||[May. 20th, 2007|03:08 pm]
Author: purpleelephant over at the Team Talk boards
Author Notes/Comments: I didn't write this, but the author has graciously given me permission to post this here, as I am in love with this story, and believe you all will be as well. Italicized parts will be in the past, normal fonts will be the present. Leave comments and let her know what you think of the story! I'm sure she'd love to read them!
This story was inspired by the song Delicate by Damien Rice
CHAPTER THREE – “We might make out when nobody's there…”
“You don’t seem fine,” Dougie whispers, following me as I make my way over to the fridge.
“I’m fine Dougie,” I repeat through clenched teeth.
I reach into the freezer and grab an ice-pack, placing it gently to the now tender spot on the top of my head. I’m so clumsy, and it doesn’t help that having Dougie around makes me lose any trace of calm or composure I may have had remaining.
I close the freezer door and lean against the fridge, Dougie now standing in front of me as I try and soothe my aching head. I wish he would stop following me, but that’s a lie. It kills me, but I like having him here. I like it when he follows me. I like it when he’s playful, smug, and so confident. I like it when he says my name, when he touches me, and I like it oh so much when he kisses me. But most of all, I like Dougie.
But with this ‘like-ness’ comes all my hate. I hate that I can’t control myself around him. I hate that I let him have his way with me. I hate that he can say anything and I end up disassembling to small fragments of my former self. Most of all, I hate that even though I hate all these things, I actually don’t hate him at all.
I sigh loudly out of frustration, at my own torn emotions and thoughts. Why can’t I just make up my mind and get this over and done with? I make my way back over to my seat, the one that I was sitting in peacefully before Dougie came over. And yet again, he follows me.
I sit down and give him a glare; a brief, fleeting one, but a glare nonetheless. I turn my head away and focus back on placing the ice pack back onto my head, trying to soothe the throbbing pain that is now residing there.
“Ah,” I wince, “fuck.”
“Here let me do it,” Dougie whispers, taking a seat beside me and grabbing the ice-pack before I can protest.
I remain in an uncontrollable silence, just watching as his gaze leaves my eyes and focuses on the pack in his hand. I watch his face, the way his features slightly fold with concentration as he tries not to cause too much pain to my already bruised skull.
“Ouch,” I wince again.
“Sorry,” he whispers, glancing back down at me momentarily, giving me a small, apologetic smile.
He focuses back onto the pack in his hand and I continue to watch him. I don’t know if it is possible, but even in my slightly frustrated and angered state he looks absolutely adorable as his brows furrow slightly in concentration and his tongue just barely sticks out from the corner of his mouth. That look, the tongue, it poking out at the side of his mouth; it just makes me want to lunge forward and kiss him. But I resist.
“So do the guys know you’re here?” I ask, my stare finally leaving his face and moving down to my hands that are sitting in my lap.
I hear him breathe deeply, dragging out his exhalation as silence surrounds us. I’m going to take his silence as a no; it’s always a no. 6 months later and it’s still a no.
“It’s 2am, I didn’t exactly go and knock on their doors, waking them up to tell them I was heading over to my neighbour’s house for a shag,” he smirks, my head shooting up at his last words.
“So that’s all you come over for? A shag?” I ask completely out of shock.
And that’s what he thinks this is; a fucking shag. After 6 fucking months, I still only categorize as a shag. Brilliant.
“Finally a response, I was dying over here with the cold treatment,” he smirks.
He lifts the ice-pack off of my head and places it down on the table.
“So it’s a no,” I state, looking at him and not wavering.
“Jac,” he exhales.
“Don’t Jac me Dougie, it’s a no, it’s still a no,” I say, sadness suddenly crashing through me.
But I will not break down; I will not show him my weakness. Even though inside I am almost powerless to Dougie’s advances, I am not going to show him just how vulnerable I am to him. No.
“It’s fine, we continue sneaking around, you continue to ignore me during the day, and I just continue to be your neighbour,” I say solemnly, evident unhappiness filling my words.
“Soon, I promise,” he whispers, leaning into me, placing one hand on the table and his face approaching mine.
He continues to move forward and I know what is coming next. I allow his lips to touch mine, even though my brain curses me for being so stupid. My shoulders drop from their previous apprehension-filled position, high up by my ears. The kiss is a little different this time; softer, gentler, almost as if he’s trying to apologize through actions and not words. But these actions are meaningless. Most people say that actions speak louder than words, and in most cases that is true, but not with Dougie.
For him, what he says he truly means. He puts on an act for a lot of people; for his family, his friends, the public, his band. So his actions are meaningless. But he only truly says what he means. So I wait, I wait for him to tell me what I want to hear, I wait for him to apologize for his foolish actions. I don’t know how much longer I can wait, how much longer I am willing to remain in this uncertainty and still be able to forgive him if he ever does manage to string together those words.
A familiar urgency begins to build between us and I can feel the intensity of the kiss increase exponentially. His hand grabs my thigh roughly, squeezing it as he shuffles closer to me, pushing his weight onto my body. I jump back a little at his sudden hasty touch, still feeling rejected at his actions, mostly his lack of words, but our lips remain attached, almost fused together.
As I jump back, I feel this sudden cold splash of liquid hit my shirt and dribble down to my pants. I rip from his lips and glance down to my shirt, a purple liquid sprayed all over my front.
“Shit, fuck, crap,” I curse as I quickly rush up to the sink and grab a towel, dabbing at the spilt grape juice all over my shirt and pants.
“Sorry,” Dougie giggles, getting up and making his way over to me yet again.
“What are you sorry for Dougie?” I almost hiss at him, shooting a glare his way.
“What do you mean?” he asks puzzled, stopping in his tracks at my sudden anger filled statement.
“An apology for the fucking grape juice is not what I need Dougie.”
“What do you want me to say Jac?”
I sigh loudly; how can he ask me that? I don’t want him to say anything, not because he feels he has to. It would break my heart to hear it and him not mean it; I don’t want him to say anything, I just want him to mean something for once. As sad as it sounds, I want him to want me, or even need me.
“I’m going to go and clean this up,” I say, excusing myself and making my way to the bathroom upstairs, leaving Dougie standing in the kitchen as I race up the stairs and into the small oasis that is my bathroom. I hear a few protests but I just close the door and lock it behind me, leaning against it and finally breathing in deeply to try and steady my nerves and my anger.
* * *