't explain why. In fact, she really just looked ... wilted, more than anything.
"You okay?" He asked finally, no longer at all interested in the game. He had had his day yesterday, and it seemed today was hers. Still, he wasn't used to seeing her so... empty.
"..." She didn't want to lie to him. She couldn't, in any case, she was terribly at hiding her emotions from him. So she buried her face deeper into her hands, fingers sinking into her hair and seizing handfuls. "Ugh. I don't know. No. I'm not. I'm sorry." Her voice was soft, muffled.
"Hey, hey." He moved closer to her and slung an arm around her, almost afraid to pull her any closer. "What's wrong? Talk to me?"
Astrid sniffled, restaining the urge to cry again. "I don't know what's wrong. I just .. I don't know. I don't want to be here right now. I want to go outside. I want to be near water, something, anything." She looked miserable, the poor thing.
The male "I'll fix it!" instinct kicked on, and Dante pulled her to her feet. "Okay, sure. Where do you want to go?" He'd drive all day and night if he had to, sure!
Whoa! She hadn't expected that, and blinked as he pulled her up. "Really? .." More blinking ensued, as she tilted her head to the side, eyes wide. " .... I'll give you some gas money if we can drive to Lake Michigan." She knew just where on the beach to go, too, where no one would be at this time of the evning.
He waved a hand impatiently. "I just got paid. Let's go." He pulled her into the bedroom and rummaged around in his closet. A moment later he held up a couple of blankets, a lantern, and two thick parkas, each in turn. "I can bring a Thermos full of soup, too, if you want."
She hadn't expected all this fuss, and she stood there, still blinking in mild confusion. "Uhm ... if you want. That sounds good ..." Her arms looped around her own waist, as if trying to keep herself warm; never mind the blazing heat in Dante's apartment. Watching him collect the blankets, the lantern, the coats - it was all very sweet, and a small smile touched her lips. His enthusiasm was infectious.
He smiled back, then hurried into the kitchen. He had a couple cans of Campbell's chicken noodle, and held these up for her approval, calling her into the small kitchen.
She was quick to follow, pulling on one of the parkas. "That's fine." Astrid was slowly starting to get excited -- the idea of the lake, the beach, even in the cold, cheered her right up.
The soup was heated and everything gathered into a large backpack--the same one he had used for their hiking expedition some time back, when their relationship had been young and just beginning--and then he had car keys in his hand. "Ready?"
"Ready." She smiled up at him, and led the way, opening the door for him; briefly taking the keys from his hand to lock the door, and shooing him off to the car. She followed, a few beats behind, but looked significantly happier already at the prospect of water - real, untouched, flowing water.
He opened the car door for her and then went around to his own side, starting it before he was fully in. Her excitement was catching; suddenly he wanted to be at the lake more than anything else. He started driving, keeping his speed up. "Is it just that? Just wanting to see the water?" He snuck glances at her while he got onto the highway.
She was looking out the window as they drove. "I don't know ... just ... something tells me that I'll feel a lot better ... if I'm near it. To see it, to hear it, to smell it ..." Astrid had read somewhere that all water signs had that need; that water refreshed, rejuvenated them, put them back on track. And she did find running water relaxing; more often than not, she found herself standing in the bathroom at work, letting the water from the sink running over her hands to relax her frazzled nerves.
If she had said that out loud, to Dante, he would have asked her what in hell helped soothe Tauruses. So far he could only think of one thing, and he didn't think she'd approve of it.
"All right," was all he said, taking her hand in his right hand, steering with his left.
Well, with his thirst for alcohol, he may as well have been a Pisces! Her small hand was cold in his warm palm, but her fingers locked over his, gave a reassuring squeeze. The closer they got to Chicago, the better she felt. Fortunately it was late enough to the point where rush-hour traffic had come and gone; they were flying, and it felt wonderful. "Get off at the next exit ... follow the road all the way down. It'll end at the beach." She closed her eyes.
"'Kay," he said, and did just that. The road was quiet--nice. He turned on the radio and the Beatles were on, a tune he knew but couldn't name. At least he knew it was the Beatles. Relaxing. Soothing. He risked a glance at his girlfriend to see how she was doing. They were almost there.
Astrid was okay - she appeared to be sleeping, but every now and again, her eyes would flicker open to look at their surroundings, check the road. Once the buildings around them thinned out to spacious residental homes and side streets, she sat up with a small smile, zipping up her coat. "Oh, good. We're here." The road curved, but she pointed out a space alongside the curb for him to park.
He ran around the other side, opened her door, and grabbed the backpack from the back seat. "Any particular spot in mind?" He put the backpack on, adjusting the straps, and turned the lantern on.
She got out of the car, and waited for him to get situated before she took his hand. "Uh huh. C'mon." She led him into the sand, and close to the lake. The night by the water was cool, perhaps around 40 degrees, or maybe a little less. Chicagons understood the lake effect. She led him to a spot near a cluster or monolithic boulders that jutted high from the sand, sheilding them from view in case Officer Friendly drove by on his rounds. "Here." She unzipped the backpack, and pulled out one of the blankets, laying it down. The shore was 10 feets away, and she stared longingly at it, mouth fixed.
"Go ahead," Dante said, seeing where her gaze ended. "I'll be right here." If she wanted him with her, she'd say so. Otherwise.. This was probably something she wanted to do alone.
"You can come, if you like." But she wouldn't object to going alone. She sat down on the blanket, and untied her shoes, pulled off her socks, and rolled the bottoms of her jeans up. Slanting her gaze up at him, she offered him a smile as she got back up, and made her way to the shore. Stepping into the frigid water - she didn't move, though she shivered. The lake was icy, it may as well have been frozen, but she waded out just a little further. Her thin body dropped in a cautious crouch, her hands cupped to capture the water, to smell it, feel it seep into her skin.
Dante watched her, wishing he'd brought towels. She's going to catch a cold, he thought, shaking his head. For whatever reason though, she needed it, needed the water bad enough to touch it, even though it had to be less than 30 degrees. He shivered, just thinking about it. She'd never get him to set foot in there. He would walk up to it, though.
He followed her, hanging back just a few feet, the breeze rifling through his hair. It was pretty calm, for a lake on a winter's night. Wanting to say something, Dante chose to keep his mouth shut, instead. She'd talk to him if she wanted to. All he could do was be there.
She let the water trickle through her fingers, and slowly rose, staring out into the distance. It was clear out, but the stars were masked by the bright lights of the city. She felt him walk up behind her, but did not move, did not speak. Not just yet. Her eyes closed, and she stood there, calm, peaceful - it was wonderful, every last bit of it. After several long minutes, she turned to him, and walked back up, reaching out to touch his hand. "Look." She pointed to her right, to the partial view of Chicago's skyline, all clear, and lit up. "Isn't i t beautiful?"
He looked. "Yeah," he said, distracted by his worry for her catching a cold. "C'mon, let's get you dried off, huh?"
Even if she caught cold, it was worth it. She was captivated by the beauty of the city, but smiled at his concerned. "You worry too much. All this Nordic blood in me prevents me from getting cold." A little nudge, but she complied, finally stepping out of the water, and walking back to the blanket, sitting back down.
He shook his head at her, wishing he'd brought one of those fire logs that burnt all night. They could have had a fire, and he wouldn't be so worried. He doubted he could get her back to the car so soon. And, of course, the very male and testosterone-filled part of him like having her here on the beach, alone. Especially when there were two blankets and a bunch of sand to roll around in... He sat down next to her and kissed the tip of her nose. His breath came out in little puffs and he kissed her again, this time on the cheek. "So."
They came so far! But she used the furthest corner of the blanket to dry her feet and hands, and reluctantly put her socks and shoes back on. The water was still nearby, and the sound of the waves was relaxing. "Thank you, Dante ..." She looked at him, then kissed him square on the mouth. "I really appreciate this." And she meant that. Completely.
"Why, no problem," he said, surprised. He hadn't known it had meant that much to her. Did the water really have that calming of an effect on her? He made a note to ask her about it later. For the moment, he had other business to attend to. He kissed her back and pulled her close, wrapping the other blanket around them.
She snuggled against him, drawn to his warmth, coiling in his arms, and closing her eyes. She listened to him breath, the sound of the water lapping the shore, and she was at peace. All the sadness, anxiety, fear had drained from her, and she felt rested, boneless. The most important thing to her, though, was that he was there to share this moment with her, to see the water, to hear it, and to just be.
Moody
The TV blared in front of him, but Dante hardly saw it. He lay on the couch, wearing yesterday's clothing and surrounded by a mess of paper plates, pizza crusts, and the pizza box. He felt off today--couldn't explain it, but days like this always led to large amounts of drinking. Reminding himself of the lyrics from a Blue October song, he dialed Astrid's number on his cell phone, hoping a conversation with her might pick him up.
His attitude seemed to pervade a few miles away to her. Even though they hadn't talked yet today, she felt unsettled, even a bit moody; and she couldn't figure out why. It didn't seem to be just 'one of those days' for her. At that particular moment, she was sitting on her futon, her old-fashioned typewriter anchored firmly in her lap, a stack of typed papers at her side. Using the type writer took her longer, forced her to really think about what she was writing, examine her mistakes - it helped center herself in a weird way. She was in the middle of scrutinising a line she'd djust written when her mobile went off with Dante's ringtone, and a sharp stab of angst ran down her spine as she picked up. "Hello?"
He felt the vibe, even over the phone. "Yeah," he said, not even able to muster up his usual "hey Darlin'". "What're you doing?" He sat up on the couch and glanced warily toward the entertainment center, where he knew what was hidden behind a few choice video games.
"Writing. Is everything okay?" No sense in mincing words, or stringing things along. Something was off with him, and it was affecting her, and it was driving her insane. The typewriter was lifted off her lap, and onto the floor beside the futon; she leaned back against the ton of pillows she kept piled on her bed.
"Are you?" He stood and paced the room, occasionally glancing back at the entertainment system.
"I'm alright. You're not, though." She looked around the room, trying to find her shoes. "Want me to swing by?"
"I dunno," he admitted, not wanting her to see him so.. well, so very Dante. He ran a hand through hair that needed washing and stood at the window, separating the blinds enough to see a bit of the sunshine outside.
A soft sigh, and she sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her socks. "Is there anything I can do?" Her voice dropped low, almost to a whisper. She could hear it in his voice, just how shitty he felt. Astrid knew Dante was prone to bouts of depression, but certainly not as bad as her. He was her srength, her foundation, her support system. To hear him like this was almost unnerving.
He sighed into the phone and shrugged, then realized she couldn't see. Again he was reminded of the Blue October lyrics: "I called baby up / leave me alone / I'm in pain but I won't let you band-aid my wound / I am not at a stage where I can't seem to handle my own"..
"I don't even know what to do for myself." But he did. The small voice spoke up, and again he looked at the entertainment system. He hadn't had a drink in a week, the night before he and Astrid had colored. Was he really going to fuck that up now? And while on the phone with her? He sighed again, tears stinging his eyes. What the hell was wrong with him?
The tears were in his voice, and she became alarmed. Forcing herself to calm down, she breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. "Listen, babe. You need to just relax, and get in the shower. Clean up. I'll be there in 15 minutes, okay? I'm on my way." She closed her phone, hanging up before he could protest or tell her no. Her shoes were found, the keys and coat were both grabbed, and she flew out the door.
He threw the phone at the wall, and smacked himself in the forehead. "Fuck," he said, staring into nothing. His mind fluttered into panic-y chaos, and he grabbed handfuls of his hair, pulling. "Fuck."
He came into the bathroom and turned the water on, but instead of undressing and getting into the shower he sat on the toilet seat, head in his hands. How was he going to explain himself when she got here?
He'd have to think of something, and fast, because she was hauling ass to get there! She pulled into the parking lot in 10 minutes, and jumped out the the car, locking the doors and setting the alarm as an after thought. Up the stairs and to the door, she began to bang on it. When there was no answer, she cursed - "Fuck!" - and tried the door knob. Unlocked. She pushed it open, and stepped inside. "Dante?"
Out of time. He tore clothing off and stepped into and right out of the shower, cursing at the hot water. He wrapped a towel around his waste and poked his head through the door, slowly, afraid.
She was standing at the door, looking around, dazed and confused; turning to face him when he peeked out. "Baby? .. Are you okay?" She saw the fear in his eyes, and didn't understand -- her own eyes went wide, soft with concern. Something told her to stay put, and she didn't make a move to approach him.
He looked at her for a minute and then shook his head, slowly. "No."
das kleine vogel: She relaxed her stance, and closed her eyes, before opening them again. A hand reached out, attempting to coax him from out of the bathroom. "Come here. Come talk to me."
The door opened fully and Dante stepped out, taking her small hand in his and feeling pathetic. Wasn't this supposed to be the other way around? Why was he so ever-fucking weak?
"You didn't have to come all the way out here," he said, trying for the moment to keep the conversation off of him.
Astrid pulled him into her arms, hugging him gently, pressing her face into his bare skin. "I wanted to," she mumbled into his neck, before looking up at him. "You'd do the same for me."
"I'm okay," he lied, pulling away from her and running a hand through his damp hair. "Just need a warm shower and a hot meal and I'll be normal again." Except he didn't believe that. Would she?
The look in her eyes told him that she didn't. Up went an eyebrow, and she rested her hands on his hips, opening a little distance between their bodies. "You're sure." Spoken as a statement, thought there was a slight inflection at the end, as if she were uncertain. And she was. She knew he was lying to her, and she didn't like that; but she also knew how stubborn he could be, and why he was trying to act as though things were alright.
He sighed again and threw his hands up into the air. "I give up." He managed a wan smile, although it looked feeble on him. "I don't know what the fuck's wrong with me, but you don't need to be around it. Me." He leaned against the counter, hands taking hers and pulling her in close. He needed the contact.
"Don't say that. I want to do whatever I can. I want to be around you, even if something's wrong." She leaned in against him, pulling him close to her; eyes closing. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't care, or didn't want to help. You know that." She kissed his chin.
Dante closed his eyes too, wishing there was a better way to get the point across to her. There probably wasn't, not unless he was ready to admit a lot of things, especially to himself. "I'm just having a bad day, I guess," he said, more trying to convince himself than her.
Astrid sighed, and went slightly limp against him. She didn't know what else to do for him, and that frustrated her. He sounded doubtful, uncertain, and she was too cautious to try to pry it from him for fear of upsetting him. And so she remained silent, chewing on her bottom lip, looking away from him.
"But I should probably get cleaned up or something. It's bad enough the place is a mess." He gestured, demonstrating. "Give me ten minutes? Watch some TV?"
She bit back another sigh, and nodded mutely, dragging her bag with her and plopping down on the couch, immediately curling up. The remote was seized, channels were flipped through, but nothing captured her interest. Great.
Dante watched her for a moment, then went back into the bathroom. In the cabinet, under some towels, he found a nipper of some Jamaican rum. While he waited for the water to heat up, he took it down and buried the empty bottle in the trash.
He took a quick shower, brushing his teeth while the conditioner set in his hair, then came out of the bathroom, a new towel wrapped around his waste, smelling faintly of Axe bodywash. He grabbed clothes from his bedroom, dressed, and joined Astrid in the living room. "Anything good on?"
She knew something was going on. She didn't know what, but there was tension in the air, uneasiness. The television droned on, but she was elsewhere; staring vacantly at it. When Dante sat down beside her, her eyes blinked, and she looked at him. "If there is, I haven't found it yet." Astrid glanced back to the TV, and picked up the remote, only to toss it back down on the table. "Do you have a cigarette? I'm out."
Cigarettes? He fumbled around in the mess nearest the couch and came up with a crumpled looking pack. There were two left. Cigarette burns in the carpet explained that. He lit them both and handed one to her, wet hair dripping on his black tee shirt. He smoked thoughtfully, not looking at her.
Ugh. This was driving her nuts. This was torture for her, plain and simple. She accepted the cigarette, and smoked in silence, peering at the wall through the haze of smoke. It was a few minutes before she spoke up; cautious, quiet. "So ... you wanna tell me what's going on? I know something is wrong, Dante ..."
The truth was, he didn't know. Somewhere, deep down maybe, he knew, but the mood had just crept up on him and attacked. "I dunno. Sometime between this morning and yesterday morning I just..." What? Cracked? No, not yet. "Maybe it's the weather." He felt stupid and was getting more and more mad at himself. "What's new with you?"
Astrid rolled the filter of her cigarette between the tips of her thumb and forefinger, staring at it. "Nothing. I didn't feel right last night, though. I think I'm just catching some of your vibes, though ... " She sighed again, and took another drag off her smoke, closing her eyes momentarily. The ash was flicked into the ashtray in front of them, and she lapsed back into silence.
"I'll be okay," he assured her. "Every once in a while I just fall off of things and then after a few days I climb right back on." He took one of her hands and kissed it, though he wasn't sure if he would be okay this time.
The cigarette was set in the glass ash tray, and she took his other hand, pulling him close. "I know, baby." Her green eyes shit, and she bit her bottom lip, wanting to tell him that it was going to be okay, that she was there for him. But surely he knew that already .... right?
"I'm sorry," he said, and took one of his hands back long enough to snub out his cigarette. His hands took hers again. He kissed her square on the forehead and rolled his shoulders a bit. "Since you're here, want to watch a movie? I'll cook some dinner?" He stood and began collecting the trash, biting his lip at the cigarette burns in the rug. His landlord wouldn't appreciate that.
Yes. Change the topic, force it back. Not a good method, typically, but something was needed to lift the palor cast upon the both of them. A third sigh was exhaled as she killed her cigarette, and nodded, sitting back. 'Sounds good. You cook, I'll find something." Helloooo OnDemand. She focused her attention to the screen, and zoned out.
His attitude seemed to pervade a few miles away to her. Even though they hadn't talked yet today, she felt unsettled, even a bit moody; and she couldn't figure out why. It didn't seem to be just 'one of those days' for her. At that particular moment, she was sitting on her futon, her old-fashioned typewriter anchored firmly in her lap, a stack of typed papers at her side. Using the type writer took her longer, forced her to really think about what she was writing, examine her mistakes - it helped center herself in a weird way. She was in the middle of scrutinising a line she'd djust written when her mobile went off with Dante's ringtone, and a sharp stab of angst ran down her spine as she picked up. "Hello?"
He felt the vibe, even over the phone. "Yeah," he said, not even able to muster up his usual "hey Darlin'". "What're you doing?" He sat up on the couch and glanced warily toward the entertainment center, where he knew what was hidden behind a few choice video games.
"Writing. Is everything okay?" No sense in mincing words, or stringing things along. Something was off with him, and it was affecting her, and it was driving her insane. The typewriter was lifted off her lap, and onto the floor beside the futon; she leaned back against the ton of pillows she kept piled on her bed.
"Are you?" He stood and paced the room, occasionally glancing back at the entertainment system.
"I'm alright. You're not, though." She looked around the room, trying to find her shoes. "Want me to swing by?"
"I dunno," he admitted, not wanting her to see him so.. well, so very Dante. He ran a hand through hair that needed washing and stood at the window, separating the blinds enough to see a bit of the sunshine outside.
A soft sigh, and she sat on the edge of her bed, staring down at her socks. "Is there anything I can do?" Her voice dropped low, almost to a whisper. She could hear it in his voice, just how shitty he felt. Astrid knew Dante was prone to bouts of depression, but certainly not as bad as her. He was her srength, her foundation, her support system. To hear him like this was almost unnerving.
He sighed into the phone and shrugged, then realized she couldn't see. Again he was reminded of the Blue October lyrics: "I called baby up / leave me alone / I'm in pain but I won't let you band-aid my wound / I am not at a stage where I can't seem to handle my own"..
"I don't even know what to do for myself." But he did. The small voice spoke up, and again he looked at the entertainment system. He hadn't had a drink in a week, the night before he and Astrid had colored. Was he really going to fuck that up now? And while on the phone with her? He sighed again, tears stinging his eyes. What the hell was wrong with him?
The tears were in his voice, and she became alarmed. Forcing herself to calm down, she breathed in deeply, closing her eyes. "Listen, babe. You need to just relax, and get in the shower. Clean up. I'll be there in 15 minutes, okay? I'm on my way." She closed her phone, hanging up before he could protest or tell her no. Her shoes were found, the keys and coat were both grabbed, and she flew out the door.
He threw the phone at the wall, and smacked himself in the forehead. "Fuck," he said, staring into nothing. His mind fluttered into panic-y chaos, and he grabbed handfuls of his hair, pulling. "Fuck."
He came into the bathroom and turned the water on, but instead of undressing and getting into the shower he sat on the toilet seat, head in his hands. How was he going to explain himself when she got here?
He'd have to think of something, and fast, because she was hauling ass to get there! She pulled into the parking lot in 10 minutes, and jumped out the the car, locking the doors and setting the alarm as an after thought. Up the stairs and to the door, she began to bang on it. When there was no answer, she cursed - "Fuck!" - and tried the door knob. Unlocked. She pushed it open, and stepped inside. "Dante?"
Out of time. He tore clothing off and stepped into and right out of the shower, cursing at the hot water. He wrapped a towel around his waste and poked his head through the door, slowly, afraid.
She was standing at the door, looking around, dazed and confused; turning to face him when he peeked out. "Baby? .. Are you okay?" She saw the fear in his eyes, and didn't understand -- her own eyes went wide, soft with concern. Something told her to stay put, and she didn't make a move to approach him.
He looked at her for a minute and then shook his head, slowly. "No."
das kleine vogel: She relaxed her stance, and closed her eyes, before opening them again. A hand reached out, attempting to coax him from out of the bathroom. "Come here. Come talk to me."
The door opened fully and Dante stepped out, taking her small hand in his and feeling pathetic. Wasn't this supposed to be the other way around? Why was he so ever-fucking weak?
"You didn't have to come all the way out here," he said, trying for the moment to keep the conversation off of him.
Astrid pulled him into her arms, hugging him gently, pressing her face into his bare skin. "I wanted to," she mumbled into his neck, before looking up at him. "You'd do the same for me."
"I'm okay," he lied, pulling away from her and running a hand through his damp hair. "Just need a warm shower and a hot meal and I'll be normal again." Except he didn't believe that. Would she?
The look in her eyes told him that she didn't. Up went an eyebrow, and she rested her hands on his hips, opening a little distance between their bodies. "You're sure." Spoken as a statement, thought there was a slight inflection at the end, as if she were uncertain. And she was. She knew he was lying to her, and she didn't like that; but she also knew how stubborn he could be, and why he was trying to act as though things were alright.
He sighed again and threw his hands up into the air. "I give up." He managed a wan smile, although it looked feeble on him. "I don't know what the fuck's wrong with me, but you don't need to be around it. Me." He leaned against the counter, hands taking hers and pulling her in close. He needed the contact.
"Don't say that. I want to do whatever I can. I want to be around you, even if something's wrong." She leaned in against him, pulling him close to her; eyes closing. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't care, or didn't want to help. You know that." She kissed his chin.
Dante closed his eyes too, wishing there was a better way to get the point across to her. There probably wasn't, not unless he was ready to admit a lot of things, especially to himself. "I'm just having a bad day, I guess," he said, more trying to convince himself than her.
Astrid sighed, and went slightly limp against him. She didn't know what else to do for him, and that frustrated her. He sounded doubtful, uncertain, and she was too cautious to try to pry it from him for fear of upsetting him. And so she remained silent, chewing on her bottom lip, looking away from him.
"But I should probably get cleaned up or something. It's bad enough the place is a mess." He gestured, demonstrating. "Give me ten minutes? Watch some TV?"
She bit back another sigh, and nodded mutely, dragging her bag with her and plopping down on the couch, immediately curling up. The remote was seized, channels were flipped through, but nothing captured her interest. Great.
Dante watched her for a moment, then went back into the bathroom. In the cabinet, under some towels, he found a nipper of some Jamaican rum. While he waited for the water to heat up, he took it down and buried the empty bottle in the trash.
He took a quick shower, brushing his teeth while the conditioner set in his hair, then came out of the bathroom, a new towel wrapped around his waste, smelling faintly of Axe bodywash. He grabbed clothes from his bedroom, dressed, and joined Astrid in the living room. "Anything good on?"
She knew something was going on. She didn't know what, but there was tension in the air, uneasiness. The television droned on, but she was elsewhere; staring vacantly at it. When Dante sat down beside her, her eyes blinked, and she looked at him. "If there is, I haven't found it yet." Astrid glanced back to the TV, and picked up the remote, only to toss it back down on the table. "Do you have a cigarette? I'm out."
Cigarettes? He fumbled around in the mess nearest the couch and came up with a crumpled looking pack. There were two left. Cigarette burns in the carpet explained that. He lit them both and handed one to her, wet hair dripping on his black tee shirt. He smoked thoughtfully, not looking at her.
Ugh. This was driving her nuts. This was torture for her, plain and simple. She accepted the cigarette, and smoked in silence, peering at the wall through the haze of smoke. It was a few minutes before she spoke up; cautious, quiet. "So ... you wanna tell me what's going on? I know something is wrong, Dante ..."
The truth was, he didn't know. Somewhere, deep down maybe, he knew, but the mood had just crept up on him and attacked. "I dunno. Sometime between this morning and yesterday morning I just..." What? Cracked? No, not yet. "Maybe it's the weather." He felt stupid and was getting more and more mad at himself. "What's new with you?"
Astrid rolled the filter of her cigarette between the tips of her thumb and forefinger, staring at it. "Nothing. I didn't feel right last night, though. I think I'm just catching some of your vibes, though ... " She sighed again, and took another drag off her smoke, closing her eyes momentarily. The ash was flicked into the ashtray in front of them, and she lapsed back into silence.
"I'll be okay," he assured her. "Every once in a while I just fall off of things and then after a few days I climb right back on." He took one of her hands and kissed it, though he wasn't sure if he would be okay this time.
The cigarette was set in the glass ash tray, and she took his other hand, pulling him close. "I know, baby." Her green eyes shit, and she bit her bottom lip, wanting to tell him that it was going to be okay, that she was there for him. But surely he knew that already .... right?
"I'm sorry," he said, and took one of his hands back long enough to snub out his cigarette. His hands took hers again. He kissed her square on the forehead and rolled his shoulders a bit. "Since you're here, want to watch a movie? I'll cook some dinner?" He stood and began collecting the trash, biting his lip at the cigarette burns in the rug. His landlord wouldn't appreciate that.
Yes. Change the topic, force it back. Not a good method, typically, but something was needed to lift the palor cast upon the both of them. A third sigh was exhaled as she killed her cigarette, and nodded, sitting back. 'Sounds good. You cook, I'll find something." Helloooo OnDemand. She focused her attention to the screen, and zoned out.
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