And now all that matters to me is that I didn't mess up our friendship by telling him how I feel.Anyway . . .
I'm finally a "big girl" now, you guys. I have Internet access. At last! So I'll be around way more frequently again. Got all moved into my new apartment, and it's going great so far.
Ellie:
Oh my goodness, what a visual!At one time, I thought Alex the victim or Nutbel's antics. That s not the case any longer. I hope when he's found out ... Bubba is waiting for him - in he cell with a great big bottle of KY!
Novy:
Yeah, that was pretty audacious of him.I'm so mad at Alex. He dared to set a foot in that house. My word.
Lilah:
Yeah, I'm pretty sure this has become one of the angstiest stories in Roswell fanfiction, if I do say so myself.I'm guessing most people are like me, still reading but can't come up with anything to say because it's all so terrible! (the situation not the story itself)
Thank you for the feedback! I appreciate it. I can't believe we're to the hundredth chapter of this story! That's crazy.
Part 100
Liz was a bundle of excitement when she knocked on the door to the trailer the next morning. She’d passed up a stay at a hotel and driven all night in order to get back to Santa Fe, because she couldn’t wait to tell Max about how good Tiffany was doing. He’d be so relieved, so thrilled by the news, and he’d have her to thank for finding out. There was no way this could go badly.
Yet somehow, when he opened the door with a scowl on his face, she knew it would. “Hey,” she said, her confidence wavering. “Can I come in?”
He stepped aside, holding the door open wider.
“Thanks,” she said, grimacing as the odor hit her nose. The place smelled . . . unclean. He probably hadn’t vacuumed or dusted or done laundry in weeks. “Never thought there’d be a day when Max Evans has nothing to say.”
“Oh, I have plenty to say. I’m just not saying it yet.” He closed the door, lowering his head as he mumbled, “You look nice.”
She smiled, surprised by the compliment. “Thanks.” He’d made it sound like he had something bad to say.
“What’re you doing here?” he demanded suddenly, his tone suddenly becoming less complimentary and more accusatory, as though he suspected she had some kind of hidden agenda or something.
Her smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. “I just thought I’d let you know . . .” She took a deep breath. “I saw Tiffany yesterday.”
“What?” he barked. “Where?”
“In Colorado. At her home. With her foster parents, who are gonna become her real parents because they’re gonna adopt her. She even calls them Mom and Dad.”
Hurt flashed across his eyes, and his jaw clenched as he nodded angrily. “Come to rub it in my face then, huh?”
“What? No, I just . . .” Where was the relief and happiness she’d been hoping for? “I thought you’d like to know she’s doing okay. She’s gonna send you a letter and tell you all about it.”
“She doesn’t have to send me a letter if she doesn’t want to.”
“She wants to.”
He shook his head, his eyes widening with fury. “You shouldn’t have gone to see her.”
“Well, I did. I was trying to do something nice for you. I was trying to, like, I don’t know, reconnect the two of you or something.” Granted, there was an undeniably selfish component involved in that she’d been desperately seeking his gratitude and appreciation, but still . . . points for trying.
“Just stay out of it,” he snapped. “You never understood her, and you never understood my friendship with her.”
She grunted, flailing her arms helplessly against her sides. “Okay, maybe not. But . . . I want to.”
“You can’t,” he growled, pointing an accusatory finger at her. “You know what? It took me awhile, but I finally figured it out.”
“What?”
“Why you didn’t wanna foster her.”
She backed up a few steps, feeling as though she were under attack now. “Because it wasn’t feasible.”
“Besides that. You were jealous.”
She made a face at the ridiculousness of that. “I was never jealous of her. I like her.” Why was that so hard for everyone to believe?
“No, not of her. Of me,” he corrected. “You were jealous of me.” The words were seething with such animosity that they almost sounded inhuman. “I had someone who made me better, someone who brought out the best in me without even trying, and you didn’t. So you were jealous. And you thought Brandon could be that person for you, but he wasn’t. You were even worse with him because you used him.”
“I don’t . . .” She threw her hands up defensively, wishing she could deflect the words. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re not making any sense.”
“Oh, come on, let’s face it, Liz: Neither of us is ever gonna win any humanitarian awards. We’re not good people; that’s just the way it is.” He neared her, hovering above her, invading her space. “But when I was spending time with Tiffany, taking care of her, helping her . . . for the first time in my life, I was better than you, and you couldn’t handle that.”
She denied it adamantly. “No.”
“You need me to be inferior to you.”
“No.”
“Because when I’m not, you realize you’re just as bad as me. Worse, even, because you don’t own up to it. And all those people who begged you not to marry me, who said you were too good for me . . . maybe they should’ve begged me not to marry you. Because maybe I’m too good for you, Liz, and maybe Tiffany was the one person who could bring that out in the open!”
“Stop it!” she yelled, hating that it was so easy to see the truth in his words. “How can you say this to me?” Even if it was true, how could the same man who claimed to love her speak them out loud? “Every time I . . . every time I try to show you how much I care about you, every time I try to make up for what I did . . . you just throw it back in my face!”
“So stop sticking your nose into business that doesn’t concern you,” he ground out dictatorially. “If I’d wanted to see Tiffany, I would’ve gone myself.” He threw the door open again and said, “You can leave now.”
She couldn’t leave fast enough. She tried unsuccessfully to blink back tears as she scampered out of the trailer, away from the accusations that seemed more like truth than lies.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Maria bent and then extended her left arm at the elbow, repeating the motion despite the stiffness. She swirled her wrists in circles, inadvertently attracting Dr. Port’s attention to her new engagement ring.
“That’s nice,” he said, pointing to the small diamond. Either he was gay or he’d been the one to cut off her old engagement ring, because no other man would notice jewelry.
She bent and extended her arm again, so unused to not having a cast on it now. She’d healed up faster than anyone had expected her to. Now the cast was gone, along with the stitches in her abdomen that had been removed a few days ago. She was all better. But she didn’t feel better.
“How’s it feel?” the doctor asked as he wrote something down on her chart.
“A little weird,” she admitted, almost longing to have the cast back. Because as long as she was wearing it, she had something to point to and use as an excuse for why she was so unlike herself. An injury. A legitimate physical injury.
“Yeah, it will for awhile,” Dr. Port said. “But soon it’ll feel just like normal again. Now, I want you to keep taking your painkillers for the next night or two, but after that, you shouldn’t need them anymore.” He closed her chart and smiled at her pleasantly. “So that’s it. You’re ready to go. You want the cast a souvenir?”
Did she want a souvenir of the car accident that resulted in both her youngest daughter’s and unborn child’s untimely demise? No, not really. “Dr. Port?” she said, sufficing silence as an answer. “Do you know a lot of other doctors? Like Grey’s Anatomy without the bed-hopping?”
He chuckled. “I suppose. Why?”
She rubbed her stomach, tracing her middle finger over the slightly raised scar she had there now. “I need to see another doctor.”
“Okay,” he said. “About what?”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dammit. Michael had to force himself not to overreact when he pushed the vacuum so far forward that he pulled the cord out of the wall. It was just a cord. It wasn’t a big deal, even if it felt like one.
Maria came inside right as he was trying to untangle the cord with his left foot. He would have used his hands, but they were both occupied, one with the vacuum, the other with a sopping wet mop. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to be doing both cleaning tasks at the same time, but he wanted to get finished so he could get dinner going.
“Hey,” he greeted his fiancée. “Looks like it’s gonna rain.”
“Yeah.” She hung her jacket in the closet and kicked off her shoes.
“Did you drive the new car?” He nearly lost his balance and started to become increasingly frustrated when he noticed he was only managing to tangle the cord up even more.
“No, Marty drove it. Seems like it drives fine. Brakes are kinda squeaky, though.”
“Yeah? How’s it feel to have your cast off?”
“Good.”
“Great.” He wanted to sound more interested, but there was so much housework left to do, and at the rate he was going, he’d be up doing it all night. “Now maybe you can help me out with this . . .” He trailed off when he realized she’d already gone upstairs. “Or not.” He scooted his cleaning supplies into the kitchen so he could lean the mop against the counter. It slid down anyway, landing on Frank’s empty food bowl. A subtle reminder that he hadn’t yet fed the dog that day.
He lay the vacuum down on the floor, forgetting about the tangled, unplugged cord for the moment, quickly dumped some food into Frank’s bowl, and then went upstairs to locate Maria. She wasn’t in Miley’s room. She was in theirs. She was usually in theirs.
“I’m gonna rest before dinner,” she said, removing her shirt.
“Okay. Miley’s resting, too, just in case you were . . . wondering.” He sighed. She wasn’t wondering.
She pulled open the top drawer, shook out one of his wrinkled t-shirts—he’d neglected to iron—and slipped it on. “What’re you cooking tonight?”
“I . . .” He couldn’t believe it, although he should have. She just expected that he was going to make dinner again. Not that he couldn’t. Not that he wouldn’t. Not that he was some sexist freak who thought women belonged in the kitchen, because he wasn’t. But still . . . a little help would have been nice. “I don’t know. Maybe you could cook that macaroni casserole you’re so good at,” he suggested. “Miley really likes it.”
She pulled the bed covers back, mumbling, “The recipe’s in the box.”
“Yeah, but I don’t make it as good as you do.”
“It’ll be fine.” She got into bed and curled up on her side, her back towards him.
He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. Whatever. It wasn’t a big deal. Just like the vacuum the cord, it wasn’t a big deal. He could cook dinner again and not complain out loud. He was getting used to it.
He turned to leave, but he stopped in the doorway, thinking about what Tess had said last night. The advice to not let her slip away. He stared at her as she lay alone in that bed, and he felt her slipping. He couldn’t ignore it any longer. He had to do something.
Pushing the bothers of cooking and cleaning aside, he crossed the room, pulled back the covers, and crawled into bed behind her, melding his body to hers. She tensed, but he stayed relaxed, draping his left arm across her midsection to hold her close, firmly, but not too firmly. If he held her close enough, she couldn’t slip away.
“What’re you doing?” The fact that she even had to ask the question signified just how disconnected they’d been since the accident.
He kissed the back of her neck in response. “I know things are really bad right now,” he acknowledged. “But I promise they’re gonna get better.” They had to get better.
“How?”
“I don’t know. They just will.”
“So reassuring,” she mumbled sarcastically.
“I’m trying, okay? Please, just try.” He didn’t mean to sound impatient, but . . . couldn’t she just lie there with him and have a little faith? He rubbed his legs against hers and smoothed his hand over her hip and down her thigh, trying to evoke that sense of intimacy that had always felt so natural.
“I can’t,” she said, scrambling out of bed suddenly.
He propped himself up, staring at her in utter confusion. “You can’t try?”
“No, I can’t . . . do that.” She swallowed hard and shook her head vigorously.
“Do what?”
“That. What-what you want me to . . . do.”
It took him a minute, but he finally connected the dots. “Wait, you think I wanna . . .” He slowly rose out of bed, laughing a little. “I don’t wanna do that. I mean, I do, but . . . not right now. Not so soon.”
She nodded. “Not until it’s safe.”
“Right.” He had no idea what she mean by that. “Safe?”
She tugged on her t-shirt, staring at the unmade bed. “We can’t do that anymore.”
“Have sex?”
She looked at him with seriousness in her eyes. “Have kids.”
He stood like a stunned statue, his mouth hanging open as she walked out of the room and plodded downstairs without another word. Decisiveness and conviction hung in the air while his mind wrestled around with what she’d just said. Maybe he was too tired to figure it out, or maybe he just didn’t want to know, because he felt confused.
When his legs started working again, he headed back downstairs to get some answers. “Hold on. Maria. What’re you talking about?”
She stood in the center of the living room, her arms wrapped around herself, an impatience similar to the kind he’d just felt lingering in her eyes. “I just told you. Why aren’t you listening?”
“I am. I just . . . don’t understand.” He schooled his voice to remain calm, hoping his overall demeanor didn’t reflect otherwise. “No more kids for awhile? Yeah, I’m on board with that.”
“No more kids ever.”
For a moment, he could have sworn his heart stopped. “Okay, suddenly not so on board.”
“I can’t have any more kids.” She frowned, shaking her head vehemently. “I can’t be pregnant and give birth and bring more people into this world only to have them . . .” She trailed off, shuddering now. “I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
He mentally punched himself for ever crawling into that bed with her and giving her the false idea that that was what he’d wanted to do. “Maria, I get why you feel so wary about it . . .”
“No, you don’t.” She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him. “You didn’t carry Macy around for nine months. You didn’t miscarry . . .” She faded off again, tears swelling up in her eyes. “You can’t get it.”
“So help me,” he begged. “Help me get it.”
“There’s no point.”
“Sure there is. If I know how you’re feeling, I can help you work through it so you can--”
“So I can what?” she cut in swiftly. “Get pregnant again, have another baby and replace Macy?”
“No, that’s not--”
“Because that’s never gonna happen, Michael.”
“I know.” He raked one hand through his hair, frustrated as hell. “I know that. That’s why . . .” He paused a moment to think about what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. He didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing and pissing her off even more. “I’m not saying we should have another baby right away. I wasn’t even trying to have sex with you. You’re blowing this way out of proportion. Do I wanna have another child with you? Yes, someday. Not today, not tomorrow, not the next day. Maybe not even a year from now. Just whenever we’re both ready, whenever that is.”
“Well, there’s your problem: I’ll never be ready.” She sounded so sure.
“Okay, but knowing our track record, I’m not so sure we’ll have a choice,” he pointed out, trying to appeal to whatever logic was still within her grasp.
“No, I’m not leaving anything up to chance.” She hung her head.
“So, what, we’re just never gonna have sex again?”
She raised her head slowly, not saying anything. And her silence spoke volumes.
“Or you’re saying you’re gonna . . .” Of course. That was probably, in her mind, much more reasonable than not having sex. “No, Maria . . .”
“It worked for Isabel,” she muttered.
“No, this is . . . this is different; this is us.” He realized he couldn’t understand a woman’s perspective on this whole thing, but he had a perspective, too, and right now, he was panicking. “A hysterectomy?” The word tasted acidic on his tongue. “You can’t . . .” He stopped, thinking twice before telling Maria there was anything she couldn’t do. “You really don’t wanna do that.”
“Oh, I really do,” she shot back. “And I’m going to. I already talked to a doctor today. I’m gonna do it sometime next month, so if you can just keep your hormones in check until then . . .”
He felt like he was about to fall over. This couldn’t really be happening. She couldn’t be saying this. Because if she was, then that meant that getting into that bed with her hadn’t been the thing to push her over the edge. She’d gone over all on her own. “Maria, please,” he begged. “Please talk to me about this.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re not. Please, just have an open mind and try to see things from my point of view. This doesn’t just affect you; it affects me, too, for the rest of my life.” Didn’t that mean anything to her? Didn’t she care enough to include him in the decision? “Please don’t shut me out. Talk to me.”
She said nothing.
“Please.” How hard did he have to plead for her to reconsider?
She shook her head silently, barely looking apologetic.
He grunted, astonished. “I don’t want you to do this. We can go without sex as long as you want, and we’ll be careful when we start up again. Just don’t take away the possibility of this ever happening again. I want us to have that chance.”
She swallowed hard, unwaveringly. “I don’t.”
Her words were like a knife to his already bleeding heart. He’d already had to re-envision his future now that Macy wouldn’t be a part of it, and now he was re-envisioning it all over again. And for the first time in a long time, it looked truly bleak. He felt all hope of things getting better steadily draining away from him.
“It’s my body, Michael, and you can’t change my mind.”
And that had to be the worst part, standing there, knowing that she really didn’t care about his opinion at all, that nothing he could do or say would ever change her mind. He felt furious with her, and heartbroken. But most of all, he felt helpless, almost as helpless as he’d felt when he’d stood on the periphery of a burning car, unable to reach inside and get his little girl out.
“Please think about it,” he tried one last time.
“I have.”
“Think about it some more. Please.” The desperation in his own voice started to overwhelm him, and he had no doubt that it would turn to rage soon. “I have to get out of here,” he said, heading for the door. As furious as he was with her, he didn’t want to take it out on her.
“Michael, I’m sorry.”
He swiftly slipped on his shoes and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him. In that moment, he didn’t care if she was sorry, and he doubted she really was. As much as he still loved her, and as much as he knew they’d find a way to work through this . . . he hoped she felt guilty.
It started to rain as he drove, and one of his windshield wipers quit working. He managed to get to his gallery by the time it started coming down in sheets, so he pulled up out front, got out of the car, and ran to the door, peering inside. Kyle had already left for the day.
He took his keys out of his pocket, searching the massive clump for the one that would let him inside C4. He dropped them in his haste, though, and rainwater pushed them down off the edge of the sidewalk into a storm gutter.
“What? No. No, no, no!” he grumbled, bending to reach into the gutter even though he knew it was no use. How the hell had that happened? How was it possible that his luck could be so bad that he would lose all his keys? He had spare car key in the glove compartment, and he could get to it because he had keyless entry. But his spare key to the gallery was at home, and he couldn’t go back there to get it. He needed a sanctuary and he needed it now.
“Dammit!” he swore, letting the rain pelt him. This was just perfect, a perfectly horrible end to a perfectly horrible day. Now where was he supposed to go? He couldn’t just stand out in the rain forever.
Just as he’d resigned himself to heading back home, Isabel stepped out of the video store next door.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Maria tipped her container of painkillers towards her palm, watching as three little pills came falling out. She was only supposed to take two, but she decided to take all three, because she had a lot of pain to kill. She swallowed them without water and dropped the empty container into the trash. She planned on getting some more of those, just in case she needed them.
“Ah!” Miley screamed from down the hallway suddenly. “Daddy!”
Maria winced. She woke up like this all the time now, either from a nap or from a deep sleep. She had nightmares all the time, nightmares that made both her and Michael long for the days of the “monster” under her bed that was so easily combatted.
“Daddy, save me!” she cried. “Save me!”
Maria trudged down the hallway, stopping at the closed door to her daughter’s room. Her hand hovered above the doorknob, and she knew she should turn it.
“Fire!” Miley yelled. “Hot fire!”
Maria sniffed back tears, thankful she’d been unconscious when he car had been engulfed in flames. She could still picture it in her head, though, and the picture made her stomach churn.
“Save Macy!” Miley cried. “Save Macy!”
Maria choked on her sobs, drawing her hand back from the doorknob. She sank down against the door, feeling horrible for not going in there and calming Miley down, for not rocking her back to sleep the way Michael did every night, for not stroking her hair and assuring her everything would be okay. But she felt just as distraught as Miley did. If she went in there, she’d probably only make her feel worse.
“Daddy?” Miley whimpered. “Daddy, where are you?”
He’s not here, she thought, ashamed of herself for not doing something in his absence. He’s not here because of me.
“Help me!”
Maria clasped her hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs as she waited—and waited some more—for Miley to exhaust herself.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Isabel grabbed a box of cookie dough bites from the concession stock near the counter, dropped fifty cents into the cash register to pay for them, and sauntered down the vintage porn aisle to join Michael. He was finally drying off now, but his clothes and hair were still damp, and he was still just sitting there, leaning back against the shelves, looking as though his world had just been ripped out from underneath him. Again.
“Here you go,” she said, holding out the snack.
He hesitantly took the box from her and read the front. “Cookie dough bites?”
“They’re good.” She and Max ate them a lot when they got bored on their shifts. Luckily she was working a solo shift today.
“I don’t have any money on me,” he pointed out.
“My treat.” He looked like he was about to protest, so she explained, “I get an employee discount. It’s no big deal.” They weren’t all that expensive anyway.
“Thanks.”
“Yep.” She sat down beside him on the floor, watching as he struggled to open the top flap of the box. He looked zapped for energy.
“It’s really raining out there,” he remarked casually.
“Yeah,” she agreed, glancing out the window. It was a legitimate downpour, had caused the power to blink out there about half an hour ago. The power was out all the way down the street as well, but she didn’t mind. The store had more of an ambiance when it was dark, and it gave her an excuse to light some candles. Had Michael been in a more lighthearted mood, it might actually have been romantic. But then again, if he’d been lighthearted, he would’ve had no reason to be there.
“You think it’ll stop?” he asked, popping a cookie dough bite into his mouth.
“Eventually.” She sensed that it wasn’t the rain that was bothering him so much as his home life problems were, though, so she assured him, “It always stops.”
“Before it starts back up again,” he mumbled bleakly. He handed her a cookie dough bite, but she shook her head, wanting him to have it. “Suit yourself,” he mumbled, biting it in half. “Why’s this store even open?” he asked, studying the cookie dough inside. “No one’s gonna be clamoring through a thunderstorm for . . .” He reached to the side and picked up a random DVD, reading the title aloud. “. . . Butt Girl vs. Slut Girl.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised.” She laughed. “No, in all honesty, it’s been pretty slow. I was starting to get bored.” Having him there erased all sense of boredom, though. When she’d glanced outside and glimpsed him standing there, she could have sworn she was dreaming. But sometimes dreams came true. “So why are you out and about?” she asked, scooting towards him just slightly, not enough to make him uncomfortable. “If no one braves the rain for porn, they’re definitely not gonna brave it for artwork. No offense.”
He shrugged. “I just had to get out for awhile.”
“Why?” As much as she really wanted to know, she could tell by the way his lips were pressed tightly together that he wasn’t about to tell her. “None of my business,” she recognized, scanning the shelves for a more comedic conversation-starter. “Hey, do you remember this one?” She picked up the collector’s version of Debbie Does Dallas and held it up for him to see.
He actually smiled a little. “No way. People still rent that?”
“It’s a classic. Gets rented out about twice a week.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, I remember when we watched that. You dared me to come here and rent it.”
“Because I knew you’d be all embarrassed,” she teased.
“Well, yeah, can you blame me? It’s almost as bad as goin’ to the store to buy condoms.”
“Almost.” She didn’t feel embarrassed about either one of those things, but it was cute that he did.
“But I did it,” he recapped.
“Yeah, you’re brave.”
He tore off the top flap of the cookie dough box and muttered, “Real brave.”
She wished she could move closer and touch him. Not a sexual touch, but a comforting, reassuring type of touch. The kind he really needed. Maybe just a hand on his shoulder or on his cheek. Something. But she could offer nothing without scaring him away.
“Garret’s card was nice,” he said. “Miley really liked it.”
“Good. How’s she doing?”
“Fine. Better than me.” He sighed, setting his snack down the shelf next to him, and stared out the window again as the rain splattered against the glass. “I got thrown from a car,” he said. “I got thrown from a car, and I’m not even hurt. A couple scrapes and bruises, but that’s all.”
“You’re lucky,” she said.
“No, I’m not. Because now I have to be the one to hold everything together and make sure everything gets done and take care of everyone else and . . .” He trailed off abruptly, almost as though he had to stop himself from saying too much.
“Who’s taking care of you?” she filled in.
He nodded slowly. “It sounds so selfish of me to say that.”
“You didn’t say it; I did,” she pointed out. “And it’s not selfish. It’s natural.” He was way too hard on himself.
“It’s been so . . .”
Once again, she voiced the complaint he couldn’t. Or wouldn’t. “Difficult?”
“Yeah.”
She wasn’t about to say ‘I know’ or ‘I understand,’ because she didn’t. “I can only imagine.” The longer she sat there with him, the easier it was to believe that she was just a friend who was helping him through this horrible period of grief rather than an ex-girlfriend whose husband was responsible for the whole thing.
He picked up the snack box again, taking another circular, chocolate covered bite out. “Cookie dough,” he said, spinning it around between his thumb and index finger. “Maria loves cookie dough.” He tossed it up in the air and caught it in his mouth. “Maria’s supposed to love me.”
As much as she would have loved to sit there and tell him that Maria didn’t love him anymore, she knew it wasn’t true, and she couldn’t lie to him, not when he was in such a depressed state. “She does,” she assured him. “She always will. Trust me, once a girl falls for you, she stays fallen forever.” She was the prime example of that.
“She’s just . . .” Michael clenched his hands into fists momentarily. “She’s just making things so hard on me. And I feel really bad for saying that.”
“It’s okay. Natural, remember? You’re under so much stress right now.”
“So being stressed gives me an excuse to insult my girlfriend?”
“You’re not insulting her; you’re venting your frustrations,” she informed him. “Maybe she doesn’t mean to add to your stress, but it sounds like she is. But that’ll pass, just like this storm will. You’ll see.” Almost as if on cue, the lights flickered, and the power came back on. “See?”
It took a minute, but a lazy smile finally crept across his face. He slowly turned to her and said, “Can I ask you something?”
“I don’t know, can you?”
He laughed a little. “Can I rent Debbie Does Dallas?”
She reached for the DVD behind the case.
“No, I was just kidding,” he said. “I don’t really wanna rent that.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“‘Cause I can get you a crazy discount.”
“Really?” he feigned interest.
“Really.”
He chuckled. “No, I don’t want it. I’m not into that kind of thing.”
“Okay.” She leaned her head back against the shelf, sensing that he would leave now that the storm was letting up and the lights were back on. It was easier for him to spend time with her in the dark. “Well, if you change your mind, you can always come back.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
TBC . . .
-April
But I sort of get it. Even though she's still manipulating him on some level, she's also managing to make him feel a little better right now.
