Astrid and Dante

Fence

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 04 Oct 2011 20:52:00 +0000

Platonic.

That described Dante's new relationship with Astrid. They weren't together together, but every time they were together, they kept it strictly business: movies, breakfast or dinner outings, shopping trips, the beach... They did all of the things people who were together together did, minus the kissing and sex. Dante felt as if someone had built a fence between them; Astrid was far, far out of his reach, and he felt even further away from her than he had during their big blowout.

Two weeks had gone by since they had started hanging out -- that time they had gone to the mall, when he was still detoxing -- and he didn't know how much more he could take. It came down to this: either he was going to have a drink, or he was going to a club and picking up the easiest girl he could find. He knew, of course, that he didn't really want to do either of these things -- not if he wanted to make things right with Astrid -- but he felt himself slipping further and further away from sobriety and celibacy.

He frowned as he cleaned up his work station at the tattoo shop. They had never talked about the fence between them, but Dante got the feeling that he shouldn't so much as put a hand on her waist. He scowled.

"You good, man?" Finn asked, clapping Dante's shoulder. "It's seven on a Friday! Time to get out of here and get out!"

Dante snorted. "Yeah right."

Finn shook his head and sprayed the work station down with a bottle of bleach and water solution. "You should come out tonight. There's a lotta single ladies."

Even Dante's coworkers thought it was high time to find someone else. "See ya tomorrow, guys," he called over his shoulder as he left the shop. He slid into his car and started the engine. He wondered what Astrid was up to, and decided to stop in at the grocery store she worked at to see if she was in. She didn't have to know that Dante didn't actually need to go grocery shopping. He sighed as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the store. Finn would call him pathetic, and he would be right.

Another long evening at the grocery store. Another long, tiring twelve hour shift of complaints from one ornery customer after another. Astrid was beginning to feel frustrated. How she had gotten herself lassoed in this was beyond her, but her bank account certainly was not complaining! And, her boss had hinted at a possible promotion of assistant store manager. That meant less time behind the desk, and more time on the floor. That meant a promotion, having more people working under her, more benefits and responsibilities - and most exciting of all, a salary. Just like at a real job.

So, needless to say, those were the thoughts that kept her buoyed through the afternoon. And as evening settled in, traffic in the front end slowed to a reasonable pace. Standing behind the counter, she stretched luxuriously, lifting her arms above her head as she surveyed the scene with a note of satisfaction. All the registers had cash drops completed and were replenished with enough change, and the cashiers weren't standing around idly - under her careful eye, they were straightening their spaces when not otherwise helping a customer. Watching them refill their bags, wipe down the conveyor belts, and straighten the candy and magazines, Astrid finally decided that it was high time for her break. After all, she earned it.

"Hey, Dawn? I'm going to take my lunch." She called out over to the blonde shift lead who was standing a few registers away, chatting with a customer.

"Alright, go on!" The older woman waved her off, and Astrid wasted no time logging off her register and unclipping her name tag from the front of her shirt.

A few minutes later, she was walking out of the store, her purse and bagged lunch in hand when she caught sight of a familiar face. "Dante!" She waved at him, picking up the pace to close the distance between them. She found that she was actually glad to see him. The day had been long, and the customers had been rough on her, so seeing Dante was a nice little surprise.

"What are you doing here?" She beamed up at him; a moment's hesitation passed, before she leaned up, pressing a quick little kiss to his cheek.

He lifted a hand unconsciously to the spot on his cheek where her lips had been, brushing it lightly with his fingertips. "Hey," he said, lowering his hand and smiling back at her. He fought the urge to kiss her back, full on the mouth, and ran a hand through his hair instead. "I was on my way out of the shop and just needed to grab a few things. I didn't know you were working."

And he hadn't, he reminded himself. He felt lighter seeing her, and suddenly his own doubts and the doubts his coworkers voiced dispersed, like rain clouds being blown away by a breeze. Things were good, and would be perfect in no time; he had a full-time job at the shop now that what's-his-face had left, and his girl -- ex girl? -- was on lunch. "You just go on lunch?" he asked, his mind racing with the possibilities. How much longer until she got out of work? Would his Friday night finally be a normal, real Friday night? Looking at her, it was hard to think about fences.

Truly, she had forgotten just how hard it was to see him. Every time she saw him, her heart lurched with joy - and simultaneously turned icy cold with fear, remembering all of The Trouble. In her mind, that's how she was beginning to refer to it: The Trouble. But ... maybe, just maybe, things were changing. As she stood there smiling up at him, she felt a small yet strong wave of cautious optimism - but already, she could see something in his eyes, something unfocused.

Astrid opted to leave it be. "Mhm! Yeah, I was going to go sit in my car and have lunch. It's pretty slow, so ..." Looking around the parking lot, she noticed that it was nearly empty. Pursing her lips, she gazed up at him, somewhat shyly. How odd! "Did you ... want to sit and hang out with me? I'm here for another hour after I get off lunch. Maybe we can do something after." Her hands wrung at the fold of her paper bag, twisting it with nervousness. A small part of her was incredulous at her behavior, but it felt right. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to let him in again. She just wasn't sure if she wanted to throw caution to the wind, however, and jump head long into things again. 'Baby steps, Astrid,' she reminded herself as she took a breath, looking up to gauge his reaction.

He started to say, "Sure, why not?", then checked himself. He didn't want to look too eager. Besides, if he didn't go into the store at all, she would know that he didn't actually need any groceries. At the same time, though, he didn't want to miss an opportunity to hang out with her, fences and Finn's comments aside.

"You go eat," he heard himself saying. "I'll try to get what I need as quickly as possible, and if I'm done and you haven't left for the night yet..." He shrugged. "I might be going out with the guys, anyway," he added.

Astrid did her best to keep her surprise from not registering on her face. Of course he came to get groceries. He didn't come to see her. She had to admit it, annoyingly enough, a small part of her was rather crestfallen. However, she did quite an admirable job of not letting it show on her face. Instead, she just continued to smile with a nod. "Alright, that's fine! Give my cashiers something to do! They've just been standing around." Giggling, she reached for his hand, giving it a brief squeeze. "I'll text you when I'm leaving, and see where you're at." A final smile, and she dropped his hand, turning for her car. The instant her back was to him, her face fell into a bewildered expression.

He didn't come to see her. He did not want to make set plans with her. He 'might being going out with the guys'. That could only mean one thing.

She felt her heart sink as she climbed into her car, turning on her radio and putting in a CD. The opening track to Sia's Some People Have Real Problems calmed her, soothed her as she unwrapped her sandwich with a sigh, gazing down at it. Taking a half-hearted bite, she contemplated what all this really meant. Was this distance between them irreparable? Did she need to let him go to do his own thing, so he could see how much he needed her? Or would that just drive him away even further? Feeling sick, she set down her sandwich and closed her eyes with a sigh, her face in her hands. Suddenly, she could not face going back into work, even if it was for just another hour.

Dante watched as his plan resulted in exactly the opposite of what he hoped, watched as she walked away, and watched as she got in her car. "Way to go, Dante," he said to the parking lot. He realized he looked weird just standing there and talking to himself, so he went inside. A cool blast of air hit him as he walked through the entrance. He stopped just inside and looked straight ahead into the fresh produce section. What could he possibly buy for his one bedroom bachelor pad? He grabbed a cart and pushed it into the produce section, thinking as he walked. Maybe she didn't even care if he went out. Maybe their relationship was really and truly over, and he was really and truly wasting his time trying to play hard to get.

I'm building my own fence for nothin', he thought as he stopped to examine some corn on the cob. He sighed and began bagging some ears; if he was going to spend the night -- a Friday night -- in by himself, he might as well eat something good. He put the clear plastic bag of corn into his cart and grabbed some fixings for a salad: romaine lettuce, baby spinach, red onions, basil, tomatoes, croutons, and oil and balsamic vinegar for dressing. He added a bag of red potatoes, and then selected two New York strip steaks from the meat section. He stood looking at his cart. "Who am I kidding?" he asked an old woman examining a package of hamburger meat. She gave him a baffled look, glared at him, and limped away with empty hands. He put the second cut of steak back, then picked it up again right away. Just in case, he told himself. I can always eat it tomorrow.

He pushed his cart to the checkout and glanced around the front end, looking for crimson hair. He didn't see her. She probably left without saying anything. He saw the same old woman in the line next to his, and smiled and winked at her. She gasped and moved to another line, further down.

He chuckled and began putting his items on the belt. So far, that was the highlight of his Friday night.

Dante was still inside when Astrid came back in. Tossing away her empty bags, she glanced over at him just as he began to unload his basket. If she hurried with punching back in, she could maybe catch him before he left.

Hustling to the back end of the store, she made it to the time clock and back out front in record time, practically dashing down the aisle. When she approached the register he was standing at, she slowed her steps and silently cheered - he hadn't even paid yet. Positioning herself at the end of the belt, she smiled at him, bagging up his groceries while the cashier handled the money. "So!" She began as casually as she knew how, slipping the bottle of balsamic vinegar in a brown paper bag for safe keeping. "I think we'll be out of here pretty quick tonight."

There was a pause as she slipped the two steaks in their own plastic bag. What was he planning? Dinner with ... someone else? Momentarily, she felt deflated, and she felt her confidence and resolve waver. 'No. Don't do this to yourself,' she thought, looking up at him as she finished bagging.

"So, if your plans fall through, you should call me. I'd like to hang out with you." Astrid did not sound as confident as she had a moment before, but hell. She had to finish what she started. She had to try.

Surprised, Dante fished his wallet out of his back pocket and dug for his savings card for the store. He saw her bag and pause at the two steaks out of the corner of his eye, and he couldn't help but smile. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to carry it on a little longer -- just a little longer.

Still, he didn't want to lose her completely. "I'm probably not going out," he said. "What time do you get out again?" He payed the cashier and began gathering his bags.

Okay. Astrid could definitely work with that. Suddenly, the distance between then didn't seem quite so far, and for a moment, her heart lurched with joy. But she wasn't out of the woods yet! "Erm." Pausing again, she checked her wrist watch - a delicate silver thing - and furrowed her brow as she ticked off the minutes. "I'd say we'd be out of here in about 45 minutes." Looking up, she skirted a cursory glance at the registers. Most of them were already straightened and cleaned, and the shopping cart full of returns wasn't as full as she thought. She smiled.

"Yeah, definitely no more than 45 minutes." She stepped away from the end of the register, as if she were about to walk him to the door. Goodness - could she be any more desperate?

He thought about it. He'd never hear the end of it from Finn the next day, but forty-five minutes wasn't that long; he could just wait outside for her. Or, he could bring the steaks home, get them marinating in the fridge, throw together the salad, and start the potatoes. Either way, he knew he wasn't too far from pathetic; they weren't even together together anymore, but he couldn't stop himself from pretending.

"All right." He stood there holding the grocery bags, his arms hanging, and looked at the shiny metal of the counter. "I can't really hang around, but you can stop over after, if you want..."

Giving herself an air of indifference was difficult, seeing as how she really, really wanted him to say yes. And as she stood there, she could practically see the fight in his eyes. The joy that had consumed her moments before began to dissipate.

"Sure." Astrid nodded her head a few times, watching him. "Yeah, why don't I head over to your place after work? It'll be just a bit, so I can go home and change, but ..." She trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable. Taking a deep breath, she offered him a little smile, mustering up sincerity. "I can't wait," she added after a moment's thought, but it was too late - her timing was awkward. Inwardly, she cringed.

"Astrid!" Dawn was calling for her, waving her over, and she whirled around, sending bright red hair flying.The older woman's timing was a blessing.

"Oh! I gotta go. Give me an hour, tops. See you soon!" She smiled at him again, before turning and jogging off back to the front desk counter, where Dawn and a very irate customer waited for her.

"See you," he said softly after her, watching her practically fly away. He trudged out of the store, his head slightly bowed in defeat.

He drove home deep in thought. Maybe dinner would be overkill. Maybe it was all overkill. His earlier certainty chipped away with each turn of the tires as the Cavalier bounced home. He could just wait until she'd come and gone, and have dinner by himself. He pulled into the driveway and parked, then realized he had no memory of driving home. His stomach growled loudly as he shut off the engine. Waiting to have dinner was out of the question.

"Fine. You win," he said to his stomach and the otherwise empty Cavalier. He shook his head at himself. Maybe he was having delayed delirium tremens -- very, very delayed.

He lit a cigarette and leaned back, smoking and thinking some more. "Fine," he said again, and got out of the car. He grabbed the groceries, went inside, and started dinner.

In spite of her anxiety, her fear, Astrid did the quickest close of her life. Fortunately, her cashiers and fellow supervisor were also itching to get out and home early; therefore, she made it out in record time. She might have even sped a little bit on her way home, but that's neither here nor there. As promised, she was at his door within the hour, a little earlier than she had intended. Her fist raised, poised to knock when she stopped.

"What are you doing, Astrid?" She whispered to herself, fixing her stare at the door, as if it held the answer for her. For a full minute, she breathed quietly, trying to focus her mind. Something in her gut told her this was either going to be very good, or very bad - and frighteningly enough? She wasn't sure what she wanted the outcome to be. That was precisely what scared her.

"Get a grip." With a sigh, she straightened up and cleared her throat, looking down her front to make sure she looked presentable enough. She looked pretty damn good if she said so herself. 'Dante would be crazy to give this up,' she thought before she could stop herself. Blinking several times, she shook her head, and knocked firmly on his front door.

Dante pulled the steaks out of the broiler just as she knocked. He jumped and glanced out the window. Her car sat in the driveway. It couldn't be anyone else. He set each steak on plates already filled with salad and potatoes, then quickly checked his reflection in the oven door. His hair could use another run through with a comb, but he didn't have time.

Chill out, he told himself as he strode toward the door. It's not like it's the first date.

In a way, though, it was. He braced himself, then pulled open the door, unleashing the scent of spices. Astrid stood on his front stoop, looking damn good for someone who closed a grocery store about an hour ago. "Hey," he managed. Then, composing himself, he gestured to the kitchen. "Come on in." He glanced at the table, all set with napkins, steaming food, and candles, and wished he held back on the candles. They might be way, way too much. Hell, the whole thing might be too much, but it was too late. "You hungry?" he asked.

Astrid had all of about five seconds to compose herself and put her game face on. When he opened the door, she smiled brightly up at him, as if this wasn't already awkward enough. "Hi!" She stepped inside, her heel clicking rhythmically on the tile. Wincing inside, she wondered if she should take them off.

"Oh, I'm starving!" She nodded as she set her purse down beside the couch, turning to look at the table. Her eyebrows raised, but not at all in a disapproving way. This was a rather pleasant surprise. Why couldn't he have done more stuff like this when they were dating? ... While they were dating? What the hell was their status, anyway? she wondered as she took a seat.

Sniffing the air, she turned to smile at him. "Wow, Dante, this smells great! You must've really out-done yourself!"

"Thanks, but try it before you thank me," he said, taking the seat across from her. Since he had no idea what their status was, he set the table with their places across from each other -- just in case. His stomach growled as he cut into his steak, and he chewed a little warily. The juices from the burnt off oil and marinade -- a variety of spices he found in his kitchen -- burst into his mouth. He couldn't help but smile, impressed with his own cooking.

But, he reminded himself, it can be the best cooking in the world and it still won't change anything. He suddenly realized that, beyond eating, he had no idea what to do now that Astrid arrived and sat across from him. "What do you think?" he asked, focusing on the food and hoping the rest would fall into place.

Somehow, sitting across from him eased her fears. Astrid unfolded her paper napkin, spreading it rather lady-like on her lap, and scootched her chair in close to the table. Her tongue wet her lips as she watched him cut into his steak, and she mimicked his movements, fork in her right hand, and knife in her left. Looking down at her plate, she took her time cutting up her steak into small, bite-sized pieces. Once satisfied, she stabbed a piece, and popped it into her mouth.

She knew that Dante was a sufficient cook, but the tenderness of the steak combined with the marinade made the piece of meat practically melt in her mouth. A little groan was exhaled: "Oh, Dante, this is fantastic." She simply could not help her enthusiasm, and she beamed at him as soon as she swallowed. Somehow, he was beginning to change in her eyes, and for the time being, she allowed herself to see him as a new man.

Just relax. Eat your food, relax, and try to have a good time. Astrid breathed in, listening to the little mantra replay in her head, and felt her nervousness dissipating. For a long minute or two, she calmed down and enjoyed her food, though eventually she slowed, setting her fork on her plate. "I miss you, Dante." The words came tumbling out before she really had a chance to consider their weight - but once they were out, there was no stopping them. Her hands fell into her lap, clasping, gaze trained onto her plate. After a moment, she dared to look up at his face, testing his reaction.

His last bite hung in midair as he absorbed her words. Slowly, he put the fork down. Now that he finally heard what he most wanted to hear, he had no idea how to react without blowing it.

"I miss you, too," he said slowly. "I really, really do." He stood and crossed the kitchen to the counter and came back with a pamphlet. "I've been sober for a few weeks now, but honestly, I'm kind of afraid I might have a drink the second something goes wrong. So," he said, putting down the pamphlet, "I've been thinking about doing some kind of program."

He slid the pamphlet across the table to her. "It's thirty days, and I can keep working and stuff. It's outpatient or something like that. I'm willing to do anything, anything for you, so I can be the man you deserve. I know I haven't been that guy. I'm trying, though. I really am. Maybe, if I do this... Maybe we can hang out more or something," he said, leaving the proverbial ball in her court.

Astrid felt her heart drop into her stomach.

Her lips parted wordlessly as she looked up at him, mild surprise and alarm evident in her eyes. Breathing in, she stared at the pamphlet right in front of her. The words Rest Haven stared back up at her as she bit down on her bottom lip, finally reaching a small white hand out to pick up the paper. Her hand trembled as she looked from the pamphlet, to Dante, and then back to the pamphlet. In the soft lighting, her green eyes had grown red, glassy.

"I ..." Her voice broke immediately, and she pursed her lips, blinking hard. Was this all a dream? This was far more than what she had ever expected, ever hoped for. She swallowed hard, and tried speaking again after several long, agonizing moments. "Dante ..." She raised a hand, fingertips wiping away unshed tears that threatened to ruin her well-done makeup. "If ... if this ... I mean, if you want this ... Dante, you know I'm behind you completely if this is what you want to do." Her words came quickly now; they did not properly convey the range of emotions she was experiencing.

"This ..." Astrid set down the pamphlet back down in front of her, looking up at him. "I think this would be a very good idea." Her quivering lips turned into a small, hopeful smile. The tears began to roll, one by one.

He smiled, relieved by her reaction, and reached across the table to wipe the tears as they fell. Rest Haven would be good for him. In thirty days' time, things would be back to normal again, all for a small fee. He wished he had thought of it before. It all came back to commitment; if he could prove to her that he could commit to thirty days of treatment, he could prove to her that he could commit to their relationship. They could have avoided everything, if only he had realized it sooner.

He wanted to say so, but didn't know which words to use. Instead he left the table and returned with a few tissues. "Here," he said, handing them to her. "I didn't mean to make you cry," he said, referring to much more than the last few minutes. "I'm sorry."

Astrid had the same hopes as Dante. She hoped that maybe, just maybe this was what he needed. She tried to speak, but the tears kept coming in huge, heaving, soundless sobs. Her makeup was completely destroyed.

"T-Thank you," she snuffled, accepting the tissues. Her face was red, streaked with tears and mascara, and she covered her face, wiping it. It was several minutes before she could speak again, wiping her face clean with the ball of used tissues, taking a gigantic breath of air. "Oh, Dante," she said when she could, her lip still quivering. She wiped her palms on her pants before she rose to her feet, moving around the table. Her hands found his, and she urged him back onto his feet, wrapped her arms tightly around his body when he stood.

"When will you go?" Her voice was thick with emotion, muffled as she was speaking into his shoulder. She closed her eyes. This had to be a dream.

He hesitated. He hadn't thought of "when." He held her tight and stroked her hair while he thought, all fences down for the moment, and wondered what he got himself into. He couldn't even remember if the pamphlet had listed hours, mostly because he hadn't read much of the information in it. He suddenly remembered something about a payment plan.

"As soon as I can pull together enough money to start a payment plan," he replied, and felt his heart slow. He would have to call them first thing in the morning to see when he could start. "Are you okay?" he asked, and slowly let her go.

Astrid could feel his tension, his hesitation, and she almost started to sob all over again. Was he second-guessing himself, his decision? But from somewhere within her, she found a reserve of strength, and she steeled herself. No more crying. She had to be strong, for the both of them.

"I-I'm okay," she breathed, her shoulders rising and falling with a deep, gusty sigh. She wanted to keep holding onto him, to hold his hands, and to hold him close, but she could not bring herself to reach for him again. Why? Biting her lip, she looked up to him, almost hopefully. "I've ... been saving my money. I could lend you some, if that's what it takes." She paused. Was that too much to offer? But that was just how much his sobriety was worth it to her. "It's .. it's no problem, to do that, I mean. I have enough, and I can get financial aid to go back to school, and I still live with my parents, so it's not like I have bills to pay, and ..." She was clearly discombobulated, overwhelmed by the idea of him actually taking such a huge step towards recovery. "How long have you been thinking about this?"

He felt nauseous at the thought of taking her money, especially when he hadn't given much thought to the program until he realized it would help him win her back. He staggered back and sank into a chair, disgusted with himself. He realized he was taking advantage of her again, and it made him despicable, even if he hadn't meant to. She's a good girl, he thought. She's a good girl, and you're ruining her.

He knew he needed to answer her question. He just didn't know how. The need for a drink swept over him again like a dark, warm blanket in the dead of winter, and he knew without a doubt that even if he went to rehab, he would end up drinking again anyway.

"I..." he started, then shook his head. "I can't take your money. And you need to go. I'm sorry. I won't bother you anymore," he said, tapping the final nail into the fence he had been building for years. This time, though, he knew it was the only choice.

The hope faded from her eyes immediately as soon as he banished her from his apartment. Her mouth hung open, slack: she felt the instinctual drive to fight for him ... until she realized that she was drained. The fight, the desire had been worn away, and she looked away from him, not moving. Was this really how it was going to end? Was he truly that far gone that he was already second-guessing himself minutes after he told her he would get help? It felt as though she had been punched in the stomach.

She did not say anything, her limbs moving independently while static buzzed in her brain. If he said anything more to her, his words would not register - her vision swam. Astrid could see herself pushing her chair in, the plate of barely-touched food, her hands picking up her purse. She watched as the door opened and then shut, her feet carrying her back to her car. It had started to rain while she was inside, but she did not notice it, the way it caused her hair to plaster to her face.

Astrid got into the driver's seat, and sat there numbly. She sat perfectly still and listened as the rain pelted the car, the thunder rumbling in the distance. Slowly, she raised her gaze to the review mirror. She felt naked sans makeup: her green eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, the shadows of her make-up remaining beneath her eyes.

Unable to comprehend, unable to think, her hand lifted to the ignition and turned the key. As if on auto-pilot, she pulled out of the parking space and turned out into the street, into the rain, leaving behind Dante and his impenetrable fence behind for what could very well be the last time ever.

If Only I Could Make You Mine

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 24 Jun 2011 23:16:00 +0000

Dante lay on the floor of his newly cleaned living room, staring up at the ceiling. The multiple beer bottles and pizza crusts littering the floor had been trashed, and he had also vacuumed. A new ceramic ashtray replaced the broken one. Using his unemployment check, he bought Pledge, Windex, and Fantastic, rushing through the apartment and scrubbing away the fears and thoughts that plagued him. The kitchen floor gleamed. The refrigerator looked full when he opened the door. He had gotten rid of the alcohol in the apartment: the vodka in the freezer, the whiskey in the kitchen cabinet underneath the sink, and the small "emergency" bottle of whiskey in the bathroom cabinet. The only bottle he missed was the small bottle of Jack Daniels he had hidden behind some DVDs on the entertainment center remained in its space, but only because he didn't remember putting it there.

An hour ago, Chris had called to see if Dante wanted to hang out, but Dante had told him he couldn't.

The apartment smelled fantastic -- no pun intended. For the first time in months, Dante felt honestly proud of himself. He still doubted that he could change, that he could make Astrid happy, and that he could ever be a father, but he felt like he had taken a step in the right direction.

He reached for his cell phone on the coffee table and dialed Astrid's number. It was five o'clock. Listening to the phone ring in his ear, he hoped that she was up -- even though he had no idea what he was going to say to her.

Astrid herself had been awake for several hours: having scored the day off for a doctor’s appointment, she was more than elated to have another day off in her shitty week. Plus, she was interviewing three people tomorrow, so with any luck, she could fill the other position and have her life back. Once work settled down, she decided she was going to school – and to look for a better job.

At the moment, however, she was finishing up putting away her folded laundry in her room. The entire house was silent, since Mr. and Mrs. Liljegren went to Arizona to visit some family. They’d be gone until the following week. Normally, Astrid would have called all her friends over for a party – she had before, on a few occasions back in high school. The memories made her smile slightly, though somewhat sadly. She was a little too old for that now, though many of her peers would have disagreed. She was nearly twenty-three, and already she felt like an old woman. That was another thing that needed to change – she needed to stop stressing out, loosen up a bit.

It had been over a week since their parting at Denny’s, and Dante had been quiet. She expected that. So when her phone began to ring on her nightstand, she raised an eyebrow at his name on the display, but picked up all the same. “Hey, Dante.”

"Hey," he said, relieved that she wasn't ignoring him. He glanced around the room, finding it soothing that he could actually move around in it. Everything felt clean and new. Even the couch smelled good, thanks to Febreze.

He sighed. "I don't know where to start. Things have been so shitty, and I didn't realize that everything I was doing was affecting us. And me." He paused and shook his head. "No. I need to say that I didn't realize my drinking so much was affecting you. Us. Me. I didn't even realize that I was drinking so much. I don't know how I couldn't have." He knew the signs: an agitated father, a crying and isolated mother. When he stepped back and looked at the big picture, there wasn't much of a difference between Mr. and Mrs. Cerevino's relationship and Dante's relationship with Astrid. Except, he reminded himself, he had never hit Astrid. He had hurt his hand, badly, and he had called her a tyrant and made her cry, but he hadn't physically hurt her. Yet. The thought made him want to vomit.

"Anyway," he said, sitting up and physically shaking his head and shoulders as if to shake everything off, "I threw everything out. No beer, no vodka, no whiskey. I might even throw away the one-hitter. And," he said, grinning, "I cleaned the whole place."

As Dante sighed and began to talk, Astrid cradled the phone between her shoulder and ear, listening as she finished putting away her clothes and set the hamper down, sitting down on the foot of her huge bed. The part where he said he hadn’t realized he had been drinking so much sounded like the truth to her; after all, he had been so indignant and insistent that it wasn’t that bad. Breathing in through her nose, she closed her eyes, straightening her back. She was sure Dante was a good person beneath the alcoholism, the rough and shady past with his family. Some people on this planet were inherently evil, and there was no redemption for them – but Dante … she could tell Dante was beginning to really want to make things right.

Opening her eyes, she smiled softly at the thought of him cleaning. “Everything out, huh?” Her voice was lightly, a bit airy as if she was teasing him – she believed that he dumped everything, though as they both knew, there was nothing physically stopping him from replenishing his supply. Even so, it was a step in the right direction. “Cleaned the whole place? I don’t even know if I can picture that.” She laughed with a little grin. “That sounds great, Dante.”

He stretched and chuckled, feeling kind of like a little kid. "I even Febrezed," he said. He didn't need AA; he had his own twelve-step program: clean the house, use Febreze, and throw out the booze! He felt airy, too, as if he had taken something. He almost felt giddy. There was even a good amount of money left in his checking account.

"Listen," he said, pushing off from the floor and searching for his car keys. "I have some extra money from my unemployment." Had he told her about that? Oh well. No worries! They could talk about everything they had missed in the last few weeks, play catch-up. "I was thinking I could take you to the mall, take you shopping?" He bounced the keys -- found on his kitchen counter -- in his hand. The summer sun coming in through the kitchen windows felt exhilarating on his skin. Things were so, so good.

Astrid paused, blinking at his sudden perky tone; pulling the phone from her ear and glancing at him. Did she hear him right? He wanted to take her shopping? “Uhm,” she said, a bit flabbergasted. He had mentioned losing his job, so the unemployment check mention did not surprise her, though she made a small mental note to ask him about that. “Well, we, uh …” She was more flustered than she thought. Brows knitting together, she tried again. “We could get together if you want, but you don’t have to take me shopping. You should probably save that money …”

What had gotten into him? Clearly this was him trying to make a chance, but she found this new Dante a bit unnerving – but then, maybe she was making things out to be bigger in her head than what they really were. They’d only seen each other twice in the past three weeks; it would be nice to hang out with him, maybe talk again. He seemed cheerful and reasonable enough.

"Aww, come on! It'll be fun. You can try on lingerie." He winked, then remembered she couldn't see him. "There's a wink after that," he said. "I'll pick you up?" He spoke quickly, barely pausing between his words. It was like his brain was brand new; he could see every detail, everything felt so fresh and perfect and great.

He just felt so damn good.

Astrid was conflicted. Dante being cheerful was not normal, so she was slightly apprehensive – on the other hand, maybe this was him making an honest effort. He said he was not happy with things either; perhaps this was Dante’s way of trying to rectify things. She wasn’t sure why he wanted to take her out shopping, and she hoped he wasn’t consciously attempting to ‘buy’ her back, so to speak. Still, she could indulge him with her company. And he was so damn happy-sounding, she couldn’t refuse him. Briefly, she saw her old boyfriend, before things got too complicated.

“Alright, alright,” she laughed. “Come and pick me up in twenty minutes, then.” A cursory glance to the mirror: she’d put on a little make-up and change her shirt.

"Okay, cool, see you then!" He hung up and walked out the door.

Almost twenty minutes later, he pulled up to her place, fingers tapping out the drum beat to Megadeth. They could grab something to eat (maybe even at an actual restaurant, instead of the food court or Denny's again), do some shopping (he would love a new CD), and just hang out. Things would be just like normal -- the way they used to be. He refused to say or do anything negative that might start another fight. He would not call her a tyrant, he would not make her cry, and he would not think about having a drink.

He glanced anxiously at her front door, as if she may have changed her mind at the last minute and decided to barricade the door. Remembering her hinting that she didn't want to be alone with him, that she was afraid of him, he kept glancing from the digital display on the dashboard to the front door.

Astrid was in the middle of putting on her black Oxford heels (short heels, of course – she saved the stilettos for going out and other special occasions, lest she break her neck in them) when she heard the sound of a car pulling up into the driveway. Peeking out the front window, she confirmed it was Dante before picking up her purse, and turning to the mirror on the wall by the door to check her reflection. She had to admit it, she looked great: her hair was still a deliciously vibrant dark crimson, her make-up was nearly flawless, and the shirt she had changed into suited her black skinny jeans well. Over time, she noticed how her style evolved: from grungy punk rocker teenager, to well-dressed and polished adult. Interesting how these things happened.

One final long look in the mirror – she told herself not to worry, to just try to have a good time – before she stepped out the front door, purse over her shoulder. Making her way to the car, she slid inside, smiling congenially over at him. “Hey,” she said, suddenly almost shy.

His eyes roamed from her heels to her hair, his face wearing a soft and crooked smile. He felt like a teenager again, remembering when he first saw her at one of Chris' long ago parties. "Hey," he said.

Seeing her had a calming effect; Dante's very molecules stopped jumping all over the place, and he continued to glance at her as he put the car into drive and pulled away from her house. "You look nice," he said, eyes flicking down to his nearly retired jeans and Nirvana tee shirt. A horrible thought occurred to him: What if she grew out of him? Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and he wiped it away with the back of a hand.

Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on driving and making small talk. "How was your day?"

Astrid smiled at the compliment as she buckled in, leaning back in the car seat. “Thanks,” she said, glancing out the window as they pulled away from the house. “My day? Uhm … it was okay. Had a doctor’s appointment. Did laundry. That’s really about it – I go back to work tomorrow, so, you know how it is.” Or he used to, anyway. That’s right, she had to ask him about his job! Just as she was about to, the thought occurred to her that, really, she probably already knew the answer.

“How was yours?” She said, a little lamely. Small talk like this seemed okay – they hadn’t had any time to catch up, though as Astrid really thought about it, she didn’t have anything new to report to him. “So you really cleaned, huh? That’s impressive. Were you that bored?"

He laughed. "No, I just... I dunno. I just had to do something, you know?" He jumped onto the highway, urging the car up to fifty, sixty, then an even seventy.

"My day was okay. I was at the tattoo shop this morning, cleaning toilets like usual. One of the guys might be leaving, so the position might be mine, but I'm not holding my breath. It's all right, though. My unemployment check was pretty nice." He wanted to ask her about the doctor's appointment, but told his mind to shut up. Her wanting a family and going to the doctor just a week later had to be a coincidence, that was all.

She laughed a little, shaking her head. “At the rate I’ve been working, I’d almost kill to be unemployed right now. I’ve been so tired.” Closing her eyes, she leaned her head against the window, watching the road. “Thankfully that’s all going to come to an end – the stress is really taking its toll on me. Hence the doctor’s appointment.” In case there were any misconceptions; she knew that deep down, Dante was not much different than she was when it came to over-analyzing things.

Sitting up a bit, she looked back at him. “At least you’ve got something to help occupy you; the tattoo shop, I mean.” It wasn’t much of a comfort, though. She knew how badly he wanted to move up at the shop and become a real artist – maybe things would be better for him now he was trying to change his life.

“I’ve been thinking about going back to school.” She wanted to fill the silence between them, keep the flow of positive conversation going. “I have my associates, maybe now it’s time to get my Bachelor’s, so I can get a real job. No more of this grocery store crap, I want a job that I actually somewhat like.” At least something that pertained to her interests – like Dante and the tattoo parlor. She envied him in that respect, even if he was doing basic grunt work.

Dante glanced at her, then quickly looked back at the road. He wished that he could go to school, but his high school grades had sucked and he had no special skills other than playing guitar, drawing, and fucking things up when they were going well. Still, she had asked him just a week ago how he would take care of her and their hypothetical family. Although he was relieved that the doctor's appointment was just normal, the possibility of an accident or Astrid wanting more was now too real, and he had no idea how he was going to live up to that.

He swallowed hard. Refusing to let anything ruin his elation, he tried to turn the happy back on. "Well, one of us has to actually succeed at life," he said, winking.

Poor Dante. Astrid didn’t really realize just how much pressure she had put on him. She looked over at him, a little surprised – she hadn’t meant anything against him. “There’s no reason you couldn’t go back to school if you ever wanted to,” she said softly, feeling a little guilty. “I just … I don’t want to get stuck, is all. I don’t want wake up as an old woman and realize I’m still cashiering in a freaking grocery store.” She shook her head, sending red strands to and fro.

Dante, however, could viably make a living from tattooing if he ever had the chance. She’d watched him practice on Chris one day a year or two back: Chris wanted Dante to ink a small, old school-looking bomb on his ankle. She remembered watching Dante, how skillfully he maneuvered the gun, the concentrated look on his face as he easily but carefully inked on the straight lines. Hell, Dante could do much more with himself … what, exactly, Astrid didn’t know. “Isn’t there anything you would want to learn? Or what would be your ideal job?”

He shook his head. "I know you didn't. And I dunno. I have no idea what I want to do. Something. Something that makes money." He shrugged and signaled for the mall exit.

"I did a touch-up the other day, though," he said. "As long as this guy leaves, I'm in. I still want a grownup job, though. Something you have to get an education for, so no one can say you're unqualified or not doing anything with your life." He shrugged again. The ecstatic feeling from before was fading, and he knew he had to lighten the mood before he got too serious. "What are you gonna go to school for?" He asked, continuing with the idle banter.

Clearly Astrid’s words had gotten to him. Dante was not someone that was overly concerned about making money – so long as he had enough to scrape by on, he was fine. Money did not hold the same security to him as it did to her, and that’s where her guilt had come in. She wondered if he took to heart what she said about wanting a family: ideally, she had hoped that he would eventually want the same thing. If not, then she wasn’t entirely sure what would happen. Even now, she couldn’t tell if he was opposed to the idea, though hopefully children would still be a long way off for them. Just because Astrid was certain she wanted a family one day did not mean she was in a hurry to begin.

However, it seemed like he had done a lot of thinking. She wondered about the remark about not doing anything with ones’ life, trying to remember if she had said anything to that effect the previous week. Uncertain of whether or not she did, she still warmed to the idea, because she knew in the long wrong, he’d benefit from obtaining real life skills. “I don’t know yet. I’m torn between psychology, nursing, or maybe something practical, like business, or education, or whatever.” She was more inclined to the first two herself. “I don’t know, though, I need to figure out how I can pay for school … I need to talk to my parents.” The Liljegren’s had been on Astrid to finish her schooling; easy for them to say, since they each had their Master’s, and her father was beginning his Doctorate. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to invest so much time into school, but the future was still wide open on that one.

It had been quite some time since they had been to Woodfield – the last time Astrid remembered coming here was when they went Christmas shopping a year or two back. She smiled to herself as they cruised the parking lot for a space, before finally pulling into one and getting out. This was going to be a good day, she decided as she stretched her arms outside of the car. She was going to make damn sure of it.

Dante wished that all he had to do was talk to his parents. After almost twenty-three years of practically raising himself, he doubted they would care now, nor would they be willing to pay for any school expenses. In many ways, Astrid had it really good, and he felt like he was just bringing her down.

Sighing, he followed her into the mall, hands jammed into his front pockets. He tried to recall the way he had felt before leaving the house, but it seemed like his earlier (over) enthusiasm had taken off without leaving so much as a note. Still, he was determined to not let his cloudy thoughts and worries ruin their night. "Are you hungry?" he asked, forcing a little enthusiasm into his voice.

If only Astrid realized what a hole she had dug for them both. She hadn’t meant to send Dante into self-doubt, nor had she meant to flaunt the help she could get from her parents. The thought sent a small cringe inward, and she resolved to be more careful of what she said and how she said it, least she bothered him. She felt like she had done enough damage to his poor psyche to last him a life time.

“Sure, I’m hungry.” As if on cue, her stomach rumbled quietly; she had eaten breakfast, but skipped lunch that day. “What are you in the mood for?” She left his side to head a few feet off to the left to examine the mall directory.

Sensing her worry, Dante bent down and kissed her forehead. He straightened up and looked at the directory, his head cocked to one side. "Uh." His stomach growled, loudly, and he tried to remember when he had last eaten. This morning? Last night? "It's up to you," he said. "We can eat at a restaurant, the food court, whatever."

Leaving it up to her, he scanned the directory for men's clothing stores. He wanted to replace the tee shirts and jeans he had worn since high school for something more sophisticated, mature. The problem was, he didn't know what mature men who listened to death metal and grunge wore. Luckily, he had Astrid with him for advice, but he didn't want to make too big a deal out of it. He suspected that she would suspect him of trying too hard if she knew all of the things running through his mind. He rolled his eyes at himself. He was turning out to be a real head case.

Luckily for Dante, Astrid already had a few ideas of her own when it came to clothes. She was female after all, and since he seemed keen enough to get on track, she figured maybe getting him out of jeans and t-shirts might help give him a boost. She knew once she shed her own casual image into something a little more feminine, she felt much better about herself, and though it would be a step for Dante, perhaps it would make a difference. Secretly, she was plotting on taking him to some stores to see if she could get him to try anything on.

That, however, would have to wait until later. She read through the list for apparel first and made a few mental notes, before examining what the mall had to offer for food. “You wanna go to Todai?” She asked, referencing the Japanese and seafood buffet. She knew one of the hostesses there who could hook them up with a discount, provided she was working today.

"Uh-huh." He frowned. There were three -- possibly four -- sports stores, a Hot Topic, PacSun, Hollister and Abercrombie (he would die first) and the standard department stores: Sears, Macy's, JCPenney. The thought of walking into one of the department stores made him feel like he should just hit rock bottom and buy loafers.

"Huh? Yeah, Todai is fine," he said, forcing himself to look away from the directory. "I could go for some sushi. They do have sushi, right? It's been way too long."

Astrid couldn’t imagine Dante in loafers. The stores that caught her eye ran more along the lines of H&M, Ralph Lauren, Urban Outfitters, and the like – she’d spent the day before scrolling through sites, looking for things for herself before her mind began to wander on how she could improve Dante’s style. This, however, would probably have to take place in baby steps, but she would be patient. In the meantime, she tallied up a list of stops along the way in her mind, before she turned to smile at Dante. “Yes, they have sushi. They have pretty much anything along the lines of seafood and Japanese food, so I think you’ll be happy.”

Leading the way downstairs, she suddenly felt a wave of exuberance spread through her, making her feel giddy and slightly light-headed. This was going to be something positive: even though she sensed Dante’s move taking a slight nosedive, she was not to be undeterred. She would take the reins if she had to!

And so, she marched them to the front of the huge buffet/restaurant. Sure enough, her friend Emiko was sitting behind the counter, mouth opening in surprise at the sight of Astrid. “Assi!” The young Japanese woman came around the counter to embrace her old friend – they took a moment to chatter girlishly between them, before Astrid turned to Dante. “Dante, this is my friend from school, Emiko. I don’t know if you remember her, but we were in Creative Writing together for Junior year. Emiko, this is Dante.” She only had a second to make a snap decision on how to introduce him: calling him her boyfriend was probably not entirely accurate at the moment (Were they truly broken up? Stuck in relationship limbo?), and friend seemed much too fillipant. She didn’t want to hurt Dante’s feelings, so she bypassed the relationship part, settling instead to introduce him by name.

“Good to meet you, Dante.” Emiko smiled broadly at the young man, before turning to Astrid. “Here, let’s find you guys some place to sit.” She cheerily headed off inside the restaurant; Astrid turned and gave Dante a small smile, before following her friend.

They were given a table next to the window, far enough from the crowd of other people seated, but close enough to the long, winding counters that displayed trays upon trays of tantalizing Asian fare. Todai, Astrid decided, had been a good choice. “Thanks, Emiko,” she said to her friend with a smile. “Can I get a Pepsi, no ice, please?” While Emiko got Dante’s drink order, she removed her light sweater, her purse, setting them down on the chair beside her.

“I’ll be right back with your drinks – go ahead and enjoy, you two!” And with that, Emiko bounced back off out of sight. Astrid, meanwhile, grinned over at Dante.

“Ready to get stuffed?” With lots of delicious food, of course!

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Last one back to the table pays." Of course he would pay, but he took off for the buffet before she could respond. Grabbing a plate, he began weaving through the aisles, piling on things he didn't know and things he was familiar with -- crab legs, teriyaki chicken, white rice, and sushi of course -- without really looking at them. He needed to regroup, and grabbing food was the perfect excuse.

As he reached for a few pieces of shrimp tempura sushi, Dante too thought about their romantic status. Astrid had not called him her boyfriend, but that didn't mean anything, right? His eyebrows knotted as he stared at some other sushi he had never seen before. He missed high school, as much as he hated to admit it. Things were so much less complicated then, even though he had all but dropped out in order to work so he could keep the apartment he rented in his sister's name. He needed to call Val; he hadn't spoken to her in a few months.

His plate almost overflowed. Dante looked down at it and sighed, then headed back to the table. Couldn't he be someone else, just for the next couple of hours? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Astrid. He slowed, pretending to consider something that looked like seafood but could have been some kind of alien. He didn't want to be the first one back, race or not.

Meanwhile, Astrid took her time selecting her food, lost in her own thoughts. Hovering over near the soups, she debated whether or not she wanted the udon or miso. Sighing, she settled for a cup of miso, half-wishing that was the hardest choice she'd have to make. Glancing back over her shoulder, she looked across the way at Dante. Something about the way he looked made ... well, something in her stomach break.

She loved him. He had been the most important person in her life the past four years; she couldn't just turn her back on him. He had been more than her boyfriend, he had been her best friend. He knew all her secrets, her private thoughts and desires. He knew her inside and out.

On the other hand, she felt like her grasp on him had slipped drastically. He knew her well - but how well could she say he knew him?

Stop, she told herself. She needed to be in the moment, focus on him. If she stopped thinking, started observing him, read his body language, maybe she could learn something about him. Biting the bullet, she returned to the table to discover, unsurprisingly, she had gotten there first.

Dante eyed his overflowing plate for renegade rice balls as he carefully weaved through the buffet tables and other people, reaching his and Astrid's table seconds after her. "I'm not sure I'm gonna finish all of this," he mumbled as he slowly set the plate down and slid into the booth.

Things had changed between them, but Dante couldn't be sure whether the change had occurred because of his drinking, or if their individual personalities had changed too drastically for them to be together. Face it, he wanted to say to her. We've grown apart; you've grown up and I've gone absolutely nowhere. Just looking at their appearances told him just how much things had changed. Astrid had morphed into a woman, while Dante remained a clueless teenager trapped in a man's body. No wonder those public service announcements always encouraged a strong paternal presence in children's lives.

He shoved something that might have been calamari but didn't quite taste like it into his mouth, chewing slowly and then swallowing before speaking. He hated to ruin the light tone of the day, but he hated even more to pretend like his head hadn't turned into a whirlpool. He set down his chopsticks and looked at her.

"You think I've got enough food? I don't even know what this is," he said, pointing to the calamari thing and mentally kicking himself for being such a chicken. "It's good, though."

Astrid laughed, gesturing to her own plate. “Are you kidding me? I’m not sure I’ll be able to finish this.” Should have smoked a joint before we left, she thought to herself. Still, her appetite was healthy after being on the rails for the past few weeks – she was beginning to grow concerned that the only time she could really eat was after she smoked. It was difficult enough to get herself on a healthy eating pattern, so taking a toke or three off a joint every two hours was damn near impossible at work. She did it here and there when she knew she could get away with it, but still …

Even so, the food was delicious: the sushi was a burst of many different flavors in her mouth, so good that she skipped over the soy sauce. It was clear she had been very selective in her food choices – if one didn’t know any better, it would seem like she was watching her weight. Astrid was a slender thing, but over the past few months, she noticed that, while she retained her girlish figure, her breasts and hips had begun to grow just a bit. She wasn’t bothered by her newfound curves – in fact, she had begun to re-do her wardrobe around them. But there was still the paranoid fear that she would one day become like the rest of America’s population, and that did not sit well with her. May as well start prevention early, right?

She was focusing on her miso soup now, leaning forward with her lips pursed to blow, ladylike, on the soup. Glancing over to Dante, she smiled at him after swallowing the mouthful of miso. “This is really nice, Dante,” she said honestly, heartfelt. “I’m really glad you invited me out.” Astrid was merely happy to get out of the house to spend some time with him. Maybe this was what they needed to help give them a boost to get back to normal – whatever normal was.

Maybe, by dredging up the bad stuff, he would ruin their chances at fixing things.

"It is nice," he agreed, setting his questions about their status aside for the moment. He needed to focus on the here and the now, and put all of his energy into having a good time. He wished he could figure everything out instantly -- or at least figure out how he was going to prove himself to her. Ever since their conversation about the future, Dante had turned his mind over and over trying to figure out how he would take care of Astrid and their hypothetical family.

As they ate, he watched the way her newly red hair caught the light, noted the curves that he had somehow missed as they appeared. Not only did she have her shit together -- she looked like she had her shit together!

"You look good," he blurted.

Astrid looked up suddenly, a bit surprised at the sudden remark. “Oh, you think so?” Straightening up a bit, she grinned. “Yeah, I’ve, uhm … put on a few pounds over the past few months somehow, but not too many.” She finished off her miso, and resumed eating her teriyaki chicken. “I thought I looked okay, but you know.” A dismissive shrug as she pulled back strands of hair behind her ears as she ate, wishing she’d remembered a hair tie. Too late now.

After his remark on her appearance, she really began to examine his discreetly as they continued chatting and eating. He hadn’t put on much weight himself – in fact, he definitely looked as though he lost a few pounds. Astrid supposed that’s what happens when you drink your calories, but it was still a bit unsettling. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d had sex, and searched her memory banks. Had he looked so thin then? Even the bagginess of his clothes couldn’t mask his gauntness, because it was beginning to show on his face. Dante looked different too – still handsome, of course, but also a little older than his near twenty-three years. The realization depressed Astrid.

When they finished, he had settled the bill; bidding Emiko farewell and stepping back out into the mall, Astrid glanced around. “Alright,” she said, turning to him with a wide grin. “Where do you wanna start first? Any suggestions?” She’d already made up her mind that this was going to be a good day; time to turn back on the cheeriness.

Dante shrugged and dropped into a bench, rubbing at his face with his hands. Waves of heat washed over him. He swiped sweat off of his forehead and wiped the palms of his hands on his jeans. He had hoped he could get through this shopping trip without the hot flashes, hoping that he was out of the woods (a quick Google search days ago had told him he might deal with the nausea and sweats for over a week). Maybe cold turkey was not the best idea. Maybe he should just have a shot of something, just to make this stop for a while.

"Wherever you want," he said. "Just give me a minute." He leaned over, balancing his elbows on his knees, and put his face in his hands. At least he wasn't having any weird hallucinations. He had read some horror stories on one website. He peered between his fingers, afraid that Astrid would be watching him, disappointment clear on her face.

When Dante did raise his head up, he could see that Astrid’s face was full of concern. Eyebrows raised high as she dropped down on the bench beside him, a hand snaking around his arm to rest on his knee. “Dante,” she said, voice gentle, “are you alright?”

She was no fool – she knew what this was. She searched the recesses of her memory banks; long ago, she had looked up alcoholism, its causes and symptoms and what to expect when going cold turkey. Recalling that list, she realized that was precisely what was happening: he was going through withdrawal, which meant he truly had gone cold turkey. The thought touched her, but also caused worry; this was liable to push him back over the edge. An irrational voice told her it was her job to make sure he stayed on the wagon at any cost: move into his place to keep an eye on him night and day. But that was ridiculous, she told herself. Dante was a grown adult, and this was the choice he made. Therefore, he had to live with it – at least, with her to help take care of him.

He was looking better, but she made no move to get up, instead moving closer so their legs were touching. “Is there anything I can do?” Reason told her no, but the maternal mother hen instinct had taken over. She was not getting up until he was ready.

He took a deep breath, trying to force the nausea away. He remembered his mom rubbing his sister's wrists, on a rare occasion when she had pretended to mother them. The Cerevinos had gone on a cruise, and Val was violently seasick. The pressure points, he remembered, eased the nausea. He found the soft bone easily; before, he had not realized just how much weight he had lost. He pressed the pad of his thumb against the place where he felt his pulse the strongest, and began rubbing in a clockwise motion.

"Shoot me," he said, smiling weakly. "This is normal, though, for stopping," he added quickly, not wanting her to think he had drank too much the night before or something. He realized she might already know that, but he didn't want any assumptions made. Again he thought of having a single shot. He would feel so much better if he just had that shot. During his Googling, he had learned that a hangover was actually alcohol withdrawal. Maybe it wasn't true, but it made sense; he had felt hungover for the past week. Besides, when you were hungover, drinking a beer first thing in the morning -- after aspirin -- helped.

Dante took another deep breath and stopped rubbing. For the moment, at least, the nausea and hot flashes had passed. "Okay," he said, getting to his feet shakily. "Where to? Lead the way." Nothing was going to ruin this day, not even his stupidity at thinking he could self-detox.

The poor thing. Astrid could only watch as he rubbed his wrist, observing his fixed gaze. In her heart, she knew he had quit cold turkey, and wasn't just giving her lip service. Dante was not that great of an actor, and it was hard to pull off looking as ill as he did. "Give it a minute," she said, palm resting flat on his leg.

When she seemed satisfied that he would be steady enough to get up, she rose to her feet. "Let's go over here." She curled her arm around his to keep him close, steady on his feet; leading him over to the front of H&M that was split down the middle, guys clothes on the left, girls on the right. Instead of bee-lining to the ladies section, she went for the guys, straight to the rack of jeans. "We need to find you new jeans," announced Astrid as she shuffled through the piles. She didn't have to give his present pair a pointed glance; they both knew the state of all his pants

"Try these on," she said after a minute, handing him three or four pairs of pants with a wide, but slightly expectant smile.

He obeyed, trotting off to the dressing room. He glanced over his shoulder at her a couple of times, his eyebrows furrowed. How had she known he wanted to look for new clothes? And, why hadn't he thought of H&M? It had worked out pretty well; now he didn't have to ask for her help, but he also didn't have to admit what he thought their very different appearances meant.

In the dressing room, he yanked off his old jeans and tossed them onto the bench. He pulled on one of the pairs Astrid had handed to him, zipped the fly, and buttoned them. He didn't have to look in the mirror to know they didn't fit; even with a belt, they would still be loose.

Dante opened the door and poked his head out. "Hey Astrid," he called. "Maybe I should have eaten more."

At the sound of his voice, Astrid looked up at once from the rack of shirts that she had been perusing. Regal brow furrowing into a frown, she abandoned her search, and headed over to the dressing rooms. Slipping inside his changing room, she looked him up and down, a pale hand raising his shirt to examine his abdomen, his hips; taking in the looseness of the denim waistband literally took her breath away.

She drew in a deep breath, looking up in his face: for the briefest of moments, her green eyes were glassed over. “Oh, Dante,” she sighed suddenly, impulsively wrapping her arms around him. As she held him to her full chest, his gauntness seemed all the more apparent. Head and face buried in the curve of his neck and shoulder, she held him tight for several long moments. Had she done this to him? Her lip quivered at the thought, but in the end she firmed, and released him.

“You’re right: we need to work on fattening you up.” Astrid’s voice sounded more light-hearted than it had before, and she offered him up a smile. “I’ll be right back.” She turned away and was out the door, brusquely strolling back over to the jeans rack she had began at. A quick search turned up the same style of jeans she initially had chosen; this time, she picked out a size that would be snugger on his hips, but still left a bit of room in the event he put on a few pounds. A belt would also be sufficient.

Returning with the new stack, she handed the pants over and took the first batch – also giving him several different styles of shirts that she thought would suit him. “There, “ she said brightly, back to her normal perky self. “These should be better.”

"Well, at least I'm not fat," he said, immediately feeling empty when she pulled away from him. "I mean, it just means I can eat whatever I want for a while. That's kind of a nice thought. Fried chicken, Burger King, tacos, Chinese takeout... I think I'm hungry again." He let the jeans fall off of him and stepped out of them. A hanger in one hand, he squeezed the clip with shaking hands, trying to hang the jeans the way they had originally been, and failing. "These freaking things," he said, holding the hanger back and looking at it with his head bent all the way to the left. "If you look at them like this, they don't look crooked." He grinned and hung the hanger from the rack fastened to the dressing room wall.

"Okay, here goes." He took the new jeans and shirts from Astrid, tugged on one pair of jeans, removed his Nirvana tee, and pulled on a crisp white tee shirt and brown cardigan. He had to admit, he looked pretty damn good. The brown complemented his eyes, hair, and skintone, and altogether, he looked his age. "How does my ass look?" He wiggled around in front of the mirror, then turned to Astrid with one eyebrow lifted.

“Wow.” Astrid’s eyes went wide when he finished dressing, her brows raised in shock – but she looked pleased. “Turn around!” Biting down on her bottom lip, she could barely contain her glee at the very sight of him: he looked mature, he looked clean, he looked his age and not like some scruffy homeless teenager off the street. This was turning out better than expected.

“Here, try this shirt on with those pants.” She handed him a dark green short sleeved button down shirt; behind that one to try on next was a plaid long sleeved shirt, with more dark greens and blues. With his tawny complexion and dark hair and eyes, the color combinations were winning ones. She watched him try on the outfits she brought him, hands clasped to her chest, beaming brightly as she watched him transform. He looked like a grown man. “I just can’t get over this,” she said, shaking her head when he was through. “You look like a completely different person – it’s unbelievable!”

He couldn't help but grin. Maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance here. As he tried each outfit on, he felt more and more confident that he could win her back.

"Let's go check these out," Dante said, pulling his own clothes back on and practically dragging Astrid out of the dressing rooms and to the register. He tossed the clothing onto the counter, the hangers clattering together as they touched the surface. When the cashier read him the total, he handed her a wad of bills.

"Where to next?" he asked, turning to Astrid as he took his change and bags.

This had been much easier than Astrid expected. She anticipated him pouting, sulking, or flat-out refusing to shop for himself, and they would be left to a really awkward afternoon of skulking about the mall uncomfortably. Of course, Astrid was doing a little window shopping herself, but this trip was all for him. it was nice to know that his appearance was on his mind: it had not been a deciding factor in their relationship of course, but Astrid was beginning to grow disenchanted with his appearance, just as she was beginning to fully embrace hers. She was feeling more and more like a woman as time went on, desperate to shed the awkward traces of her high-school self - now she radiated confidence, and she badly wanted him to do the same.

"Well," she said with a small, thoughtful sigh as she glanced around at their surroundings. She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes narrowing before she spotted both Foot Locker and ALDO at the same time, and then training her gaze to his beat up Converse. "The good news is, with all the new clothes you just got, a new pair of Cons would still look great with them. Or, if you want to look for something a little more fancier, we could try there." Gesturing to ALDO, though she was second-guessing her choice: she did not want to push him too far into a new realm. Baby steps needed to be taken.

Dante looked down at his very ripped, very old, and very comfortable shoes. He glanced at the shoes displayed in the window. Their leather, expensive version of Chucks looked pretty cool, sure -- especially the grey ones -- but the shoes he wore had been with him throughout the last couple of years, literally carrying him through.

He looked at Astrid's hopeful face, then back at his beaten shoes. "Yeah," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic but instead sounding like a little boy whose mother wanted him to go to church. He tried again. "Those grey ones are nice." He walked into the store, purposely avoiding looking at the shoes he was betraying. He found a box marked with his size and stuffed it between his torso and arm. That part, at least, had been quick. He hated to think of his Converses sitting in a landfill somewhere, but they were not part of the big picture. "This is probably a dumb question, but do you wanna look at anything here?"

Right as he asked, Astrid had spied a pair of heels that caught her eye. Shiny patented red, as crimson as her hair. Reluctantly turning to glance back at Dante, she bit down on her bottom lip, suddenly no longer able to contain her grin. "Yeeeaah, actually ..." She wanted this shopping trip to be all about Dante, but it was clear he wanted to take the pressure off of himself. "Gimme just a minute, okay?"

After flashing him a quick grin, she turned and hurried over to the other side of the store where the shoes sat. It was a good thing she hustled; there was another woman hungrily eying the shoes. A quick look revealed that there was only one box left - and they were precisely her size. Holding her breath, she slowly sat down with the box, removing the lid and pulling the shoes out. Kicking off the heels she was already wearing, she very carefully slipped the red ones on. They fit perfectly.

And now for the ultimate test. She stood up - the heels gave her an extra four inches, boosting up her diminutive frame - and walked back and forth in them. They did not rub the back of her heel annoyingly, they made her legs look incredible, and best of all: when she turned and looked at herself in a full length mirror propped up a few feet away, they made her derrière look absolutely fantastic. There was no doubt about it, she had to get them. The price on their tag was a little much, but upon further examination, she saw they were drastically marked down. "Okay," Astrid said once the shoes were boxed up and protectively held to her chest, consciously away of the other woman who had eyed her shoes glowering furiously at her. "I'm ready." She led him over to the check out counter, setting down her box and learning down to rifle through her purse.

Dante watched Astrid check herself out in the mirror, his lips parting slightly and the corners of his mouth turning up a little. Suddenly he realized that, if he could manage to grow up, too, they would be able to look back at the last few years and see that they had grown up together. Years and years of measurement stretched before him, and he wondered what it would be like to look back on their lives when they were, say, married and had a baby.

Suddenly, it didn't seem so bad.

He shook himself out of it as he followed her to the checkout. "I've got it," he said, putting his free hand over hers as she searched for her wallet. He added his own things to the counter and managed not to blink when the cashier announced the total. It wasn't too bad, especially if he reminded himself that the state was covering it.

"I need to find a job," he said as they left the store. "Maybe go back to school." He realized he probably sounded like a sheepish child who had just admitted he was wrong for knocking his sibling's blocks over. He rubbed at the back of his neck and sat down on the nearest bench. The nausea was coming back, just a little, and he swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry," he said. His eyes stubbornly remained dry, but his voice cracked a little. He realized he might be a little dehydrated; it would definitely explain why the nausea wouldn't subside.

Astrid hated to admit it to herself, but sometimes, Dante damn near broke her heart. A small part of her knew he'd cover the cost of her shoes: her kneejerk response was to be slightly perplexed. She didn't need to be bought off. Then she realized that it wasn't that Dante was trying to buy her affection; in a way, he was attempting the role of provider. So she did not protest when he paid. Let the poor man feel good about himself.

Her brows raised in concern as he sat down heavily on a nearby bench, and once again, she moved in close beside him. She closed her eyes when he apologized, and shook her head. "Don't be sorry, baby," she sighed, pursing her lips and pressing a kiss to his brow. His dusky skin was hot, sweaty, and she pulled back with a frown. "Wait here," she instructed. The nurturing aspect of her personality kicked in: he was sick in some way, and she wanted to make him better.

Rising from the bench, she took off briskly, finding a vending machine not far from where they sat. Fishing out a dollar bill and some change, she shoved it into the machine and selected the bottled water. Triumphantly, she returned to Dante's side, proffering the bottle. "Drink this." Once the bottle was in his hands and uncapped, she relaxed next to him once again.

Allowing him a few moments to recollect himself, Astrid sat quietly, thinking. Dante knew he had to get a new job. He even mentioned school. An image of them together, married and with a baby flashed in her mind: her staying at home, him off to work. The idea struck her as very 50s, and very unlike Dante. Was she doing this to him - trying to pidgeonhole him into a role he did not want?

Winding her arm through his, she clasped her hand with his own, lacing their fingers together. "One day at a time, Dante." Turning to peer at him, she raised an eyebrow. "Did you want to look at anything else? Or shall we get going?"

"Thanks," he said. His hands shook as he broke the seal and lifted the bottle to his lips. Water trickled from his mouth as he drained half of the bottle in one go. His head pounded and his stomach squeezed itself. Gritting his teeth, Dante shoved the nausea down. He could throw up later, when he could lay on the floor of his own bathroom, hot cheek against cool tile.

He nodded. "Hate to be a killjoy," he said. "Maybe we could..." He let the next words die, though they echoed through his mind: ...stop and get a drink. Just one shot, maybe two, and the nausea would go away.

He shouldn't have eaten. He shouldn't have drank the water so quickly. He rose from the bench and bolted outside, lighting a cigarette as the fresh air hit him. He gulped down the air, shoving the nausea down again, taking a drag. Part of him realized he looked insane, and that he had left Astrid in the mall, but he didn't care. He pressed his cheek against the cool brick exterior and took slow, deep breaths, interjecting with a hit of nicotine every three or so.

"Fuck me," he said. "I'm in way over my head."

Astrid let him go. It pained her to do so, but she knew she had to: waiting several long beats before she too, stood up. Straightening out the bottom of her shirt, she tipped her head up and breathed deeply. Dante was beginning to lose his grip. She had to do something ... but what? As she gathered up there bags, it hit her that really, there was very little she could do to help him. He had made an admirable choice, true, but ultimately it would be up to him.

She lingered just outside of a Borders to kill a few minutes, before making her way over to the exit. It hadn't been the one they came through, but close enough: they could walk back to the car easily enough. Before emerging out into the early evening, she considered what Dante said and din't say. She had an idea of what he wanted, his physical symptoms told everything. Poor Dante. She couldn't even begin to understand what he was going through.

He hadn't gone far: there were people standing outside smoking, some well-dressed. She found pressed against the wall and made her approach, holding her hand out. "Dante, let me drive home. You look like you need a ... rest." A rest - was that the best she could come up with? Even so, she was already formulating a plan: she'd stay with him tonight if she could, he could stay at her place if he wanted, her parents were still gone. Anything to help him. "Let's go back to your place - or mine, if you'd like."

He glanced at her, relieved she had missed the worst of it. A few yards down, the mall's landscaping company would find a very nasty gift. The cool brick still felt good on his face, though, so, after moving down, he had continued to rest his cheek on it while smoking a cigarette when she had joined him.

Smiling weakly while looking at her through his lashes, Dante nodded. He lifted his free hand slowly to his pocket, and pulled out his keys. His hand shook as he held them out to her. The other hand shook as well, and he clenched the filter of his cigarette between his teeth, the hand dropping to his side like a noodle. The thought of noodles made his stomach clench, but it was empty. He forced himself to keep from gagging.

He was sick. Astrid could smell his sickness: not just the vomit alone on the ground, but the illness pervaded from his body, surrounding him. It was almost like an aura - not that Astrid really bought into that sort of stuff, but in this particular instance, it was startlingly fitting. Wordlessly, she reached out and accepted the keys; she slipped her other hand into his after transferring the bags to the first hand. Gripping tightly, Astrid gently led him down the sidewalk alongside the parking lot: from here, she could see the section they had parked in. Now that it was getting a little later in the evening, the parking lot had thinned out nicely.

Once they arrived to the car, she opened the back door and put their bags on the floor before getting inside. Starting the car, she took a moment to orient herself: the last time she had driven Dante's care was eons ago, when she had to retrieve him from a party when he called her, too drunk to drive himself home. Banishing the memory, she fumbled with the radio, turning it to Q101, the local alternative station. As she navigated her way out of the parking lot and back to the highway, the song on the radio caught her attention.

"Love hurts, but sometimes its a good hurt; and it feels like I'm alive ..."

Turning the volume up ever so slightly, she focused on Dante. "I'd like you to stay over at my place tonight. My parents are still in Arizona; they won't be back for awhile." She hesitated a moment. "I think it'd be nice to ... you know, spend more time together." Falling silent, she considered her words and their intent. She did want to spend more time with him - a huge part of her missed his company, more so now that he was making a concentrated effort on staying sober. At her place, there was no alcohol - neither of her parents drank - and she could take care of him if she needed. That was all ... right?

"Love sings when it transcends the bad things; have a heart and try me, 'cause without love, I won't survive ..."

Astrid reached out, turning the radio down. The lyrics were unintentionally hitting way too close to home for her liking, as familiar as the song struck her.

He reached for her hand and twined his fingers with hers. "Wow," he breathed as the song went into the second verse. "Yeah." He didn't want to say it out loud, but he saw the similarities between the song and their relationship, too. "That would be nice," he said, trying to play it off as though he were answering her.

"Sorry about all of this," he said. "I'm starting to feel better, though. Seriously." He glanced at her and laughed. "It was a lot worse a few days ago. I think I'm coming out of it. I just..." Want a drink, he finished to himself. "I think you're right. I think we need to spend some time together." He also thought that if he had her by his side, he might actually be okay. He didn't want to sound corny, and he didn't want to worry her, but he thought there might be plenty of time for honesty later, after...

'Cause without love I won't survive

He couldn't help but think that her invitation had a double meaning to it. It had been a while.

Love hurts

He suddenly realized that he didn't know whether they were okay, though. Yes, there would definitely have to be time for honesty.

'Cause without love I won't survive

"Maybe I'll even keep dinner down," he joked awkwardly. He sighed and looked out the window.

"You do seem a lot better," offered Astrid, a bit weakly. She wasn't entirely sure if she believed her words: he had just gotten sick, hadn't he? Did that mean he was still going through withdrawal? She thought hard as she turned her gaze back to the road, her hand giving his a little comforting squeeze. Suddenly, she decided it didn't matter: she knew that he wasn't drinking. She felt absolutely certain that she would have been able to tell if he hadn't been sober over the past few weeks - and she knew there were plenty of chances for him to drink behind her back since they hadn't really seen each other. But something in the pit of her stomach told her he was telling the truth. He had to be, he just had to be.

Have a heart and try me; 'cause without love, I won't survive ...

The line hung in her thoughts long after the song faded out, the DJ coming on and rambling on about some concert that was happening later that night. She needed to give him this chance, she needed to trust him. As she pulled off of the highway and into the suburbs, she looked at his face from the side, before glancing back. They were home.

Putting the car in park, she removed the keys, slipping them into her pocket for the time being out of sheer habit, reaching around the back seat and pulling out her bags. Turning to wordlessly lead him into the house, she realized truly that her parents really weren't going to be back any time soon. They had the entire house free to themselves. Something in her stomach dropped, realizing that her invitation for him to stay with her could be misconstrued - or was it? She felt the familiar lick of desire as she unlocked the front door, wondering how long it had been since they last had sex. Quite awhile.

"Want anything to drink?" Astrid set her bags down and kicked off her heels, heading to the kitchen for some water. She needed to be distracted. As she stood in front of the refrigerator, she decided that if they slept together, then it would be no big deal. Things were different now. If they didn't sleep together, then it would be no big deal. Simple as that, she thought as she filled her glass full of water from the water dispenser, refusing to dwell on the thought further. "We can hang out in the den. Big screen TV, and all that." Calling out to him in the front room, sipping her water.

Dante stood in the front room, taking in the familiar surroundings. Pictures of Astrid throughout her childhood and adolescence decorated the shelf to his left. A red and yellow mum plant sat on the table to his right. There were no sounds of curious parents, no sign that they were home. He and Astrid truly were alone. He stuck his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans and chewed on his lower lip. If things hadn't changed so suddenly, if he hadn't screwed things up, he would stride into that kitchen, take whatever she was doing out of her hands, kiss her, lift her onto the counter, and...

He sighed. He wasn't "boyfriend" anymore; now, as he stood in the front room of her house, he was someone she had decided to take responsibility for. Why had he agreed to spend the night? It would just be torture. He apparently wasn't even allowed in her room; she had said they could "hang out in the den." He almost squirmed with the simultaneous desire to kiss her and walk out, catch a bus home. He scrubbed at his face with his hands and swallowed the growl that rose in his throat. Argh, he thought.

"No thanks. Going into the den to see what's on," he called over his shoulder as he went into the big room. He turned on the TV and realized he didn't care what was on. "This is stupid."

Draining her glass of water, Astrid refilled it and carried it out to the den. Her initial plan was to start off in a neutral area - the den - and see what happened before she'd work their way back up to her bedroom. Now, standing in the doorway of the den and watching Dante mindlessly flip through the channels, it occured to her what a stupid idea it had been. She had been the one to end the relationship, and even though today had been just like a date, their relationship, as it presently stood, was over.

Feeling foolish, Astrid exhaled a shaky sigh, dropping to the couch beside Dante, setting her glass down. They had settled on a channel - AMC was re-airing the first episode of The Walking Dead, and it held her attention. Still, she stole glances at Dante whenever she could. If only she could make him hers again! Their love had been firey, passionate, unstoppable in the beginning; now she felt a sense of begrudging duty to him. The thought pained her as they sat in silence; she shouldn't have asked him to say. Her goal was to keep him in her sight, keep him visable, keep him sober - but now it just felt like a chore.

Checking the time, she saw it was still early in the evening. Closing her eyes briefly, she swallowed her tears, and sucked it up. It was going to be a long, depressing, and painful evening, and there was little more she could do aside from grinning and bearing it.

Off-balance

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 23:30:00 +0000

It had been just over a month from when Dante pulverized his hand against the bathroom mirror — and Astrid had not seen him for nearly three — almost going on four! — whole weeks.

It was partially unintentional: her job had gone from barely scheduling her to being flush with open shifts. The second PM manager had suddenly up and quit, leaving several extra afternoon to late night shifts open for Astrid to be forced into until a replacement could be hired. With her days spent pulling double shifts at the grocery store, her nights were increasingly devoted to sleep. She'd often go straight home from work, eat something, and fall into bed for several long hours before getting up and repeating the cycle.As grim as her new work schedule was, she was beginning to get accustomed to it, though she was depressed at how pathetic her life seemed. Things with Dante never quite reached a head — the angry outburst at him in the car when she took him to the emergency room was bad, but there was still plenty of dead weight left on her shoulders that she needed to unload. Between her lack of real closure with Dante and the shittiness that was her job, she felt like life wasclosing in over her head, and she needed to get out.

Besides, he didn't really make much of an effort to reach out to her. The thought occurred to her one night as she stared at the shelf she was stocking, blurry-eyed. They had exchanged short phone calls and text messages; they'd even met briefly for dinner a week or so back, and before that, he'd come by her house to look at old photographs. But that was really the extent of Dante's outreach to her,which suited her fine, at least at first. Now, though, she was really analyzing, and that was bad. Her brain was still vaguely sleep-soaked as she set to work stocking, and still hazy, she contemplated the status of her relationship. When she thought back on it, the more displeased she became. How could she have been so blind this whole time? As she began her descent back down to the floor, she lost her footing on the step stool and nearly tumbled head first, just barely managing to catch herself on the shelf. That was when she knew she'd had it.

Astrid's recent soul searching finally prompted her to make the first move. Turning everything over in her mind was driving her insane, and she knew the only way to cease the madness was to make a choice and take action. Lying in bed the next day, she held her cell phone in her hands, eyes closed. It was her day off, late in the afternoon; Dante undoubtedly was around, or so she hoped. Gathering her nerve, she opened her phone and found his number, anxiously listening to it ring as she stared up at the ceiling.

Dante tore open the envelope containing his first unemployment check, squeezing his eyes shut briefly to force them to focus on the dollar amount. Unbelievably, the check was more generous than what he had been making at the car shop. During the last few weeks, he had been certain that losing his job was the last proverbial stair to trip over before he hit the bottom, but now that he had spent nearly every day sleeping, every night shooting whiskey and jamming (and smoking) with Chris — who had become a pretty good friend to him, even with Chris' history of lame parties — and had a nice check to boot, things were looking up.

Except, he thought as his cell went off, the fact that he and Astrid were barely speaking. The beat up phone was somewhere in his apartment, and as he searched for it, he realized that their relationship was probably over. He didn't want to admit that the thought of it sent a wave of terrifying anguish crashing over him.

Seizing the phone in one sweaty hand, he glanced at the caller ID. Astrid. He took a deep breath. This was it. This was going to be the conversation. Panicked, he glanced around the messy living room and his eyes fell on his cigarettes. He lit one up as he flipped the phone open.

"Hey," was all he could manage, choking the word out in a puff of smoke.

She was too late, Astrid thought as she listened to the ringing drone on. He was probably at work — she did not know about his unemployment yet — or passed out. The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth,and when he actually picked up the phone on the final ring, she found herself momentarily at a loss for words.

"Aah... hey, Dante." Shit. Taking in a deep breath to regain her composure, she closed her eyes as she leaned her head back in the pillow. "I have today off — were you busy? I was kind of hoping we could get together." She bit into her bottom lip, chewing it sharply to distract herself. Uncertainty still overwhelmed her, but she knew that to make a change meant stepping outside her comfort zone. For once, Astrid was doing the right thing for herself — or so she hoped. It wasn't in her nature to be so proactive; she wasn't exactly passive, but until now, she'd merely been floating on the currents, letting herself go in any direction. Enough of that. She was an adult now; it was time to face her demons. Regrettably, Dante was one of them.

She kept quiet after she poised her question — she wasn't going to say that she wanted to talk, because then it would set him up on his guard. Though, he undoubtedly knew that was what was going to transpire. He may have been a drunk, but he was still somewhat in touch with reality. Or so Astrid hoped.

He absorbed her words; they seemed to echo off the walls of his apartment. This was it. She wasn't going to break up with him over the phone, though, he thought. She was going to drag him out of the comfort of the four walls of his living room and do it to his face. No, he was not going to have that.

He flicked ashes onto the floor; the ashtray had broken one of the nights Chris had come over. They had gotten too reckless, shredding notes loudly and standing up on the furniture well past midnight. Luckily, none of his neighbors bothered to call the cops. Maybe they just didn't care anymore.

Dante had two choices: he could pretend he was too busy to get together, or he could get it done and over with. He could beat her to the punch. He kind of wanted to do both. A month or so ago, he would have voiced his indecision out loud. They might have even laughed about it. Then again, this whole thing wouldn't even be happening.

"Sorry," he said, realizing that he'd left her listening to him breathe for several measures. In his bewilderment, he lost his resolve, asking her before he could regain control of his mouth: "What did you have in mind?"

The problem was, Astrid didn't want to break up. In fact, she wanted to avoid the whole thing alltogether. She cared very much about Dante, and she had even been to the point where she was beginning to wonder if she even loved him. But then something between them had changed: he started drinking more and more, and she lost her nerve. Now he scared her at times, seemed like a ghost of the young man that she initially fell for. What happened to her Dante? The thought settled on herchest, weighing down oppressively. In spite of herself, tears welled up in her eyes.

"Uhm," she said to fill the empty void between their words, a hand coming from beneath the sheets to swipe at her eyes. She mastered control over her voice, kept the quiver out of it though the urge to cry was becoming rather overwhelming. "I don't know, I was thinking we could go get... " She glanced at her alarm clock to check the time. ".. Lunch? It doesn't matter to me where."

She hated to admit it, but she was being somewhat sneaky: ideally, this conversation would take place in the comfort and safety of her home with him, alone. But since so much had changed in the past few months, she wasn't entirely sure she could trust being alone with him — who knew what his reaction would be? Would he be open to discussion, willing to listen, consider taking action to better things? Or was she going to have to cut him at the knees for her own self-preservation? Both seemed completely plausible to her, but in any event, she wanted to start out somewhere where they could be seen,where she might be safe. The thought of having to protect herself against him upset her terribly — but then, his recent demeanor warranted it. "We could go to Denny's or something, if you wanted."

"Lunch," he said slowly. If she was going to break up with him, why did she want him fed? He returned to the kitchen and tapped his unemployment check against the counter. He couldn't outright lie and say he had no money, or that he was busy. Lying to her didn't come easy — even though he had easily deceived her throughout the last few years about his... Well, it wasn't a problem, and it was none of her or anyone else's business, anyway.

The thought of eating made him want to gag. He did not want to eat if he was about to get dumped. He couldn't even remember the last time he had broken up with someone. Maybe in high school, but nothing before Astrid was... serious. He considered the word and his feelings for her — at least, the feelings he had had several weeks ago. They still existed, of course, but he didn't feel close to her anymore. Something had driven a wedge between them. He didn't want to admit that the something might be him. He preferred to think of it as a "mutual distancing."

He sighed. If he couldn't lie, and he couldn't avoid her, he would just have to face the music. "I just got paid, so yeah, I guess. What time do you want to meet?"

Astrid heard the sigh: it confirmed precisely what she feared, and that was that he had sniffed her out. He knew that the conversation that was about to take place could very well lead to the demise of their relationship. But him agreeing to meet told her all that she needed to know, and that was he was ready, too. It didn't seem likely to her that he had wanted to change his life — probably he thought there was nothing wrong with it. That was equally depressing.

Still, a small part of her felt a sense of relief that he had agreed. She did not want to do this, but it was time to see if she had to kill off the very thing she desperately wanted to preserve. Otherwise, it was simply dying on the vine, and that did not sit well with her, either. "Okay," she said, her tone changing slightly. "Uhm, how about I meet you there in an hour or so? I still need to shower and get ready."

"Okay," he said, too, leaning against the counter. "See you then." He didn't give her a chance to answer; he clapped the phone shut, tossed it onto the counter, and buried his face in his hands. Had he really just agreed to meet her so that she could dump him? If asked before the possibility had ever occurred to him, Dante would have said that he would rather break up with someone face to face than over the phone or some stupid instant messaging system. Now, confronted with the possibility, he wished she'd just done it. There was no point in dragging it out, and dessert was not going to make things any better.

Not that he planned on eating.

He took a deep breath. "If it's going to be over, I might as well have a shot." He opened the freezer, grabbed the bottle of Grey Goose, and grabbed the mixer that was still on the table. Shaking his head, he dismissed the idea of a snake bite and drank from the bottle instead. He counted to fifteen, twenty, then thirty, pulled the bottle from his lips and put it back in the freezer. Stretching his neck, he went into the bedroom to grab fresh clothes for a shower.

Across town, she held the phone to her ear, hearing his shut and disconnecting the call. For several long moments, she did not move a muscle, keeping her eyes firmly shut. Dread took the place of anxiety and settled in the pit of her belly, but she forced herself up and out of bed and into the shower.

An hour later, she was in her car, heading to the local Denny's that was between his apartment and her parent's house. Sitting at a red light, she noticed her palms were sweating; wiping them on her black slacks nervously, she licked her upper lip and tasted more sweat. She felt like her entire body was on fire, every nerve standing at full alert: she was ready to do battle, in some way, shape, or form. Poor Dante probably knew what was coming, but its outcome depended completely on him. Somehow, she had the distinct impression that she was going to be let down, and so she reminded herself to stay calm, stay cool. Don't be harsh, but don't get too close, either. It became her mantra as she pulled into the parking lot, getting out and doing a sweep to see if he had arrived. Satisfied that she had beaten him there, she headed inside and was seated in a booth.

Smart waitress, thought Astrid: the woman had seated her in a far-off corner of the restaurant, and there was a medium sized crowd going, though only another table was occupied in their section. The seating was ideal: they'd have their space, but they were also surrounded, as well. Trying her best to relax, Astrid ordered a cup of coffee for the time being, settling her elbows on the table, and running her fingers through her newly-dyed red hair.

Dante saw Astrid's car as he parked his own. He got out and paced in front of his car as he finished a cigarette, trying to steel himself but unable to stop shaking. He didn't know if it was because he wanted another drink — the shaking had started about a month ago when he got really nervous or upset — or if it was because he knew what was coming, but he didn't like it. He desperately wanted to walk into the restaurant, sit down, and order a coffee or something without looking at all fazed. Instead, his newly washed hair was tousled hopelessly from running his hands through it so many times on the ride over, and his jeans were damp with sweat from the palms of his hands.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he said, taking a last drag and flicking it to the pavement. He took a shaky breath and then opened the door, shivering against the blast of air conditioning. He spotted her right away — when had she dyed her hair red?! — and didn't bother waiting for one of the waitresses to greet him.

He took deep breaths on his way to the booth, telling himself that if she showed any concrete sign of breaking up with him, he was going to beat her to the punch and walk out with at least some of his pride. He even managed a half smile as he sat down across from her.

"Hey," he said casually.

Astrid was twirling a loop of crimson hair through her fingers to examine the color: the pink had faded out rather icky on her blondehair, so she opted for a slightly darker shade. She had been stuck with pink for the past several years, alternating only to her natural blonde hair. This was different, and it looked good onher, matching her skin tone better and setting off her light green eyes. Shewas in the middle of congratulating herself on her color transition when the door opened, and in walked Dante.

Breathe. She absolutely had to remember to breath, to keep calm and unaffected. Right.

"Hey," she said, offering him up an equally small smile in return. She had done her best to perk her eyes up with a little eyeliner and nude shadow, but she still looked tired. The dark circles under her eyes were so bad, traces of them peeked out ever so slightly from underneath the cover-up she had slathered on. Work — and now life itself — was beginning to take its toll on her. "How are you?" She hated small talk and chit-chat; she wanted to skip the pleasantries, but something inside of her would not allow it.

Despite what she may have been about to do, she still cared deeply about him: cared about what he thought, and how he felt, even how his day went. But he had continuously shut her out. When she thought back to all the times she'd asked how he was, she could see in his eyes that he had lied, though at the time she'd overlooked it. How could she have been so foolish?

The waitress returned with a cup of coffee, with a small bowl full of creamer, setting both down in front of Astrid. "For you, hon'?"S he aimed her pencil at Dante: a new waitress, not one of their regular ones.

He didn't know which question to answer first. His eyes flicked back and forth between Astrid and the waitress, and he finally settled his gaze on the waitress. "I'll take a coffee," he said, clearing his throat. When the waitress left, he leaned on the table, staring at his hands clasped in front of him.

How to answer? When people asked how you were, they meant that they hadn't seen you in a while and didn't want to be rude. It was a pointless question, and he almost wanted to let her know how pointless it was. He still cared about her, though, and even if things were going to end right here, he mostly didn't want them to end on a bad note.

The emotions played visibly across his face; as he thought about her question — such a simple question, really — his eyebrows furrowed slightly and his chocolate brown eyes darkened, his mouth twisting slightly.

The waitress returned with his cup of coffee. "I'll give you guys a few more minutes," she said, and quickly walked away.

Smart waitress, he thought. Is it that obvious that we're going to break up? He looked Astrid dead in the eye. "I'm pretty sure you didn't ask me to meet you here to play catch-up, but if that's what you want to do... How am I? I'm putting together a band because I'm unemployed, although I might have a full-time job at the tattoo shop if one of the guys there decides to move to California." He took a deep breath through his nose, and lifted his eyebrows. "You?"

As he deliberated his answer, Astrid leaned back into the booth's cushion, chewing on her thumbnail. Her gaze remained locked on him as he paused to place his drink order; for some reason, it helped her maintain her focus and composure, staring at him so boldly. Weird how it was so centering...

She cleared her throat, obviously uncomfortable by his response. He was right, she really didn't want to play catch-up, since she could use her imagination to fill in the blanks. The fact he was unemployed did not shock her entirely, and same with the band. She nodded once to show his words registered. Once he poised the question to her, she sighed, leaning forward, both sets of fingers sinking into her hair. It was down just past her shoulders, curled in soft, gentle waves — the change from stick-straight pink hair to this felt good, almost empowering. Lifting her head up, she shook it, tired eyes closing for several long seconds. "A lot of work," she responded, voice low. "I told you about that, how one of our managers walked out. Work has been destroying me." It wasn't the only thing that would lead to her own undoing.

Sitting up straight, she forced her shoulders back and leveled her in, breathing deeply. "You're right, though. I did not call you here to play catch-up." She rolled a small cup of creamer between the pads of her thumb and index finger to help distract her, take some of the pressure off. "I want to talk about us, what's going on, and what's going to happen." So there. It wasn't her breaking it off — not yet. Perhaps the promise of a conversation, a compromise would help influence him, instead of her issuing an ultimatum or putting her foot down and ending it right then and there.

Dante's skin went cold as she spoke, and he sighed, using the sigh to take in a huge breath of air to at least attempt to steady himself. He did not allow himself to believe that she wasn't breaking up with him; he could easily remember being fired from a stupid retail job after being lectured for an hour on how he could improve and even after offering to try harder.

He took his time adding sugar and cream to his coffee, using it as a distraction even though he really just wanted to drink it black. When he finished stirring and melting the sugar, he took a sip and then set the mug back down, cupping his hands around it and leaning on the table.

He glanced at the occupied booth nearby and turned back to Astrid, cocking his head. He kept his voice low. "You want to talk? Here? Really?" He smirked.

Sucking sharply on her teeth, she bit the inside of her cheek as she followed his gaze, watched the smirk spread across his lips. Why did he upset her so easily now? Had his presence really gotten under her skin that much? She still knew the care and concern she felt for him would always remain, but right now... now, the gravity, the darkness of the situation was beginning to bloom, tingeing the air. "Actually, yeah. I do want to talk here." She said it as firmly yet casually as she could manage, taking a sip of coffee after depositing a packet of sugar and some creamer into it; her hands wrapping around the mug to keep her skin warm.

"My parents are having a small get together in a little bit,s o my house is out. And I didn't feel right just going over to your place." It was the truth, mostly: she knew she'd feel trapped at his apartment, unable to just get up and leave if things were getting dicey. She waved a hand in the air as she set her mug down. "The point is, we've been kind of dancing around the issue here for too long now. I don't know where you're at." She lowered her head, her gaze locked on him, peering through a curtain of lashes. "So where are you, Dante? Do you still care about me? Do you still want to be with me?" A well-groomed eyebrow rose curiously. It wasn't the route she wanted to take, giving him control; her bleeding heart could account for that. Typical Astrid: catering to others when what really mattered was what she wanted.

His eyebrows knotted for a second, and his shoulders slumped. She thought he didn't care. He practically screamed it in his head: SHE THINKS I DON'T CARE! Things had been bad when they had been on regular speaking terms, but until now he had thought they were just drifting, that the breakup would be something inevitable. Now, he realized, he could fix things. All he had to do was tell her that of course he still cared.

He stared at her, eyes softening and lips parted incredulously. "Babe." He shook his head. "Of course I care. I mean... I know we've both been busy, and things weren't exactly... great a few weeks ago, but... " He reached across the table, his hand palm up. "I don't know how you ever got the idea that I didn't care about you." He laughed. "Shit, you had me all scared here. Of course I care about you."

The second eyebrow followed the first as he exhaled a laugh, reached out to take her hands. Having released her coffee cup, Astrid's palms went back to being cool, slightly clammy. She read his face: he thought he was in the clear. Boy, he was really in for a shock. Her heart almost physically hurt when she looked down and pursed her lips, shaking her head slightly. "No, no, I phrased that wrong. I mean, of course you care. I still care, Dante; nothing will ever change that." The couple in the booth behind them had paid the check, and begun collecting their things, and she fell silent.

Once they had left, she sighed once more and released his hand, folding her arms back on the table. "I've been thinking," she confessed, her gaze trained on a small drop of coffee that had spilled onto the paper placemat, bleeding into the paper. Suddenly she wished she had a pen handy to trace its outline — an odd thought. "Things haven't been great for the past few weeks, sure, but... they haven't been all that great for awhile now, too." Her eyes turned back up to him: glassy green marbles that were vaguely mournful. She didn't want to come out and say it, that she felt it was his fault to an extent. Sure, she had been busy with work, but there was no debating it: the cataclysm between them was increasing by the second, and she could feel it — why couldn't he?

When he didn't say anything, she licked her lips subconsciously, and continued. "I've been thinking about the future, Dante — I just... " She paused with a sigh. "I don't know. I don't like where everything is going — not just with you, but overall. And I want to do something about it." Her eyesclosed, to steady herself. "So Dante, like I said: do you still want to be with me? Or should we just... cut this off?" She posed the question again, trying to keep it as simple as possible.

Wrong. He had been horribly wrong. His mouth dropped open a little and he withdrew his hands. Not only had he been wrong about how he could fix things, but his escape plan — breaking up with her before she could dump him — wasn't going to work; she clearly wanted him to decide. Maybe she even wanted him to break up with her.

"Is that what you want?" He kept his voice flat, even. "I'm kind of wishing I'd just stayed home, because I could have had this discussion on the phone and not in the middle of Denny's. I wouldn't have bothered if I had known," he said, even though he had known. His voice rose slightly. "Is that what you really want?"

"Actually, Dante, no. It's really not what I want." Astrid sat back with a sigh, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling and throwing up her hands. "You know, I get that I'm not a perfect person — but I do my best to be a good girlfriend. I do my best to be caring and understanding — but you can't seem to realize that when it counts." She glared at him across the table, hurt evident in her eyes as she folded her arms across her ribcage, pulling her black cardigan closer to her chest.

"I'm tired of feeling like I'm the only one actively doing anything in this relationship. I'm tired of feeling like I'm the only one who cares whether it lives or dies." She took in a sharp breath, frowning as she steeled herself. "I don't want us to break up — but more than that, I want things to change. I'm willing, but I don't know if you are." She fixed him with that intense stare, probing. He had to know precisely what she meant by it — she hoped to all hell that he was not that dense, or rather, in that much denial.

He rested his cheek on one propped fist, and shook his head again. "I don't understand what you want from me. The phone works both ways. Both of us have been busy." He struggled to keep his voice low, hating that he had to have this conversation in a restaurant, of all places. If they had been anywhere else, he could light a cigarette, maybe a joint, pour a shot, something to keep him calm while she barreled him. "I have no idea where you're getting me not caring about this relationship."

He took another sip of coffee, and set the mug down with trembling hands. "I just told you," he said, lowering his voice to just above a whisper. He felt ridiculous, whispering an argument in the corner of a Denny's. "I just told you that I do care about you. And like I said, neither of us have made much of an effort lately. How does that mean that I don't care? I could have just as easily have called you here, complaining that you don't care, but it's both of us. You know, maybe it isn't worth it, since everything is apparently on me."

He wanted to continue, but he could almost feel dozens of pairs of eyes looking at the back of his head. He slumped back against the booth, arms folded across his chest, and stared at Astrid.

To her left, Astrid saw the waitress making her approach from the corner of her eyes; however, their table must have literally radiated negative energy, because the woman stopped, and promptly retreated. Lovely. "I'm not trying to put everything onyou," she said after a moment, sighing for a third time. "Listen, I'll cut to the chase, because I've already voiced this before: your drinking? Is really starting to get out of hand, and it's been going on for quite some time. I've kept as quiet as I could about it, because the last time I said something, you exploded at me and called me a tyrant." The memory was burned in her mind, still seething in anger.

The first thing she was going to do when she got home was get back in the bath and soak for a long time, smoke a joint and try to unwind. She felt herself getting all worked up, except now, her stomach remained twisted in knots, and she felt sick — the same way she had been feeling for the past week or two. "Dante, I care about you so much, you probably don't even realize it, but I need to protect myself." She took a quick breath, closing her eyes. "If you can't get your drinking under control — or if you don't want to, either way... then maybe we shouldn't be together. I can't handle this any more, it's making me sick."

Dante's eyebrows furrowed again, and his head tilted slightly as he leaned forward. He had to take several quick, deep breaths and remind himself that they were surrounded by nosy people before he could respond. Nosy people who were staring and practically pricking their stupid ears so that they could hear better.

"I'm not going to have this conversation here," he hissed, barely keeping his voice even. "Can we at least go sit in your car?"

For several long moments, Astrid was silent. Part of her was frustrated that he would not just say anything, own up to his mistakes. All she wanted was an answer, to get things over quickly, and he wasn't allowing that. On the other hand, he did have a point: they were slowly culminating an audience, even several tables over. Taking a deep breath, she finished off her coffee, setting the cup down. "Alright," she said finally, standing up. "Let's go to my car."

She gathered her purse and reached inside, pulling out a fiver and leaving it on the table. Since coffee was so cheap, and the waitress had left them alone, Astrid did not expect her change; merely squaring her shoulders and heading out the door. She waited for him by her car before she unlocked the doors, slipping inside the driver's seat mutely.

He lit a cigarette before he fully stepped outside, taking the fifty or so paces to the car slowly, thinking about what she said and how he wanted to answer. He slid into the passenger seat and rolled the window down.

"Okay," he said, as if she had asked him to start talking. "I don't want this to be over any more than you do. I don't even want to be having this conversation. Yes, my drinking got out of control a few weeks ago. I'm sorry I scared you and that I called you a tyrant. I was drunk!" He ran a hand through his hair. "But I do not have a problem." He let out a deep breath and looked at her. "If you want me to promise not to be such an asshole when I'm drinking, fine. I promise. I won't be an asshole." The corner of his mouth tugged up just a little. "Okay?"

Once they settled in, she leaned back in her seat, sniffing the scent of cigarette smoke. Smoking... that was another thing she was donew ith. As things with Dante got worse, her smoking increased, and as a result, she woke up with annoying chest pains every subsequent morning. Sighing, she rolled her own window down a hair, and listened to him.

As he continued, her eyes opened wide, completely astounded. When he spoke about it, he made it sound so goddamned trivial, like it was a one-time thing. Laughing softly, she shook her head. "Dante, you just don't get it. How stupid do you think I am? I mean, I know I didn't acknowledge it in the past — maybe I was in denial myself — but thinking back on it now, it's all so obvious. You've been drinking more and more heavily since we've been dating — since the past year or so. You think I don't know when you sneak drinks while we're hanging out? You think I can't smell it on you?" She turned to him, her eyes wide, brows knitted together. "It is a problem, Dante, and it's definitely affecting our relationship. You hurt me because you were drunk. Because you have no self-control. Sure, you'll promise not to be an asshole, but that doesn't mean your drinking will let up."

She sighed, for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. "It's not that you're an asshole while drinking — it's the very fact that you're drinking, daily, consistently, and rather heavily." Shaking her head again, she remembered finding the huge 1.75l bottle of Jack in his closet one of the last few times she had been at his place. "I'm sorry, Dante, but that just kills it for me. You've changed — into a completely different person than who you were when we first met. Sometimes, I seriously don't know who you are anymore." Short of breath from her rambling, she shut up and closed her eyes, fingers balling into fists. When she spoke again, her voice was soft, throaty, thick with emotion. "I can't do this anymore."

As her last five words hit him, his resolve solidified. "Fine," he said. "So, it's 'Stop drinking, Dante, you drink too much,' or it's over. I don't tell you what to do. I'm an adult. I'm allowed to have a drink, even if I want one every day. Just like you're allowed to change your hair color," he said, glancing again at the softly curled red hair that framed her face. He wanted to tell her it looked good, that she could shave her head and she'd still look good, but he doubted she would care if he said anything.

He sucked the rest of the cigarette down and lit another. He clamped the cigarette between his lips and tried to remember when he had started drinking every day. On some level, he knew that wasn't good, but what else was he supposed to do? Even now, while he sat in her car having this awful conversation, he wondered if he should stop at a bar on the way home or if he could just wait until he got back to his apartment.

"So that's the choice? Stop drinking or be single? Because I'm not going to do whatever you tell me, no matter how much I want this to work."

"I don't do things that jeopardize our relationship," Astrid said, feeling somehow childish — she knew she was right. She knew she was not crazy, she knew that this was not all in her head. Shaking her head, she reached out and gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, watching the blood drain from her knuckles as she listened to him brush her off. She was right. He was in complete and utter denial about his drinking, and he did not give a shit. He'd sacrifice our relationshipover his own pride, she thought, feeling sick to her stomach.

"Is that so? Then... then I guess you didn't care much to begin with if this is so easy for you," she said finally, the tears stinging her eyes, her nostrils. She didn't really care if he saw her cry — he was already beyond the pale. "I'm not going to back down, and neither are you. So I suppose that leaves the inevitable."

Dante's eyes widened. "No, no, no, don't cry, please don't cry!" He tossed the cigarette out of the window and moved closer to her, touching her shoulder lightly as if he expected her to slap his hand away. "Please, please don't cry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said over and over. He had absolutely no control over this, he realized.

"I wish you would stop saying I don't care. I do care. It makes me sick to think that this is it, I love you so much—" He froze, then bit down on his lower lip. He had not meant to say that — not now.

Astrid had just been getting ready to wrench herself from from his grasp when he dropped the L-bomb on her. Over four years of being together, and neither one of them had the balls to say it first. And now, when they were breaking up, he chooses to say it?! The poor young woman went through an overwhelming change in a matter of moments: first she was stunned into silence, then fear showed on her face, before turning to an angry flush. She believed him — but she could not believe how quickly he could turn things around.

"If you did," she said quietly, angrily as she pulled herself from under his hand, glaring at him sharply, "you would not do this. You would not tell me that you would give up drinking, and then tell me you love me in the same breath." She wiped the tears off her cheek with the back of her hand. Her mascara was streaked and ruined, but she did not care.

"I... I didn't mean to... I mean, I do, but... " He stared at her, stunned. He scratched at the stubble on his face and buried his face in his hands. Why couldn't he control his stupid mouth? Why was it that no matter what he said or did, it didn't seem to be right? Why had he said what he had said — what he definitely felt — now?

Even worse, she hadn't said anything. She only seemed to be more angry with him.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "I'll just leave you alone." He reached for the door handle.
She was painfully aware of how she was treating him, how badly her reactions cut him down to the bone. Still, she couldn't afford to put herself in harm's way any longer. Despite how she felt about him, despite on how much she cared for him and wanted him to get better, she knew in her heart it wasn't going to happen — not without it becoming a long, drawn out battle. Dante had to go.

Closing her eyes as tears leaked past, she sniffed and eased her grip on the steering wheel slightly. "Just remember what I said, Dante — what you do doesn't just effect you. I'm here for you, I always will be, but — I need to save myself. I'm sorry." As she spoke, her voice grew smaller and smaller, before trailing off in an exhausted sigh.

He didn't know why, but her words surprised him. Shocked him, even. He wished he were sitting on his couch, watching repeats of Scrubs and scribbling down tabs. He wished he were at Chris', a joint in hand and something loud on the speakers. He wished he could get his hand to push open the door and his legs to swing out of the car and take him to his own car, but here he was.

He stared at her, one hand on the handle of the door and the other resting numbly on his thigh, where it had landed when she moved away from him. "Are you really... that afraid of me?" His voice sounded cracked and weak.

Astrid kept her eyes closed as she briefly considered his question, sniffling again and wiping her cheeks. "It's more that I'm afraid for you, Dante. I mean... I want to have a family some day. I like to think I can have that with you." This was a bomb, though not nearly as big as him telling her that he loved her. She went quiet after speaking, before she resumed. "But I can't even begin to consider it when I don't know if you'll be able to keep a job. To take care of me — or us. Either way." Sleeves rolled up to scrub at her eyes, she shook her head slowly.

"I just... I don't know how to get through to you anymore." The words came with more tears; she was crying quietly with no noise, tears rolling down her cheeks, her nose.

He kept staring at her. He did not think of of himself as someone who could be a father. The way his own father was — spending all of the money on his stupid brandy, staying out all night, and sleeping through the day — proved that fatherhood was not in Dante's blood. Pieces of his childhood and teenage years came flashing back, and he laughed bitterly. Halfway through the laugh he stopped, blood running cold, heart pounding in his chest.

"Astrid, I can't be a father. I'm just like mine!" The realization made him nauseous, and he turned away, shaking. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he had cried. He wiped them angrily away, but still they came.

Astrid had no intention of making Dante cry; she didn't want to cause him any pain in the first place. But self-preservation demanded sacrifices, and here he was, crying in her front seat. At first she was stunned into silence by his tears — the entire time they had dated, she had never seen him cry, though he'd seen her break down many times. He had already told her bits and pieces of his past with his family, primarily his father, so his sudden admission did not come as a surprise to her.

Slowly, she turned back to face forward wordlessly, staring out the windshield and contemplating his words. Tears welled up in her eyes as she closed them, lowering her head. "I know," she said finally, miserable as the tears made their descent. Her voice wavered, her lips trembled violently, and she had to bite down on them sharply to get them to stop. "I know, Dante,"she said again, tipping her head up and staring at the roof. "I knew it when I realized the full extent of your problem, when I remembered how you told me your father was. When I put two and two together, I realized that we... could never..." She could not continue, fresh tears spilling onto her cheeks as she began to cry harder.

He swiped tears off of his face, accidentally scratching himself with nails that should have been cut a week ago. Everything felt so pointless. He swiped the palms of his hands on his jeans, leaving little streaks of water on the worn and faded denim. If she had already known things would never work, then what had the point been in continuing? He felt as though he had been tipped upside down.

Hands shaking, he lit himself a new cigarette, deliberately looking away from her. He couldn't, not after what she said. Self-preservation of the Dante kind demanded that he instantly begin moving forward, or else the pain would ruin him.

"So this will never work," he said, nodding to himself. In his mind's eye, he saw himself shaking her hand and thanking her for her time. He glanced out the window and the ground tipped up slightly, his stomach in a knot of nausea from not having eaten in the last twenty-four or so hours, and the physical pain that burned through his chest. "Okay," he said. "I've gotta go." He stared at the cigarette burning in his hand, and didn't move. He knew he needed to get away before he broke completely, and he knew that he needed to eat before he got sick, but he couldn't make himself move.

Astrid was silent for several long seconds, wiping the tears from her face with her sleeve. "You don't get it, Dante — it could work. It could, if you would just stop drinking." Her voice sounded frail, though she curled her hands up into fists,long nails cutting into the soft flesh of her palms. The pain reminded her to stay present, to stay aware.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, shaking her head. "But you don't want to," she said even quieter than before, returning her own gaze forward. Somehow, Astrid was finding it extremely difficult to face Dante. He couldn't even admit that he had a problem, or that his drinking was out of control; at the very least, that it was beginning to seep into their relationship, infecting it with its cancerous stranglehold and killing it slowly. Now it was time to put it out of its misery, and it was absolutely destroying Astrid. This is what you wanted — needed, she reminded herself. Her head knew it was the truth, that in the end it was the best course of action — her heart, however, was taking its time to catch up. Though she was the one effectively ending their relationship, it still felt like someone reached into her chest and gave her poor battered heart a tight squeeze. Sitting there in her car with him, she was beginning to feel suffocated.

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands, keeping the cigarette pointed away from his face. Now would not be a good time to accidentally burn himself. He had already messed up the conversation, in so many ways. There probably wasn't anything he couldn't mess up.

"I didn't realize... " ... that I turned into my father, he wanted to finish, but didn't. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He took a deep breath that seemed to go on forever, then let it out. "I don't know if I can. Stop," he added. "Completely." The one time he had tried to quit smoking, it seemed like the days dragged on constantly. At night, he dreamed of cigarettes, and each completed meal begged for his usual dessert. He lasted nearly a week, the feeling similar to wanting to crawl out of his skin.

He couldn't imagine enduring that feeling again. He couldn't imagine being without Astrid, either, though the thought of having a family horrified him. He didn't know the first thing about being married or having kids. He and his siblings had been self-reliant, his older sister cooking for and dressing him when he was still too small to do it himself. When he thought about it, he really didn't know the first thing about anything; he couldn't even manage a relationship, nor could he avoid the one thing he hated most, and he definitely wasn't smart enough or good enough to get a real job and take care of a family.

Astrid had to take several long deep breaths to steady herself: somehow, his agony radiating from his body, infecting her. Poor Astrid was so sensitive to others' emotions, particularly Dante's — she hated it. She loathed it, because right now, she wanted to be in control of the situation, to know she had power over something. Moreover, she wanted to soothe Dante, tell him that it was going to be alright, that he'd be okay without her... but she was not entirely confident in that. He wasn't like this when they had first met — or had he, and she just did not notice? Listening to his voice as he confessed he probably would not stop, it felt like a death sentence.

His father had been an alcoholic. Of course. It was what he knew. Even if Dante hadn't been a huge drinker at first, she should have realized that he had the propensity to slide down head first into that path. Part of her desperately wished she could fix him; a smaller, lesser part of her wished almost bitterly they had never met, not if it was going to be like this. Somehow, she forced herself to nod slowly, accompanied with a small sigh. "You... You know yourself better than I would," she conceded, feeling a fresh batch of tears well up. This was beginning to get ridiculous; she wished to all hell she could just stop with crying like a child. "If that's what you think, if that's what you believe... " she trailed off to take in a sharp, quivering breath that somehow sounded like a moan. So much for self-preservation: doing this was destroying her.

He moved his head from side to side. "No, no. No." His lower lip trembled, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the threat of returning tears. He couldn't believe he had actually cried. Crying was for babies and women — or so his father had said.

"I don't want this. I don't want to be like this." His voice waved. No. He would not cry. Dante blinked rapidly and finished his cigarette. "I just don't know what to believe. I didn't even know." He paused. On some level, he had to have known. Why else would he have kept it such a secret? Why else would he have gotten so angry at her when she first confronted him about it? He hung his head. "I don't even know what I'm saying. If you want me to leave you alone, I'll go. There's no point sitting here." The longer he sat in the car, the less he felt in control of anything. It seemed clear what she wanted. He didn't believe that she thought it could work, because he didn't believe he could make it work.

She breathed in sharply, feeling pain in her chest. Wonderful — one more worry to add to the mountain that was continuously growing by the minute. Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "Listen, Dante... I want for you to get better. I want you to be okay. I want... even if... I just... I want for you to be okay." It was too hard to tell him that even if they wouldn't have a family together, at the very least she wanted to stay with him for a long, long time. The idea that he could kill himself with his drinking put a wrench in that, and she hated it.

The silence hung between them in the air, thick. Was there anything left to say? Was there anything left she could do? She had no clue; and it seemed like he had nothing more to say. Her hand, trembling, reached into her purse to fish out her keys, listening to them dance against each other as she tried to steady herself, unsuccessfully. "I'm sorry to keep you," she said, eyes focused on the ignition. Her way of releasing him, letting him go.

Suddenly Dante realized that, while she had spent the last few years making plans for them, he had never thought about the future — his or theirs. He always knew how he felt, and had even dared to hope that she felt the same, but his thoughts had never gone beyond that. He had so much to think about, and so much to say, and yet he couldn't get his thoughts together enough to voice them. Mournfully, he glanced at the door handle and quickly her face.

He had to get his head together. He didn't want to leave things the way they were, and he didn't want things to be over, but he had to think. He didn't know if he could think about anything right now, or even later, but he felt too off-balance to continue sitting in this car with her.

"I need to think," he said, pulling on the door handle and pushing the door open. It felt wrong to ask her to wait, but he could barely form coherent sentences, never mind figure out how he was going to save their relationship and not lose his mind. His words replayed in his head, and he realized she might think that he had to think about them. He shook his head. "That's not right. I just... I need a couple of days. I need to just... " He scrubbed at his face with his hands again, a pained expression on his face.

Frustrated, he made a fist and brought it down hard onto his thigh. "It's not you," he said finally. "I want this to work. I just don't know how I'm going to do what you want." With one foot planted on the asphalt and the other still in the car, he said, "I don't know how to stop." He wanted to say more, but the words slammed up against one another in his throat. The nausea swept over him again. "Do you... understand?" Was he making sense? He didn't think so.

A couple of days. To think. What would the outcome of that be? She hadn't expect him to say that; in fact, in her imagination, he would have long since stormed off, angry at her accusations. But he had thrown her off-balance, shocked her by seemingly considering what she had to say. Was there hope after all?

The sharp pains in her chest quelled — she needed to go to a doctor, and soon — and she was able to breathe a little easier. As he began to shift himself out of the car, she nodded, tucking back strands of crimson hair behind her ears. "Okay," she said finally, nodding slowly and repeatedly like a lunatic. "Okay. Okay, that's fine. Just... keep me in the loop, okay?" If he wasn't going to storm away, if he was going to actually think, plan, try to make a difference, then that changed things drastically.

Perhaps there was a light at the end of the tunnel that wasn't just another train. "If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know." Hesitantly, she reached out, her hand coming to rest on top of his fist. She gazed at him earnestly, a mixture of fear and hope evident in those glassy green eyes. "I don't want this either. But... more than this, I want to make things right, the way they should be." They had been together far too long to simply sacrifice all they had put into it, even if it had begun to go to shit. A part of her feared that nothing was going to change, or that he'd try for a little while, but slip back into old habits. It terrified her, and she wasn't sure she wanted to run the risk. But then again, this was Dante. He could still be saved, salvaged — things could be all right.

His own hands were cold. Her hand felt much warmer than his. He shivered in spite of himself.

"Okay," he said. He looked at her, debating whether he should kiss her goodbye or not. He shrugged and grasped her hand, then leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose. He slid out of the car and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the dashboard. Then, without looking back, he walked toward his own car.

Photograph

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 22 Aug 2010 04:16:00 +0000

They had struck a truce.

Somewhere along the way, both Dante and Astrid had wordlessly agreed to leave the hell that was the past few weeks behind them. There was no point: Astrid had bigger things to worry about. Her job as a desk clerk at one of the nearby grocery stores was in peril; she went from getting thirty hours a week, to no more than ten. Anxiety gripped her constantly, knotting her stomach up so badly, she feared she would develop an ulcer.

Today, though, today she was going to break out of her little funk.

And so she splurged. She went to the mall, bought herself some new jeans and some new kicks; on the way home, she made a stop at Chris's house for a bag of weed. "Dude," he had said while they passed a bowl between them, "I'm gonna have this bitchin' party next Saturday. You should come -- and bring Dante's lame-ass too, wont'cha? He doesn't call me anymore." I wonder why, Astrid mused to herself as she left the basement, a quarter-ounce bag rolled up tight and stuffed in her pocket. It was not a far trip from Chris' to her parents' place, and before she knew it, she was upstairs in the attic, smoking a joint she rolled with expert fingertips and cleaning out her closet.

In amidst the boxes of old homework and journals, magazine and news paper scrapings, she found several large Zip-lock bags contains piles upon piles of pictures: many of which she had completely forgotten about. Most were from high school - she found pictures of her family's visits to Canada, Sweden, California; her old girlfriends from high school whom she lost touch with; the few friends that did stay in contact; and a stack of pictures of her with Dante, from the first year or so they begun dating.

Setting down the bag, Astrid reached for her cell phone, thumbing her way down to Dante's name and calling him. When she heard him pick up, she cut to the chase: "You should come over here." It was still early enough in the afternoon -- maybe, hopefully, he was still sober at this point. "I found a bunch of shit you gotta see."

Dante squinted at the alarm clock on the floor. "Uh, sure," he grunted. He blinked a couple of times and tried again. "Holy shit, it's after two." He rolled out of bed and fell with a very audible thunk to the floor, laughing. He couldn't remember anything from the night before, though he was pretty sure he had spent it with a bottle of whiskey and way too much weed. No wonder he couldn't afford his bills.

"Yeah, sure, coming over. Where are you, your parents'?" He scanned the room for some kind of pants and, hopefully, a clean tee shirt.

His initial groggy tone tone made her stomach turn over slightly -- was she too late? When he commented on the time and began laughing, she felt a little bit better. The more he talked, the more confident Astrid felt in his sobriety. "Yeah," she said, climbing to her feet to turn the window fan on high. Her parents never came up into the attic: they knew that it was Astrid's space, and thus, gave her full control over it. "Plus, I picked up a bag from Chris. He says hi." She fell back onto her bed, the lit joint still in hand: eyes closing as she took a hit off it. "But you better hurry, 'cause I'm gonna smoke it all."

Twenty-five minutes later, he parked his car outside of Astrid's parents' house and slowly walked up to the door. Were her parents home? Should he ring the bell? Did he smell like Jack Daniels? Did he smell at all?

Shaking his head at himself, he glanced at the driveway. Empty. Which probably meant that they were out. He didn't know why he suddenly didn't want to face them. Astrid had assured him hundreds of times that they liked him, but Dante largely remained unconvinced.

He slowly opened the door and stepped inside, immediately hit with a blast of central air conditioning. Ah, money, he thought as he headed toward the stairs. He wanted to surprise her, even though he knew she knew he was on his way, but he forgot about the old creaky spot on the staircase. It echoed loudly through the big house, and he took the rest of the stairs at an easy jog and burst into her old bedroom.

"Hey babe," he said, leaning down to kiss her. "Smells good in here!" He grinned.

She found the sound of his footfalls on the stairs oddly comforting; a grin curling her lips when she heard him hit the creaky stair. When he popped open her door, Astrid beamed up at him from her cross-legged position in the floor. "I thought you'd approve," she said with a laugh, scootching her butt backward so her back came to rest against the frame of her large, queen sized bed. Another reason why Astrid was loathe to move out of her parents just yet: moving her bed out would be a nightmare.

"Sit down," she said, patting a spot on the floor beside her, reaching for the bag of pictures and another joint - but not before she stole another kiss from him, still smiling happily. It was clear Astrid was quite prone to nostalgia, but it had been a good day for her so far. And now, having him here (and sober!) was the icing on the cake. Handing him a lighter with the joint, she busied herself with fishing out a thick stack of photographs of only them. Selecting one, she held it up aloft, studying it. "Oh my god, that was the night I first took mushrooms with you!" She pointed at her eyes. "Look at how whacked out I am!"

"Oh," he groaned, lighting the joint and then bringing it to his lips. He inhaled deeply before answering. "I didn't know someone was even taking pictures!" Each word was punctuated by a little puff of smoke.

He reached for another photo. "Prom?" Their younger selves stood in front of a large fountain, the dramatic lighting accenting her magenta hair and his lime green suit. "God that suit was terrible." He took another hit from the joint and then passed it to Astrid. "But you look good."

"I think I took the 'shrooms one," Astrid said, taking that picture back and examining it closely, before setting it aside in the makings of a small pile. Her pale cheeks were flushed with pleasure, both from taking the stroll down memory lane, and with him now at her side; warm, coherent, and sober. A surge of joy rushed through her, nearly forgotten when he handed over the prom picture; eyes going wide.

"Oh, my god. That suit!" The sight of his lime green jacket and him beaming proudly beside her, their arms entangled: both grinning widely, so proud of themselves. "Mom was so horrified at the color theme we chose," she giggled, her fingertip tracing the edge of the photo. To say that her mother was horrified was an understatement: she had been somewhat pissed at the pairs' choice in suit and gown. Still, they did make an enviable pair, even in eye-burning colors.

The prom picture was set aside, and her free hand accepted the joint after a moment of thought. Taking a heady toke, she picked up the next picture - one just of her. It was obvious from the posters on the wall that it was his room: she was sitting up in his bed, naked with a sheet clutched to her chest and neon pink hair rumpled; a perfected scowl aimed at the camera as she smoked a cigarette, flipping it off. "I have no idea when this one was from," she said after studying it, giving it to him. "I look gross in it, anyway - destroy it!"

"No!" He snatched it away from her quickly, clutching it to his chest in mock horror. "There's a shortage of pictures left in this world to masturbate to!" He winked at her, then reached for another photo.

"Hmn," he said, the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. He stood behind her, leaning down with his arms wrapped around her. The red and black plaid flannel jacket he wore indicated that it was fall. They both held bright red party cups. "Wonder whose party this is. Speaking of parties, didn't you say you ran into Chris?"

Astrid wrinkled her nose, coupling it with an eyeroll, but she let him keep the picture; opting to turn her attention to the next picture he picked up.

"I remember this," she grinned, gently taking hold of it and pulling it a little closer so she could see. Judging by how young their faces looked, she guessed it was during senior year - and sure enough, there was Chris in the background, looking confused with a large blunt in his mouth. "Yeah, I picked up from him today. He had some good shit." Belatedly, she remembered the joint smoldering in between her fingertips; hastily sneaking another hit off of it, before passing it back over to him. "I think he misses you. We should swing over sometime, smoke out with him." The idea of going to another one of Chris's parties was almost too much to bear: with Dante's drinking becoming a problem coupled with the general crappiness of Chris's shindigs, she was beginning to lose a little hope. Still, she perked up as she picked the next picture.

"Oh, look! Christmas!" Sure enough, there was Dante with a big, floppy Santa hat on top of his head - his hair almost to his shoulders in unruly waves, and looking quite grumpy. She was in the frame, too, smiling a wide, perfect smile with her chin resting on his shoulder, the other hand holding a bit of mistletoe above their heads. "I can't remember why you were such a poop that day, too."

He held the joint between his thumb and forefinger as he leaned in to look at the picture. "That," he said, pointing to the Santa hat, "is probably why I look so pissed off."

He took a hit and ran a hand through his hair. It was a lot shorter now than in the photo -- it fell to just above his ears -- and he had a lot more facial hair than he'd had back in high school. "Yeah, Chris," he said, smirking a little. "I barely have time to see you, let alone go hang out at one of Chris's lame ass parties." As soon as the lie left his lips, he felt guilty. Of course he had plenty of time. He just chose to spend that time drinking. "Look at this one," he said quickly, pulling a random photo out of the pile. It was torn a little at the edges, as if it had been stapled somewhere once upon a time.

The photo was of a huge bonfire, surrounded by the friends they'd kept up with shortly after graduating. Everyone held beer or blue cups in their hands, and off to the left was a beer pong table. To the right was most of Astrid's face, cut off by Dante's lack of drunken photography skills. Her eyes were glassy and heavy, and she sported a sloppy grin with her tongue hanging out that made the photo that much more comical. "So charming," he said, snorting and holding the photo up for her to see.

(Originally written 08/17/2009-09/09/2009)

Façade

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 15:30:00 +0000

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.

In Dreary Times

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 08 May 2009 00:31:00 +0000

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.

Ouch! (Part II)

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Tue, 05 May 2009 05:23:00 +0000

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.

Ouch!

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 04:56:00 +0000

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...

Sinful

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 04:54:00 +0000

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."

The Sound of Waves

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 04:51:00 +0000

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.

Moody

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 04:48:00 +0000

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.

Crayons

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 04:46:00 +0000

Astrid was sitting on Dante's couch, staring absent-mindedly at the television. She never watched TV on her own, only with him. And The Sopranos was interesting and all, but she was getting restless; bouncing her leg and chewing on her nails. Wretched ADHD!

"Losing interest in all the cement shoes?" Dante grinned, looking at her. He himself had been spacing out, wonderig why he watched the damn show in the first place. It was so repetitive.

"Can you tell?" She grinned up at him, pulling her hoodie tighter around her. Leaning back in the couch, and propping her feet on the edge of the coffee table, Astrid sighed, and wrinkled her nose. "We should do something."

He cast a glance outside, into the dark and still snowless night. "Like what?" He shut the TV off and focused his attention on her, oblivious to the adoring look he was giving her.

She thought about this. What could they do, preferably here in the safety and comfort of his apartment? Drumming her fingertips on a denimed knee, mouth twisting to one side as she hummed. "Mn ... I know." There was a that impish grin. "We should colour."

The grin he was wearing broke out into an even wider one. "Color?" He stood and stretched.

"Yeah. You know, with crayons, and markers, and ..." She trailed off, and clapped her hands together, beaming. "Hold on!" And with that, she scurried off to his bedroom, where she kept her bag and other miscellaneous effects. There was the sound of papers shuffling; and in a moment, she appeared armed with crayons, markers, and paper. "I came prepared." And looked quite pleased with herself!

If possible, his grin stretched even wider. He stood there, looking at her, grinning and shaking his head. "You.." He trailed off. "Come here, you," he said, holding out his arms and laughing.

There was that nose wrinkle again. "Don't laugh at me!" She was pouting, but happily fell into his arms, snuggling against his chest. "Besides," she said as she deposited the drawing implements on the table, and knelt down, spreading everything out, "when was the last time you coloured?"

He thought about that, then shrugged. "Who knows." He stared silently down at his blank sheet of paper for a moment, and then grinned. "Let's play a game. How 'bout we draw messages for each other, and guess what they are? Sorta like Pictionary but, well, not."

She considered this for a moment as she opened up the boxes of crayons and markers. "Alright, sure. But you start, since it was your idea."

"Gee, thanks." He took a crayon the color of the sky on a clear day and thought for a moment. No, not right. This time he selected a brown crayon and drew an eye. With a red crayon he drew a heart and, returning to the brown crayon, drew a pair of eyes. Corny, he supposed, but why not be honest?

She leaned against him, watching him, head tilted to the side. "Interesting ... I like the eyes." Astrid sat back, and looked at him pointedly. "Tell me about it."

Dante blushed, then rubbed unconsciously at the stubble on his face. "Well," he started, feeling like a child who is asked to explain a note written to his classroom crush. "You're supposed to guess," he said, feeling lame.

She noticed the blush, and hid a grin. A little sadistic part of her liked putting him on the spot, forcing him to explain himself .... but damn, he got her there! She hated analysing things like art outloud, for fear she'd get it wrong. "The eyes are yours, aren't they?"

He bit down on his lower lip and shook his head. "No.. Guess again," he said, feeling more self-assured now that he had her.

Pout! She crossed her legs, and looked down at the picture, then at him, the bridge of her nose wrinkling. "Do the number of eyes have a certain significance?" Up wen the eyebrows, cautious.

He suppressed a laugh and shook his head. "Hang on." He picked up the sky-blue crayon and between the heart and the pair of eyes added 'UR'. He hated to make it so easy on her but at the rate she was going, soon she'd be psycho-analyzing the damn thing.

Hey, she sometimes missed out on the little details! Too busy looking at the big picture, but the added detail made her blink, perk back up. "My eyes?" A little laugh, as she covered her face. "I can't believe I didn't get that!"

He took her hand and planted a kiss on it. "Messages to each other, see?" Now it was his turn to feel proud of himself.

"I'm good at this verbally, not pictorally." She scrunched her face up. "Shit, is that even a word? Pictorally ..." Reaching into her memory banks, then shrugging. "Oh, well. My turn!" A wicked grin stretched across her lips as she withdrew a green crayon, and black one, then a red and orange one ... Scribbling away for a long moment, before the sheet of paper was prould ybrandished: she had takena page from his book, starting her's off with a green eye, then a red heart ... and then a drawing of a ... chicken?

Dante picked up the drawing and held it up in front of him for a moment, studying it. "I love KFC?" He turned it sideways. "Are you hungry? Want me to go grab some grub?"

That made her laugh. "No! Keep trying ... I am hungry, though. Think about that one while I grab something." Still grinning evilly to herself, she got up and headed into the kitchen, sticking a bag of popcorn into the microwave.

Biting down on his lower lip, listening as she rummaged around in his kitchen, Dante studied the drawing once more. "I love chicken boyfriends?" He called, laughing.

"Nope! ..... You do kind of have chicken legs, though." Only teasing. Her giggles were heard above the sound of the popcorn cooking.

"Do not," he called back, only half hearing her laughter. Let her laugh. He'd figure this out. ..Maybe. "Do I get to use a lifeline?"

"Sure!" She found the popcorn bowl, and fished it out of the cabinent, before stepping back over to him. The brown crayon was selected, and in between the heart and the chicken, the letters U R were added.

"I'm a chicken?" He snatched up a handful of popcorn and tossed some into his mouth.

She playfully tugged at a strand of his hair, albiet gently. "Think dirty."

Again he studied the drawing, this time turning it round and round. Then, when understanding--at least what he thought was understanding--dawned on him, his eyes lit up in surprise. "You love my...?" He looked down at his lap, as if to emphasize what he was getting at. Oh, he hoped he was right.

Now she had him! She clapped her hands and laughed delightfully, plopping down next to him on the floor. "Hah! Got you there!" Oh, did she look proud of herself! "That wasn't a bad drawing of a chicken, either ..."

Dante looked at her, then burst into loud peals of laughter. He took her hands in his and laughed until tears streamed out of his eyes. Still laughing, he planted a kiss on the middle of her forehead and struggled to his feet, pulling her up with him.

Up she went, pressing herself lightly around him; her arms coiling around his waist. Her head tilted up, and she pressed a kiss to his chin, still beaming proudly. "See? I knew colouring was a good idea!"

"Well, as I remember, the messages were my idea," he said, kissing her full on the lips every now and then.

"So they were." She leaned against him, resting her head on his chest. "Still, this is fun!" A fingertip gently propped his side. "In any event, it's your turn to draw something."

delirious 19th: A wicked grin came over his face and he released her. Squatting on the living room floor, Dante picked up a bright red crayon and produced a rough stick-figure drawing of the X-rated sort. Grinning, he revealed it to Astrid. "Ta-da!"

She peered at the drawing. "Stick-figure sex ... trying to tell me something?" She seized the blue crayon, and underneath the stick figures, drew a pair of what looked to be baseballs, colouring them in blue.

Her boyfriend's mouth dropped open, and he snatched the drawing from her. "You wouldn't!" Using a black crayon he drew a TV displaying more of the crude stick-figure sex, along with a couch set in front of the television, a stick figure man sitting on it and taking care of himself. "So there!" He stuck his tongue out at her, fighting to hide the smile that threatened to show itself.

Those greengrey eyes went wide, and she gasped. "Hey! No fair!" The black crayon was grabbed from him, and she drew a stick figure woman on her back; switching to a pink crayon, drawing what appeared to be a vibrator. "Touché!"

"Well, let's get started then!" He crossed the room and turned on the television. He then began to rummage through a cabinet underneath the TV, whistling as he did so.

Oh snap! Astrid jumped to her feet, standing back to watch. "You wouldn't!" .... Would he?

"I am," he said, selecting a tape (old school!) and popping it into the VCR. On his way back to the couch he picked up the bowl of popcorn and, stretching out on the couch, settled it onto his stomach, remote in hand. A devilish, boyish grin had settled onto his face.

"You won't," she stated firmly, arms folding tightly on her rib cage. She shook strands of magenta out of her line of vision, but remained still; leaning forwards slightly as she watched him, eyes taunting him. He couldn't go through with it! No way in hell.

"Will," he said firmly, and pressed the fast-forward button, to the good part. With his free hand he unzipped his pants.

"Uh-uh." Astrid shook her head, but firmed her stance, poised to strike.

Shrugging innocently from his place on the couch, Dante pressed Play on the remote and watched as two girls made out and stripped each other down to no more than panties. "Vintage," he said dreamily, remembering a time when porn had been his only companion. Besides Jack Daniels, of course. His hand crept to the waistband of his pants, fingers burrowing in.

That was it! She couldn't watch this any more! The young Nordic woman angled her way to the table first, a red marker seized and uncapped, before she tumbled head-first onto Dante's lap, scribbling on his face with the marker. "Haha! I told you so!"

Eyes squeezed shut against the attacking marker, Dante grabbed her, consequentially knocking the popcorn bowl to the floor. Popcorn spilled everywhere but he took no notice. Fingers hooked at her hips and tickled. He turned his face away from the marker, only making it worse in the process. He now looked like a college frat boy who had had too much to drink during his first house party.

"The popcorn --" She was cut off by gasping peals of laughter; causing her to wriggle in his lap like a fish. She shoved at his chest whilst laughing, eyes closed and tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "Stooop!" A desperate wail, yet she continued to swipe at his face, his skin, anything with the offending marker.

Angry red slashes bled across his face, arms, and neck. Even the white tee shirt he had for some reason decided to wear tonight was criss-crossed in loud red. "I'll stop if you stop!" Still tickling, raising his voice to be heard over her laughter.

"Fine!" And with that, she threw the marker aside, rolling off of him and landing hard on the floor, clutching her sides. Her laughter turned to wheezing, turned to coughing, and she sat up, her face red. "Oh, God!"

He sat up in a flash, on the floor beside her in another half second. "You okay?" He pulled her close to him, face red from not only the marker but laughter.

She gasped for air, and it took the girl several moments to regain her composure, breathing normally. "I'm fine," she exhaled, and sank against him, closing her eyes. Though after a moment, she opened them, gazing up at his red-slashed face. "Nice. The red really brings out the colour of your eyes, you know .."

Dante burst into laughter all over again, holding her against him and shaking hard. "You and markers are dangerous," he managed.

She laughed, and found the marker nearby, capping it. "Well, that's what you get when you colour with me. Next time, I'll try to use the crayons."

In the Beginning

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 04:42:00 +0000

The weather outside was far from Christmas-y; instead of a white Christmas, Dante was observing a wet Christmas. It didn't look like there would be any sort of snow, not that it mattered to him. He stretched out on his couch, ignoring the mess of an apartment around him, and waited for the phone to ring. White Christmas or not, there was last minute shopping to be done. And of course a restaurant to hit up. It was amazing, how different things were, now that she was around.

Downers Grove, Illinois surely was a downer this Christmas. The mid-west was hit with rain, not snow, and it seemed to never end. A soft sigh was exhaled as she picked up her mobile, and punched in his number, tucking strands of magenta behind an ear. She glanced surreptitiously at the clock. Still early. He'd better be up by now, because if he wasn't -- Uh oh! Angry Viking Astrid!

"Yeah, darling," he drawled, watching the light from a pair of headlights stream through the blinds of the living room.

"Oh, good, you're awake!" She sounded pleased; she hated waking him up. Taking a sip of her chocolate soy milk, she glanced at the clock one more, then out the window. "Are you ready to go? It's getting late .."

"Plenty of time." He smirked, then remembered she couldn't see him through the phone. "But yes, I'm ready." He didn't want her angry at him. Things were going well. He could still remember when they had met, at that stupid party. "Hey, do you remember..." Yeah, probably stupid, but... "Chris's party?"

Never stupid! Astrid was always prone - and up for - a stroll down memory lane. She laughed, playing with the bird keychain on her key ring, leaning her head against the window. "Of course I do ... how could I ever forget?" There was a shuffle, a flick; she'd found her cigarettes in her purse, and lit one up. "I was so scared to go up and talk to you ..."

He had bummed a cigarette off of her, he thought. Or maybe it had been the other way around. No, it had been she who had done the bumming. She had run out; he could remember her grimacing at his menthol cigarettes. He now smoked Camel Wides, a far stretch from Marlboro Menthols.

"We played pool." He chuckled. "I didn't think you'd go with me."

She grinned into the filter of her Camel - hah! she'd converted him - and plucked it from her lips, exhaling a stream of smoke and tapping the ash into an ashtray. "My God. How could I have said no to you?" Raking her fingers through her hair - she remembered the anxiety, the anticipation, the excitement of him taking her hand into his, tugging her along, leaning close together in the smoke-filled billiards room. "That was so much fun ... and going to Dennys afterwards, too.."

He shuddered at the mention of Denny's. How had she talked him into that one? "Oh, right. You're just so damn cute." He lit himself his own cigarette and sat up on the couch, more awake now that he was talking to her, reminiscing.
das kleine vogel: Hey, talking him into Dennys was easy! She giggled, drained her glass of milk, and set it aside, leaning back against the couch, staring out at the street. "Oh, I know .." She grinned into the phone. "That's how I get away with everything! You know that."

He leaned into the back of the couch, which was surprisingly comfortable, despite how old it was. Maybe that was the reason being. Without saying anything aloud, he thought of their firsts. Just thinking about her, just seeing her.. He shook his head and pulled a heavy drag inward. It was best not to go there.

"Hiking," he said, the one word bringing back a flow of memories.

She blew out a stream of smoke; blinked at the word, then laughed, burying her face in her palm. "Oh, my God." The memory overwhelmed her. How awkward that day was, at first, anyway! She had tried so hard to impress him, acted like she knew what she was doing ... oh, but it had been such a perfect day. "We'll have to do that again sometime, when the weather gets nicer .." She sounded wistful; gazing off into the distance.

"Yeah." He snubbed out the cigarette, trying to chase away his negative thoughts with more positive ones. Why couldn't things just stay simple? No, he didn't think they would.

"Chris is having a New Year's Eve party." It was an unspoken rule that if you were going to attend one of Chris's parties, you had better bring something to keep yourself occupied with. They were that bad. Dante and Astrid had left the one they had met at to play pool, a sort of first date rather than hang around Chris's parents' basement.

"Oh?" She blinked herself out of her little reverie, grinding out the filter in the glass ash tray at her elbow. "Is he?" A wicked grin spread across her lips, and she shifted the phone fron her left ear to her right, readjusting her lean. "You know we'll have to go, and at least crash it. Try to make it fun. Something." Yeah .. Chris's parties were always a drag, but she always went. What could she say? She liked seeing people she used to hang with in high school. Most of them, anyway.

"Sure, why not?" He lit another cancer stick, eyeing the empties strewn around the apartment. "Shall I pick you up?" He rose from the couch and began tossing empty bottles into a garbage bag filled with crumpled sheets of paper. He had attempted the art of songwriting and failed miserably before having a bit of JD. If she was going to pick him up he'd better get this place cleaned up, and fast.

She poked around her pack of smokes before coming up empty handed, and exhaled a gusty sigh. "Mn. I'll swing by your place. I need more cigarettes, anyway." Standing up, she gathered her bag and keys, heading for the door. "Just keep cleaning, baby." A little laugh. "I'll be there soon .." The phone was closed, and tucked in her pocket, and she was out the door.

Shit. How much time did he have? She knew he was a slob, but she didn't know about this. He almost threw the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels at the far wall. Instead he tucked it securely behind the entertainment center and put the rest of the beer bottles into the garbage bag. Amazingly enough, Dante was able to get dressed and look halfway decent within ten minutes. He sat back down on the couch, flicked on the tv, and tried not to look as awful as he felt.

Oh, she knew how he could be. So she took her sweet time getting her cigarettes, and even took the scenic route to his apartment on 63rd street. The car door slammed, and she trotted up the stairs, knocking on his door not twenty minutes later.

"Hey." He managed a smile and moved aside so she could come in.

"Hey yourself." She slipped inside, and nudged the door shut, before pulling him close for a kiss. "Mn. I've seen you cleaned." Her eyebrows arched up, an amused grin curling her lips.

He held her close and kissed the top of her head. "Yes, a day's worth of laziness scrubbed away with Axe."

"So I noticed." She leaned in against him, sniffed his neck. "You're lucky I like the smell." Pressing a quick kiss against his throat, she smiled up at him. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah, just lemme get my wallet..." He ducked into his bedroom, glanced wistfully for a moment at the dresser in the far corner of the room, then headed out, wallet in hand and taking Astrid's hand in his.

She caught the glance, and lowered one eyebrow, her mouth twisted to one side. No comment. Letting him go, she waited at the door, and perked up as he led her outside. "Man. Woodfield is gonna suck. I hate malls." She yawned as she unlocked the cardoors, and slipped inside. They still had a bit of a drive ahead of them.

"You're telling me. I'm not even sure why I'm shopping for anyone, besides you." He grimaced at the thought of his mother and stepfather.

She chuckled as she started up the car, and turned down the volume immediately; before then, Opeth had been blasting. "It's okay, though." She touched his hand as she pulled out of the parking lot, and back onto 63rd, heading towards 355. "It'll be fun. And then we'll have the rest of the day to ourselves."

"The night, you mean." Eyeing the dark sky. Squinting against the headlights of oncoming traffic. Fucking rain. He put his pessimism on the back burner of his thoughts and brought them back onto Memory Lane to distract himself. "Didn't think your rents would be too thrilled with me."

Soon enough, they were heading north, and she put on cruise control. Lazy! She stared straight ahead, but smiled as he mentioned her folks. "I knew my mom would love you. My dad, though ... he likes you ... he's just ... I don't know." A helpless little laugh. Mr Liljegren had his reservations about Dante, but maybe that was the Scorpio slash Taurus dynamic at hand .. neverminding the astrology dorkiness, she knew her dad tried to get along with Dante. "Anyway, Mom is always asking about you."

"Really?" He turned his head and looked at her, grinning. "Your mom is a sweetie." He noted the cruise control and relaxed. He trusted her.

She hazarded a glance over to him, smiling. "Yeah, she's great .." He'd better! Astrid was always designated driver, the one who staryed the most sober at parties just so she could take care of other people. She looked back to the road, then checked over her shoulder before changing lanes, relaxing in her seat once more. "You'll have to come by again sometime to see her. When my dad's not around, of course."

"Oh." He looked out his window and lit another cigarette. "Sure." Honestly he was a little intimidated by her father, but he guess that was the way these things were always supposed to work. His thoughts strayed back to their first few weeks together.

Dads were supposed to intimidate boyfriends! Obviously, that was their reason for being. Astrid was quiet to as Ghost Reveries quietly played in the background; though after a few minutes of silence, she touched his knee. "Hey," she said suddenly. "Do you remember when we, you know, first ..." She trailed off, pale cheeks flushign slightly.

"Of course," he said softly. He took her hand in his, twining their fingers. "Maybe you could stay over tonight and I could refresh your memory," he added, voice almost a whisper.

The crimson blush deepened, and she grinned, lacing her fingers with his. "Sounds good ... it has been awhile, hasn't it ..." Trailing off, stroking his hand with the edge of her thumb.

A warm chill ran through him. "Sure has." Still whispering. "Won't let that happen again." He flicked the cigarette out the window, and grinned at her playfully. "Or, if you wanna pull over..." He winked, to show her he was just kidding. Maybe.

She swatted his thigh gently. "Quit it!" But she was smiling - and almost considering his offer! Even so, she breathed in deep, and steadied herself; nodding to the side of the road. "See, we're almost there. Just wait until later ..." A playful nudge. "I'll make it worth the wait." As they pulled off 355, she was the one grinning.

"You're always worth waiting for." He looked away quickly, wishing he hadn't said something so.. blatant.

She glanced at him quickly, greygreen eyed widening for the briefest of moments. This was her typical knee-jerk reaction: wonderign what he meant by that, analysing, then letting in sink in. Nothing was said back, though she squeezed his hand tightly as they pulled into the mall's parking lot, cruising for an empty space.

He swallowed hard, and squeezed her hand back. Then, without another word, he opened his car door and stretched, looking at the mall spread out before them, and the amount of people pouring in and out. "Last minute idiots. Like us." He grinned and went around to her side. "Shall we?"

She was quick to follow suit. Her face didn't show it, but she was still turning his words over in her mind. Typical Astrid. Standing next to him, glancing up at Woodfield, she inhaled, leaned in and kissed his neck. "We shall." And with a little tug on his hand, she led him inside the mall, straight inside the chaos.

That same shiver when her lips touched his neck. He was glad when she took his hand, but still admonishing himself for what he had said. It had already been too much to expect her to want to even date him. And now here he was, saying things that he didn't even know if he meant. He thought about that for a moment. He didn't know what the hell he was thinking, at all. "Where to, first?" He didn't want to admit a lot of things, the number one right now being that he hadn't been to this mall in years and had no idea where anything was.

"Wherever the crowd takes us, I guess ..." Sure enough, the crowd moved them, and they couldn't help but follow along. She held his hand tightly, pressed herself close to his side; not wanting to lose him in this big sea of people. You're always worth waiting for ... Stop it, woman! She squeezed her eyes shut for the briefest of seconds, and shook her head slightly. "Let me know if someplace catches your eye."

He shrugged, though she probably couldn't see. His hand held hers tightly, afraid they would be separated and, well, stampeded. "Where do you shop for people you don't like?" He had to practically yell to be heard over the throng of people. This was nuts. They were nuts.

"You don't!" She shouted back, grinned, and tried to force his words out of her mind to try and concentrate on the task at hand. She only met Dante's folks a few times: they were nice enough to her, but ...

50_rps Theme Set List

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Sun, 09 Dec 2007 04:14:00 +0000

Themes

Anxiety, Bouncy, ~~Crayons~~, Creative, Cynical, Delivery person, Drained, Embarassed, Excited, Exhausted, ~~Façade~~, Fence, Fire, Gel, Grateful, Grumpy, Hopeful, Ice cream parlor, If only I could make you mine, ~~In dreary times~~, ~~In the beginning~~, Indifferent, Infinity, Invincible, Last dance, Laughter, Lazy, Look at me, Miscommunication, ~~Moody~~, Nervous, Off-balance, Optimistic, ~~Ouch~~, Peaceful, Pessimistic, ~~Photograph~~, Pink lemonade, Plants, Relieved, ~~Sinful~~, Snow angels, Storm, Switching places, Thankful, ~~The sound of waves~~, Touched, Unusual weapons, Vulnerable, What you mean to me

Chronological Order

In the Beginning

Crayons

Moody

The Sound of Waves

Sinful

Ouch! (Part I) / Ouch! (Part II)

In Dreary Times

Façade

Photograph (In Progress)

Prologue: Part 23 of 23

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Fri, 13 Jan 2006 03:03:00 +0000

Silly Dante! Astrid would have to be crazy not to like you! She glanced up from her work, finishing -- the bottles put in the fridge and slipped her hand into his, letting him lead her to the couch. As they sat down, she watched him from the corner of her eye: noting how he seemed to relax slightly, which in turn, comforted her.

At least she wasn't screwing anything up.

When he turned to look at her, she grinned at him, reaching out to poke him back. "Excited for the New Year?" Lame, yeah. But hey, he had to be excited about something!

Taking a swig from the bottle, comfortingly cold in his hand, he turned to look at her. "Nah. Not really. It's just another day, really, plus an excuse to drink."

The tv was on but he could have cared less. As lame as he felt, he couldn't take his eyes off her. He was perfectly aware of how careless he was being, just letting himself go like this. But.. she was different. She was just.. It was inexplainable, really. She was just Astrid.

She laughed, taking a swig off her own drink. When she had swallowed, she nodded. "Yeah, you're right. But back in Japan, the Japanese call New Years 'Shogatsu'. They take it much more seriously than us Americans, but they try to erase all debt, burn old bridges, and so on before the new years starts. You know, like starting off the new year with a clean slate."

She looked to the teevee. Some crappy band was playing, and she was glad that the volume was on low. Another sip of the rum and coke, before she nudged him. "Still .. it is a good excuse to be here getting drunk with you." A wink.

He watched as a perfectly slanted eye winked at him, feeling delirious with every possible emotion all at once; pain, fear, love?, enthusiasm.. The list went on. He felt a shiver run down his spine, and it was all he could do not to jump up.

Control. He had to contain himself.

"Were you born in Japan?" The question was random, out of nowhere, but it had suddenly occurred to him that he knew nearly nothing about her.

"Mmn." She nodded as lips pursed, drops of alcohol licked from them, curling her legs up and tucking them under herself. Turning slightly sideways, half-facing him and leaning on the back of the couch. "I was born in Tokyo. Lived there for the first four years of my life, then came here. I've been back several times since then, but."

A shoulder raised and rolled back in a small shrug as she nursed her drink. The question had caught her off-guard, yes, but it made her feel pleasantly surprised.

He nodded, thinking. "Sorry so random. It's just..." He shrugged, and attended to his own drink. The beer was smooth and cold, and slid down his throat, caressing it and then landing in his stomach.

"I just realized, I know next to nothing about you," he admitted softly, eyes lowered but glancing up at her momentarily to see her response.

Her response was just a small smile, leaning her head back on the edge of the couch. "It's nice to know you're interested, though." Her own voice had dropped to nearly a whisper, and she looked into her half-empty glass, as if searching for something.

Those almond eyes blinked, and she glanced back to him, smiling again. "But, yeah, don't be afraid to ask me anything you want. I, unlike most girls, am pretty open about things." She chuckled, bringing her knees up to her chest.

"Hope so," he said, returning the smile. "Need a refill?"

He looked wistfully into his own nearly empty bottle, swirling the last mouthful around before bringing it to his lips and letting it slide down his throat. He looked at her over the bottle as he did so.

She looked to her glass again, and blinked - as if only now realizing that it was nearly empty. "Oh .. yeah, hold on." Head tipped back to swallow the remains of her drink, that pale throat exposed, neck craning slightly.

"Mn." Reaching up to wipe her mouth just incase, a sheepish smile aimed his way as she swallowed and handed him her now-empty glass. "Pardon me." Typical Japanese mannerisms shining through. Of course.

He smiled softly, not taking his eyes off her. It was hard to understand, how quickly he had come to adore her. When he thought about it, it scared him. A lot. But when he was with her...

He thought of this as he made her a new drink and grabbed two beers for himself. He planned to make it through them pretty quickly.

As he came back into the living room, seeing her sitting on the couch in his apartment made him smile. The thought of it being like that, forever... Of course, he knew it was child's play to think of forever, but he couldn't help himself. Could she see the way he looked at her? Was it obvious?

He handed her the drink, once again sitting next to her and opening one of the bottles. "You don't have to be home any certain time, do you?"

As Dante walked away, she turned her head slightly to watch him leave, before exhaling quietly, and turning back to the teevee, arms wrapping around her shins. Little did he know that her thoughts closely echoed his own -- and she was just as scared as he was.

Lids drooped down, eyeballs moving under the paper-thin skin: not tired, but restless, trying to compose herself. 'Calm down, this is nothing. Just a silly infatuation'. So she told herself.

But then .. what was this feeling that welled up within her? This fleeting hope that this time, everything would work out .. -- Her eyes opened as he rejoined her, smiling gratefully and accepting the drink. "Oh, thank you."

She took a sip, and shook her head. "Nope. No curfew."

He nodded, thinking of possible plans for tomorrow. Once they got over their hangovers. Oh. Wait. Right.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow?" He swallowed a good portion of the beer. Shouldn't assume things like that, he thought, watching her once again but trying to make it as less obvious as possible.

She stretched out her legs, and shook her head again, swallowing a mouthful of her drink. "Mn. Nope. I have the day off tomorrow, fortunately." Finally. It felt like she hadn't had a day off in forever.

A sidelong glance to him. "Why?" Cocking her head, an impish grin curling her lips. "Got something up your sleeve, Mister Dante?"

"Mm, perhaps." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You'll just have to wait and see."

In reality, he had no idea what he had in mind. Yet. But there was plenty of time for that. Providing he would be able to think straight much longer.

A snicker from her, leaning in to accept the kiss before planting one of her own on his cheek. "Oh, alright. This'll be interesting." Moving closer to him, getting comfortable, drink in hand.

"Look." She pointed to the television with her free hand. The clock in the corner said 11:59:28. "Only thirty more seconds until '06!" Reaching out to take his hand, squeezing slightly -- excited, in spite of herself. She had high hopes for this year.

"Dammit," he said, remembering the champagne he had run out for at the last minute. Well.. it was worth a shot.

He ran into the kitchen, grabbing two glasses and the bottle. He could hear the tv, the announcer saying that it was getting close, only 25 seconds. He made it back to the living room in time to pop the cork....

and make a mess.

Shirt soaked, he set the bottle down, laughing. The time on the clock read 11:59:55. "Well, shit." He kissed her, careful to keep his chest away from hers. He certainly didn't want to get her all messy too.

Oh, he was quick! She blinked after him, and turned to peer over the couch. "Hurry, Dante!" Giggling as she encouraged him -- then shirked back as he popped the cork, getting champagne all over! She burst into a fit of giggles and grinned widely, reaching up and pulling him down against her for a kiss - mess be damned!

She didn't let him go until after the ball had dropped: when she did, she opened her eyelids to half-mast, gazing up at him adoringly. "Happy New Year." Her voice back down to a husky whisper.

He inhaled deeply, savoring her scent and the sensation of his chest pressed against hers. "You too." His own voice was low.

He had been surprised when she had pulled him close to her, but at the same time delighted. He extracted himself only to pull his shirt off; the sticky champagne was beginning to annoy him.

"I'll be right back. I'm gunna see if I've got anything clean..." It was just his luck, really; this had been the only clean shirt. He ran a hand through his hair. So clumsy..

Fortunately, she escaped the champagne attack relatively unscathed, and there was no immediate need for her to change. She released him, still grinning and shifted. "It doesn't matter." What the hell was that supposed to mean? Who knows ..

In any event, she leaned forwards to wipe off the bottle, and pour them both glasses of champagne. It'd be a shame to let it go to waste at this rate.

He glanced down at the carpet, which had collected a nice portion of the bottle. Thankfully the carpet was a dark green.

He took the shirt and laid it over the puddle. "Beat that, Bounty." He turned back to her, his bare chest glistening with the champagne. Should probably wash that up. He handed her a glass and kissed her, full on the lips, eyes thin slits. "A toast."

"Hah! Take that!" Crowing gleefully -- someone was just a bit tipsy!

She turned to him with a grin, accepting the glass of champagne - leaning in to return the kiss. Murmuring against his lips: "A toast? .."

"Yes. To.. A new year, and.... whatever comes with it."

He raised his glass, returning the returned kiss (yes, he was certainly thinking buzzed thoughts; it was more an effect of her presence than the effect of the beer).

Alcohol and being in the presence of someone you particularly like often have that affect on people, it seems!

"Kampai!" Her own glass raised, tilting slightly so that the rim gently tapped against his, tipping it back to her lips and taking a sip. Oh dear .. drunk Astrid. This'll be interesting.
delirious 19th: He smiled, his cheeks coloring slightly. He adored her.

"Kampai," he said softly, then proceeded to drink his glass as quickly as possible. It wouldn't be fair for her to be more drunk than he was.

And he'd better believe that it was more than mutual!

Her own cheeks tingeing slightly as he repeated the Japanese word; a pleased grin stretching across her face. He really was incredible. It amazed her, his ability to take her breath away so easily.

He kissed her again, neglecting the glass of champage, the bottle of wine, and the shirt on the floor. He even forgot the tv was on.

More kisses. He thought that was all he ever needed.

Her own glass was held as she moved to wrap her arms around his neck, joints hanging loose -- but not dropping the champagne!

Body moving closer to his, the heat radiating off of him onto her, in such close proximity .. The kisses were met, held, returned; each one a little more eager, deeper than the last.

Prologue: Part 22 of 23

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 05 Jan 2006 04:47:00 +0000

Alright, Astrid. Time to regroup. 10.23PM on New Years Eve night, and she had no idea where anyone was. Shit. She hated when this happened. They were probably all at Chris' house, getting fucked up and laughing at her not being there. It wasn't fair! She only got off of work twenty minutes ago!

She glared at her reflection in the mirror as she brushed out her hair; shaking vibrant purple strands free of tangles. Pink bangs were side-swept from her face, exposing one wide, Asiatic eye lined carefully with black liquid liner. Well, so much for New Years. White hands pressed against her flat stomach, feeling the threadbare fabric of her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt. Guess it was just gonna be her and the teevee.

On the other side of town, a certain Dante was sprawled on his couch, face pressed against a small puddle of drool. Dick Clark (at least, he thought that was the guy's name) was doing his usual special. Some New Year's Eve.

"Uhn," he grunted into the pillow. He was mildly stoned, and the special on tv about the ball was so boring it was setting him sober. Slowly he pushed himself up and made his way toward the bathroom. He turned the light on and found himself face to face with a scrubby, unshaved, long-haired monster. Not to mention the bloodshot eyes. "Shit," he muttered, unzipping his fly and aiming for the toilet. There was no way he was going out tonight.

Or was there. He hadn't talked to anyone in the last week. He'd just been.. busy. Yeah. Busy. He hadn't even called Astrid, and that was bad.

He rezipped his fly, flushed the toilet (not bothering to put the lid back down), and began to hunt the apartment for his cell phone. She would be mad at him for not calling, but if he could convince her to hang out with him.. Well, a pissed off girlfriend was better than spending the night alone.

Astrid wasn't exactly the type to get too pissed about the lack of phone calls -- she understood being busy with other things, and hey - as long as he wasn't putting his dick where it didn't belong, what business of it was hers? In any event, she was a little miffed she had not heard from him - even tried to phone him a few times, but no answer. Hmn.

'He's probably out already,' she thought, casting a forlorn gaze to her little mobile, sitting on her desk near her elbow. Chest rose and fell, a gusty sigh uttered, and she stood up only to vacantly stare about the room.

This was lame. And ridiculous. At this rate, she had one of two options: go to sleep right now, or try to get fucked-up on her own.

'Yeah, right!' Not gonna happen. She reached for her phone.

He completely dreaded calling her only to a) get her voicemail, or b) get a full-on assault. All the same, he scrolled through his contacts and when he came to her number, Dante pressed talk.

Holding his breath, feeling as if it were the first phone call all over again, he began to relax once he heard it ring. Well, not entirely. He owed her an apology, and a reason. Not that he was looking forward to the latter.

The mobile was flipped open, and she was juuust about to go through her own list of contacts when the phone began to vibrate in her hot palm, his ringtone loud and clear. Shit! .. Wait, what was so bad about that? DANTE was flashing across the little screen, and she could barely surpress a grin.

Suddenly giddy: he was calling her! He didn't forget about her! Joy and rapture! But before she could pick up, she paused to calm herself, clear her throat. And then she hit 'Accept.'

"Hello?" There came that husky voice, smooth as melted butter, yet cool. She wasn't angry at him. Unless this was a call to say: a) I cheated on you, b) I'm moving away to Timbucktoo, or c) I never want to see you again. Choices!

"Hey," he said, as cheerily as he could. It seemed to take every ounce of strength in him. What the hell was wrong with him?!

And what to say? He had several choices, but he didn't much like any of them. They all sounded too clichè. None of them were good enough.

Finally he settled on acting normal. If she wasn't too mad and agreed to see him.. Well, he could explain then. Right? ..Right.

"What's up?" Hoping his voice sounded normal, hoping that he sounded normal. Nope, nothing wrong here.

Her own greeting was surprisingly warm; not forced, or terse like she feared it might be. The placidness in her tone instantaneously melted, and gave way to a more gentle inflection. "Hey there. What's goin' on?"

Hand rose to her upper torso: thumb and forefinger moved past the collar of her shirt to grip her collarbone, anxiously. A nervous tic she noticed she had developed. Chipped-black lacquered nails lightly bit into the soft, white skin. Ow. Shit.

Her knees were shaking. She was thrilled. But nervous. And so she allowed her legs to buckle, artfully collapsing onto the shag carpeting of her room. Whew. Much better.

"Nothing much." Cool. Calm. Everything's fine. Don't want to upset her. If at all possible. He inhaled and exhaled, automatically reaching for his cigarettes. He lit one, took a drag, and immediately felt better. He didn't look around the apartment. It was a mess.

"What are you up to tonight?" The cigarette stuck out of his mouth and he moved about the apartment, picking up dirty dishes, trash, empty beer bottles, and dirty clothing. He was going to have to vacuum if she was coming over. And get some incense burning.

Smelled like something had died in here.

He didn't sound like he was about to drop a bombshell on her or anything. She felt her body soften: muscles relax and her breathing shallow. "Tonight? Not much ..." What a loser, eh? Long fingers still followed the curve of her clavicle, but now with less urgency.

"I got off of work a little while ago .. but I haven't heard from anyone, so I was just thinking of .. you know, staying in." God, she sounded ridiculous! Pearly whites sank into the soft pillow of her bottom lip, feeling the silver spiral in her labret clatter softly against her teeth.

"How about you?" Adding lamely.

He let out a breath that felt as if he'd been holding it since he made the phone call. Maybe he had.

"Nothing." He paused, deciding. It took two seconds. "Would you like to do nothing together?" There was plenty of booze in the fridge. He could get a bottle of champagne to open once the ball dropped. And aside from the living room (he'd been sleeping on the couch) and the kitchen (he'd been eating in there), the rest of the apartment was in top condition.

And it was an excuse to have her spend the night. That, he thought, would be the ultimate high.

And he could pretend everything was okay. It was, to a certain extent.

That illicited a chuckle from her; the hand futzing with the collarbone withdrew, and settled in her lap. "Nothing together, huh?" Like she even had to think about it. Still, she playfully hemmed and hawed, just to get a rise out of him. A glance to the clock - 10.30. Not bad.

"Hmn. Well, I suppose that could be arranged. See you at your place in twenty?" Climbing to her feet. If she was going over there, she'd have to change! Didn't want to show up in her pajamas -- those she could bring, because like it or not, she was sleeping there. Driving while intoxicated was a bozo no-no for her.

"Twenty? You mean I've gotta wait twenty whole minutes to see you?" He surveyed the apartment. Not bad. He'd have to vacuum really quick, then jump in the show and shave. And what to wear? He also needed to get that champagne.

The dirty clothes were dumped into the hamper and he began to search for something clean to wear, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear. Not an easy task, considering it was a tiny ass phone.

His spirits rose a great degree at the thought of seeing her. There was no use in feeling sorry for himself. He had nothing to feel sorry about. And besides, it was New Year's Eve.

"Well, maybe thirty. Could be forty. You never know, with traffic ..." She was being silly. A bag was withdrawn from her closet and set on her bed: one hand holding the phone to her ear, the other shuffling through her clothes to pick out something to wear TO his place, and tomorrow. Ridiculous? Perhaps.

Still .. "I'll get there when I get there, and not a second too soon. Alright? See you in a bit." Big grin twisted her features; and just to add to the tension, she hung up before he could reply or protest, whichever. Besides, she had to change! A shower wasn't needed since she had just gotten out of one. But Astrid was kicking it into high gear!

Fifteen some-odd minutes later, she was in her car and on the road; fortunately, she had a very good memory and followed the route to his place, as if it was habit. Shit .. had to be careful about that.

He had just gotten out of the shower and was drying off when he remembered the champagne. "Shit," he muttered, then smiled, remembering how she had playfully hung up on him. He was going to have to get her for that.

As he pulled on his clothes, he realized how silly he was being. Champagne? Since when had he bought champagne for a girl? He didn't even drink the stuff. It was ridiculous, really, but all the same.. He liked the feeling.

"Let's just hope it lasts," he said aloud, grabbing his jacket and heading out. Thankfully the nearest Stop &Shop was only a few minutes away. And it would at least give him something to do while waiting.

It took ten more minutes (thankfully the lines weren't long at all), and then he was back at his apartment. She would be there soon. And--

And he had forgot to vacuum. In a frenzy that would have been comical if it hadn't been him, Dante pulled his light vacuum out of a closet and began to give the place a quick cleanup.

God, don't let anything happen to her. People were already out and being stupid. Over the roar of the vacuum he could hear his heart beating against his chest.

Fortunately, Astrid was a force to be reckoned with on the road! And lucky for him, she made a pit stop at a nearby gas station to get herself some ciggies -- it was going to be a long, albeit pleasant night.

And while poor Dante was upstairs frantically vacuuming, she parked the car in a guest spot, and grabbed her keys and bag, getting out and locking up. Inhaling deeply, hugging her jacket tight around her. No turning back now! Not like she wanted to.

New black lo-top Cons tapped gently on the concrete as she stepped lightly to the door, opening it and turning to the panel of names of the residents. Scanning for his name -- aha! The button was located, pressed.

He heard the buzz even over the loud hum over the vacuum cleaner, and it made him jump. "Asshole." He unplugged the vacuum, stowed it in its proper place, and grabbed his jacket. He slid his feet into his shoes -- beat up Vans -- and headed down to meet her.

And there she was, beautiful as usual. He took her into his arms, kissing her neck over and over. "Hello gorgeous," he said into the smooth skin, holding her close to him. He didn't want to have to let go again.

It was funny sometimes, how much of a little boy he still was.

Oh, but his childishness was horribly endearing - she felt the grin take over her face the moment he appeared. "Hey!" She all but jumped into his arms with a girlish giggle - head tilted back as he kissed her neck. Arms wrapped around his neck; reaching up and pressing a kiss directly on his mouth.

"Mmph." Purring as she pulled away slightly, cuddling herself into his chest. Goodness, he was nice and warm; almond eyes slid closed for a few beats as the top of her head nuzzled his chin. She was dressed in clean, light blue jeans with a slight tear at the knee, and under her jacket was a new, children's sized Pantera shirt. That purple hair back in a ponytail, pink bangs obscuring one eye. Snazzy.

And she beamed up to him happily; thankful that he called, thankful to be here. "What's up?"

He took her by the hand, leading her up the stairs and to his place. "I've got some champagne, though I have no way of telling if it's good or not. I don't drink the stuff," he admitted sheepishly.

The door was unlocked; all he had to do was push it open. The apartment smelled clean and looked good. Tv was on, a commercial advertising ringtones played. The place looked even better with her standing in it.

"Sorry it took me so long to call." He shrugged out of his jacket -- a heavy black blazer -- to reveal a black button down and collared shirt, left open at the throat. He was also wearing his own ripped jeans.

Shoes were kicked off and he moved to the fridge, rummaging around inside. "Want a drink?"

There would be time enough to talk -- later. Right now he just wanted to get as close to her as possible.

With her bag in tow, she followed him up the stairs, clutching his hand tightly. When they were at the top of the staircase, she turned to him slightly. "I wouldn't know either. It's okay." A smile flashed, comforting squeeze, and stepped inside his place.

Shoes were wedged off easily; the bag was set down and coat was taken off. "Yeah, sounds good. Hey, where should I put these?" These being the bag and the coat. She took a few steps forward to peer at his back. Damn .. he looked good tonight. Not like he wasn't pounceable any other day, but still ..

Control.

He abandoned the fridge and went back to her, kissing her lightly on the lips as he took the coat and bag from her. They were set on his bed (he took another quick glance around his room, making absolute sure it was neat) and then he returned to her.

"Man, I've missed you." He took her hands in his. "Now, how about that drink?"

Astrid amused herself by furtively glancing at the television which was back to Times Square. Nice. Looking at the time for their standard time zone: 11.03. Good.

When Dante returned, she glanced up to him, smiling softly as he took her hands. "I missed you, too .." Trailing off -- good timing, she was starting to get all mushy and soft-eyed. "Sounds good." A little tug. "What'cha got to drink?

Running a hand through his longish hair, Dante held open the fridge door for her to see. "Bud. Stohli's. Champagne, but that's for later. A couple Mike's Hard left. And if you want, I can make you a Bacardi and Coke."

Choices, choices. He himself was planning on a beer to start with.

Dante turned to look at her, watching her every move, his eyes meeting hers. New Year's Eve, and he was lucky enough to spend it with her.

Beer before liquor, never been sicker! Astrid was a hard-liquor gal herself. Those doe-eyes turned hopefully to him -- "Did you say .. Bacardi?" A weakness of hers. Hey, the girl loved rum!

"I want that. But I can make it, you don't have to." A surreptitious gaze at him: Goodness, he was gorgeous. Lips pursed (she'd taken the labret ring out for the night; no worries about it closing), tongue sneaking past to wet them.

She turned to look around the kitchen. "Where are the glasses?" .. She had a lot to learn still!

He swallowed hard. It wasn't easy watching her lick those lips. Weakly he pointed to a cabinet to the right of the sink. "Up there," he said, still watching her. He noted the absence of the labret.

He grabbed himself a Bud and the bottles of Bacardi and Coke, setting the last two on the counter. Using said counter, he popped the cap off the bottle and raised it to his lips. The liquid went smoothly down his throat. One beer wasn't going to do a damned thing to him, but he sure loved the taste. And once this bottle was done, there was the Stohli's to get started with. Straight vodka was his thing.

He watched her move, paying special attention to the curves of her body. Eyes shut briefly, praying silently. He was falling, and he knew it. But that was all right.

At least, right now.

A nod to confirm the location, her eyes following his finger. Noncommital grunt, looking back at him over a birdthin shoulder. "You okay, Dante?" Head snapped back to attention to focus on the task at hand. A glass was found, seized and brought, the cabinet door shutting.

She rejoined him at his side, peering up at him demurely from under the cottoncandy pink fringe, a slight grin curling her lips as she set to work making herself a rum and coke. "You look a bit flushed."

Was she serious, or was she just teasing him? Who could tell with her, though it was probably a combination of both.

"Thanks," he said, poking her in the ribs. "Good to know." He grinned down at her, then kissed her forehead and took her hand.

The time was nearing 11:30 now. Perfect, he thought to himself, leading her to the couch. He sat down, took another swig from his bottle, then set it down on the coffee table. He turned to her, eyes sparkling with a life he hadn't felt in over a week. Cold feet? Yeah, that was probably what it had been.

There was no need to get depressed over falling for someone. And perhaps it wasn't that far yet. No. He just liked her. A lot.

Prologue: Part 3 of 23

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 05 Jan 2006 04:31:00 +0000

Dante finished his second cigarette, and started a third, still trying to resist the acrid scent of pot that was calling to him. "Sure, I'd love to go." Dammit. He had been trying not to sound too enthusiastic. /You'd *love* to go? Man, that was bad,/ he thought, blushing the slightest shade of pink. Quickly he changed the subject, so she wouldn't notice him blushing. "So.. You're the guitarist, right?"

" Yeah, but I sing sometimes when Allein - Our singer - doesn't show. I don't have have his amazing range, but .. " She shrugged, suddenly modest. Though she was proud of her band. One of the best prog/metal bands on the scene. A small smile given as she finished the cigarette, noticing his tension. " Uhm. Did you want to get out of here? This party's run its course, I think. "

"Actually, getting out of here sounds pretty damn good. I know of a pool hall nearby. Do you wanna shoot some pool?" He couldn't believe himself. This was almost like asking her on a date. He realized it basically *was* asking her on a date. /Oh man, Dante. You've really gone in way over your head. She's out of your league, man.../ It was true. Most girls thought he was just another grungy, jobless pothead. The pothead part was true. 'Was' being the keyword.

She was slightly taken aback by the offer, but she was pleased. Was it a date? If not, well, she didn't mind. If so .. well, wow. He was really cute. She looked away with a smile, and raked her fingers through her bangs. " Yeah, sure, let's do it. I haven't played in ages. "

He almost didn't believe his own ears. She had said yes? Slowly it registered in his mind that she had indeed accepted his invitation. Was it a date? He didn't know. Maybe she thought it was just a friends thing. Well, for now he would go with that. "Did you come in a car, or do you need a ride?"

" Depends, you got a car? " She smiled at him, chuckling. Actually came with another friend - though she didn't see Lux. Probably with some guy in the bathroom. Shrugging her shoulders, adjusting her leather jacket over black tanktop.

He smiled back, totally transfixed by this amazing young woman. "Yeah, a Jeep, actually." He took a couple drags off his cigarette to try to distract himself, then looked back at her. "You wanna go now, or....?" His voice trailed off; he was at a loss for words. Just looking at her made him dizzy. He had a really good feeling about this one, though he couldn't say why.

" Let's go now. Something tells me it won't take long for this party to get busted. " Nodding towards Chris who'd just turned up the stereo, blasting Metallica. Normally, she'd be enthused, but his grandma was next door. And she was a veeeery cranky woman. She slowly rose to her feet with a smile, offering him a hand up.

He took her hand, chuckling. After she had helped him up, he looked toward where she'd nodded. Chris could use a few party tips. Dante guessed he'd failed How to Throw a Good Party 101. The number one rule was to make sure your neighbors weren't the type to call the cops on you. After taking another drag off his cigarette, he said softly, "Shall we?"

" We shall. " A grin and a wink given - still holding onto his hand and gently guiding him up the stairs. No one seemed to notice their departure, and she was thankful for that. Once outside, she dropped his hand, and pulled her hair back, tying it up. " Ah. That's better. It was so loud and stuffy down there. My mom's gonna wonder where the hell I've been. "

Dante inhaled the clear air - or what a normal city person would call clear - and took the final few drags off his cigarette. He silently wished to himself that he had a responsible mother to worry about him. Shaking his head, he pointed to a dark green Jeep. "That's mine." He used the magic button, which unlocked the Jeep doors, and led her towards it, still not believing he was going out with such a beautiful girl.

" Nice car. " Following him and making her way over to the passangers side, and opening the door, sliding in. Checking her lace-up combat boots, giving the laces a little tug, before leaning back and buckling herself in.

"Thanks, he said, patting the hood of his baby and getting in on the driver's side. He started up the engine and pulled out of his spot on the side of the street, heading west toward the place he had earlier mentioned. "So... how good are you? I haven't played in a while either, but I used to be pretty good."

" Well .. I like to think I'm pretty good .. If you've ever heard Dream Theater, John Petrucci's my idol. " Nodding to herself, allowing a small smile. " He's fucking amazing. " Sinking into a moment of silence, gazing out the window. Thinking about the next show, silently going over the covers they were going to do do. Rush and Dream Theater.

He had never heard of Dream Theater, and didn't want to admit it. He also didn't want to tell her he had been talking about pool. But, he did play guitar, and so he kept going with that conversation as he guided the car towards the pool hall. "My idol would probably be Kurt Cobain," he admitted. "Him or Eddie Van Halen."

" I like Nirvana. A lot. I get so much shit for it, but prog-rocker's are snotty. " He probably didn't have a clue what she was talking about, but she'd explain if he wanted. Yeah, she had a one-track mind sometimes. Once she got going on the subject of guitar, it was hard for her to stop. She loved it that much.

He was amazed at how much they had in common so far. "I get shit from all my friends about liking Nirvana. And I strongly believe Courtney Love did him in...." They were nearing the pool hall and would be there in a few seconds. Which would give him a few seconds more to decide if this was a date. He would have to make his decision on how she acted. Only if he thought she thought it was a date would he consider it a date. Talk about making sense.

" Yeah, there's so much evidence, I can't believe that people see otherwise. " She shook her head in disdain, and looked down at her hands; thin and small, idly toying witht he silver ring around her left middle finger. Biting her lips, half-wondering the same, though unsure just of what he thought.

He realized that she was probably wondering the same, but didn't know how to ask her what she thought. It would be too awkward, he decided. Better to just see how things went. Then maybe he could *really* ask her out, depending on how the night went. Sometimes he loved himself. They came to the pool hall, and he pulled into an unoccupied space. After shutting the engine off, he looked at Astrid. "Ready? I'm pretty good, you know." He grinned.

" Great, 'cause I suck. " Grinning back at him, biting her lip before unbuckling herself and hopping on out, shutting the door behind her. Bouncing a bit as she waited for him do get out, popping her knuckles. She was okay at pool, a little nervous to be playing against him, though. Licking her lips, tip of her tongue toying with the hoop that looped over her lip.

"Aww, c'mon," he said as he got out and shut his door, locking the whole Jeep with the magical handheld button on his keyring. "I'll teach you to kick ass." He grinned and jerked his head toward the entrance to Night Haul, the pool hall that was most alive at night. "Let's go inside." Somehow he didn't think he would be able to even teach this girl, she made him so dizzy. He probably wouldn't be able to line his shots up right, nevermind show her his secret technique.

She never really went here - too many people she knew from school. Yeah, the public school they went to made her nervous - the kids from it, anyways. Swallowing her apprehension, following him inside and fishing out her wallet, hoping she had enough cash left from the last gig they played and got paid for. Gnawing on her bottom lip, staring at the back of his head, studying his hair. Looked really soft .. Shaking her head, and looking down to see how much cash was in her wallet.

When they entered the pool hall, he nodded at the guy sitting at the counter, who had nodded at him. He used to come here pretty often, after getting plastered at the bar across the street. Or after getting stoned in the alley. Take your pick. That's how it used to be for him, and probably would be again. Very soon, actually. From his back pocket he took out his wallet, paid for the two of them, then put the wallet back. Before Astrid could protest, he said, "My treat."

" Oh -- are you sure? " She blinked up at him, fingertips in mid-pluck, the money waiting. Tilting her head slightly, before shrugging and slipping her wallet back. He paid, so .. wouldn't this be considered a date? Chewing on her bottom lip again, following him in, before she suddenly grinned and poked his side. " So! Ready to kick my ass? It'll be easy. "

He grinned back, looking at her with stars in his eyes. Stars he hoped she didn't see. He couldn't remember the last time he had liked someone this much. And they had just met. The good feeling increased. "Sure, I'm ready. You rack," he said, grabbing two pool sticks and heading over to an unoccupied pool table. His stomach was doing little sommersaults. He was nervous, but in a good way. He couldn't remember ever feeling so elated.

Making a face, and setting the balls up. That much she remembered from years of her dad playing in bars. After a minute or so, the table and balls were set up. She reached over, taking a stick from him, and chalking the tip up. " Who breaks? "

"You can, if you want." He chalked the tip of his stick, as well. Yeah, he couldn't remember ever feeling this elated. Not even being drunk or high had made him feel this euphoric. Maybe it was true that you could still feel good without using a drug. Whatever it was, he liked the natural endorphins he was feeling. And he realized that they probably were on a date. He *had* paid. But for now he would stick to his, 'no harm, no foul' plan.

" Okay, okay. " Scrunching up her nose, before she shrugged off her jacket, and setting it down on a chair nearby in her view. Leaning over the table, stretching out her arm, and balancing the stick carefully, lining up as best as she could. Tip of her tongue poking out subconsciously, before she aimed - and took a shot, breaking up the ball. Miraculously hitting in a striped ball, she straightened up. DIdn't see the number, but oh, well.

"Nice," Dante said, cracking his knuckles and then got ready to make his first shot. "Hmm.... 2 ball, erm... side pocket..." He lined up the shot and took it, sending the cue ball towards its target. The blue ball spun towards its pocket, then stopped, just short of making it in. "Told ya I was rusty," he grinned, moving so she could take her shot.

" Yeah. Whatever. " She snickered as she watched quietly, before moving to lean over and taking a shot, and missing. Rolling her eyes, leaning slightly on the table, before bouncing back a bit, fiddling with her ring again. " Told you I'm bad. My dad played pool a lot, but I never picked up on it. More interested in music. "

"Sorry. Next time I'll let you pick the outing." He blinked. Had he really just said that? 'Next time'? He leaned forward to take his shot, hoping she wouldn't notice the furious shade of red on his cheeks. This time when he lined up the shot, he made it in. "Well, maybe not so rusty." Color back to normal, he straightened up and let her move in.

Prologue: Part 2 of 23

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 05 Jan 2006 03:40:00 +0000

Fishing out her pack of cigarettes for another, only to find she was fresh out. Blinking in disbelief - she'd only bought the pack yesterday. Exhaling a sigh - the Dante guy was the only one smoking a cigarette. Time to suck up nervousness. Taking slow steps over to him, nibbling on pierced bottom lip, approaching, and crouching next to him. :: .. Can I bum one? :: Gesturing to the cigarette. ::

Surprised by the initiation, Dante reached into his back pocket, flipped open the box, and handed her a Marlboro Menthol cigarette. He was completely speechless; he wanted to ask her name but needed an appropriate opportunity. "Need a light?" He asked, pulling out a lighter as well and offerring it to her.

" Oh, yeah, thanks. " Accepting the Marlboro. Menthol, ugh. She didn't mind much, though. Gratefully accepting the cigarette, placing it between full lips, and taking the lighting. Cupping her hand around the flame, lighting up and inhaling, before handing the lighter back, offering a smile. Exhaling a puff of smoke, brushing her bangs from her eyes. " Thanks a lot,y ou're a life saver. Hey, don't I know you from somewhere? "

"Y-yeah, I think so. Actually," he blushed slightly, running a hand through his long hair. "I was sitting here trying to remember your name. It was driving me crazy." A little honesty wouldn't hurt, would it? He finished his own cigarette and lit another. Damn chainsmoker.

" Oh, well, I'm Astrid. Astrid Uchida .. I think I've seen you at some Majesty shows .. Majesty's my band, so .. " Trailing off with a little embarassed grin, shrugging. " You're Chris's friend, right? " Wow. He was cute. She looked away for a moment, focusing on the cigarette, but couldn't for very long.

"Majesty?" He mulled the name over in his mind, and once it clicked, his eyes lit up. "Yeah, yeah, I've seen you play." He nodded, trying hard not to stare too much at her. She was gorgeous. "I'm Dante Cerevino. And, yeah, sadly, I'm Chris's friend," he said jokingly. "Don't like menthol much, eh?"

" Nah, I smoke Mild Sevens. Japanese imports - I'm half Japanese, so. " She smiled as his eyes lit up, enjoying his enthusiasm. Taking another drag, she nodded a few times. " I'm not really friendly with Chris, too, but .. He invited me, and I was bored, so. Here I am. " She chuckled, biting her bottom lip.

"Except the problem with Chris's parties is, you're bored even when you get to the party." He took a couple drags off his cigarette, looking her over inconspicuously at the same time. He wondered what nationality made up the other half of this incredibly beautiful young woman, but didn't say so, of course. He could warm up once conversation was initiated, but not *that* much.

She laughed, covering her mouth with her free hand, just in case Chris was around. Fortunately for them, he wasn't. Taking the initiative and sitting down beside him, crossing her legs, resting her forearm on a jean clad thigh. Halfway done with her cigarette, nodding to herself. " Yeah, I'm tempted to leave. "

"Me too," Dante laughed softly. Poor Chris. He'd probably never have a party worth hanging around for. He flicked his cigarette's ashes into a nearby ashtray and took another drag off it, inhaling deeply before continuing the conversation. "So.. What have you been up to lately? I haven't seen your band play in a while."

" Oh, we're working with a new bassist, Kasumin. He's picking up really fast, and he'll probably be ready to play at our show next week. You should come. " Nodding, restrained, trying not to seem to eager. Though, knowing Allein, she's have to take his place as singer again, and play guitar. Oh, well. She'd get to show off. Tucking strands of purple back over her ear, looking back over to him.

Prologue: Part 1 of 23

noreply@blogger.com (Anonymous) — Thu, 05 Jan 2006 03:24:00 +0000

Chris's parties were always lame. Let's face it. And tonight was no exception - the guys huddled in a corner, passing around a pipe of pot, and everyone else talking and laughing over beers, and music. She rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall, and taking a drag off her Mild Seven cigarette. If this party got any lamer, she'd leave, for sure.

A grungy-looking young man sat just outside the circle of pot-smoking guys, wondering if he should give in and take a hit or two. He hadn't smoked in a while, but knew better to get started again. Or did he? The party wasn't much of a party, really. However, he didn't want to join them just yet, so he lit a cigarette instead, to help keep himself from giving in.

Her eyes passed over the grungy youth, slim brows raising. She recognised him. He'd been to a few of her shows, and he was one of Chris's friends. Dante. Brushing magenta bangs from her face as Asiatic eyes looked him over, before she looked away, opting to stare at the television near the bed. Chris's basement was cool, though, she had to admit, with a bed, and couch and big screen television. Good place for a party.

As he inhaled the nicotine and menthol, he thought he saw someone looking at him out of the corner of his eye. When he turned, he saw her turn away. She looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place her name. He hated that. He knew it would drive him crazy until he could remember, especially because she was the type of girl you would remember. If he wasn't so damn shy, he'd probably go over and strike up a conversation with her. But his shyness and common knowledge of how gorgeous girls *really* were made him change his mind.

She tapped her foot, internally debating. Normally more outgoing, but party settings tended to make her shy away. When he wasn't looking at her, her gaze shifted back to him. Studying him. He was really cute. She never had the chance to talk to him, though, as he was Chris's friend. And he always had some girl dragging him around. A small smile as she snubbed out her cigarette. Poor guy. Maybe going over there isn't such a good idea.

He caught her looking at him again. Hmm. An inner voice tugged at him, suggesting he go over there and make some sort of conversation. He still couldn't remember her name.