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(No) questions asked
They’ve been doing this for a while now, so he barely questions it anymore.
Flirting, teasing, getting into it.
First, they drink. Then, they glance at each other.
Just a cheeky smile on her lips. Sometimes he’d like to get a longer look at her perfect face, into those gorgeous eyes. It doesn’t need much more for him to be turned on. But she can’t know that. That’s not how it works. He needs her to desire him, and she might not do that if he just gives in to her freely.
He needs to keep it cool.
So, off they sneak into the bathroom. The one they’ve claimed for their “exchanges” when they drunkenly started this. No questions asked.
Now that he’d been to her place, they can take this further, always further.
Abby gives him that grin, bites her lip and rushes to the sink.
It’s hard for him to hold back, now that they’ve gone all the way. But she doesn’t seem to mind. She never seems to mind.
No matter how sad she looks before.
But he tells himself that’s what he’s here for. To make her feel good with whatever shitty thing is happening elsewhere in her life. This. The two of them, breathing hard against each other, pressing their lips on each other’s, exploring with their tongues.
Right here and now in this moment – this is all there is.
She sits herself up on the sink, so he can grab her perfect legs and out of habit he calls her “whale legs” and she freezes for a second, rolls her eyes at him, but sinks into him again, into a passionate but hectic kiss.
She wants more and more and more.
But that’s when he suddenly stops.
His brain is messed up from the booze and his body wants to take her here and now.
Still, he stops, takes a deep breath. And a step back.
He takes in her whole body. Her petite shape, her confused yet deeply beautiful eyes. He eyes her tiny thighs, remembers the tape he felt under her jeans and shakes his head, swallows.
“You know I’m being sarcastic when I call you that, right?” He searches her eyes, waits for a reaction that tells him, that’s what she got from him teasing her. That that’s all he did. Teasing her. Because clearly, she’s the slimmest and tiniest person he knows. And whales don’t have legs. Which is why it doesn’t even make sense. That’s the point.
And she knows this. Right?
But she’s hesitating, her face turns to stone, which makes him think she doesn’t know.
Shit.
“Just shut up,” she blurts and reaches for his arms, to grab him, to close in on him, reaching with her lips for his.
But his heart suddenly sinks.
“Abby …” He can feel her breath on his skin, looks into her eyes which makes her look away. “Abby, you’re aware you’re the most petite person I know. You’re fucking beautiful, I just don’t want you to …” What? What doesn’t he want? “I just figured you knew I was making a joke. You don’t need to tape your legs. Whales don’t have legs, remember? You barely have legs.”
Abby freezes again, pushes him away.
“Fuck you, Press!” She breathes hard, looks around the room as if looking for an escape. Then she shakes her head and stares him in the eyes, accusingly. “Are we doing this or what?” She rubs her hands over her jeans, like she does.
Because she must think her thighs are too big.
Was that him? Is she thinking that because of him?
“Fuck …” He sighs, tries to remember all the exchanges with her. All these moments, he never paid much attention to. Does he ever really see her eat? Might she even be sneaking into the bathroom after she did eat?
Damn, his head is too fuzzy for this.
But it dawns on him, that he fucked up. That this girl he clearly can’t keep his eyes or fingers off, this girl that’s looking way too sad all the time, is taking his words seriously.
That she is taking all the things way too seriously.
So, maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he was never the one making her feel better. Maybe he made it worse. And maybe he should just keep his hands to himself.
“What?” her voice rises, like she’s getting impatient. She keeps rubbing her thighs, breathes hard. “What, now I’m suddenly too small or too slim or what the hell?” Her voice is getting louder, and breaks. “What the fuck is up?” Her face is deeply, so damn deeply sad, all doom and gloom, tears springing into her eyes, so he feels the urge to hug her.
Would it be okay to hug her? That’s not what they do. That’s not how they roll. Not him and Abby.
“No, of course not. Shit.” He takes a step back, tries to figure this out. Maybe he should just go, not interfere with her shit. But wouldn’t that make him an even bigger douche? He’s an asshole. He wants to be this asshole that nobody takes seriously. That’s his thing. If he doesn’t have that, what else defines him? He’s neither smart nor can he sing or dance or get anything right.
He swallows.
She has a certain longing in her eyes, a longing for him.
And for a long moment they just stare at each other.
Then, suddenly, she looks down, nods.
“Okay. Got it.” She says this like the weight of the world just crushed her. Her voice all broken and guarded. “It’s not like this was anything.” She looks up, her lips pressed together like she’s holding back a trillion words. “It was fun while it lasted.” And a broken smile that makes his heart clench.
She heads to the door, no, rushes for the door, but Press steps in front of it, basically towers over her. Because that’s just how tiny she is.
Why did he just do that?
He frowns. Because he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.
“Can we …” He hesitates, doesn’t really know how to say what he wants to say, not even sure he actually wants to say anything at all. Fuck, talking to people is hard. No, scratch that, talking about real shit is hard. “Do you want to talk?”
Abby’s eyes go wide as she just stares at him, dumbstruck.
“Talk?” She says the word as if it’s the most impossible thing in the universe. Then she laughs out loud, like this is the biggest joke of the century. “You want to talk?”
He swallows, feels his pulse quicken, because suddenly he’s put himself out there into something he’s not comfortable with. This fucking sucks. He should have just hooked up with her and be done with it. End this thing and don’t make this girl feel more miserable than she already does.
He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, then nods. Now he can’t stuff the words back into his mouth anyways, so he might as well go with it.
He might as well try to not be an asshole for once.
“Talk,” he finally confirms.
“Talk. About what?” She crosses her arms, glances at the door handle, as if waiting for the possibility to bolt.
Talk. About what? Indeed. How does this work?
“Listen,” he starts, not even sure where he will be going with this. He needs to wing this. “I … How long have you known me? I say stupid stuff all the time. I don’t want you to like … fuck up your legs with that tape or fuck up your body because some bullshit I said. I never mean anything I say.” He shrugs.
He was hoping this would get her to understand, that she’s fine, her body is fine, but instead, she frowns at him.
“Screw you, Press! This is not about you! I … Fuck! This is none of your business!”
Her eyes are doing this thing again, where they get al glassy and red, but she holds back every tear that could possibly escape.
He holds up his hands right away. “Sorry. I-”
“Just let me out! Let’s just stop this …” She gestures with frustration. “This whatever! I’m so done with all of this. Why can’t shit just work out for once?!” She breathes heavily and Press is about to step away, to just let her go.
They are both still way too drunk. She’s gonna be fine when she’s sober. Right?
But what if she’s not? He shouldn’t … but he doesn’t want to end this right here and right now. He wants to keep kissing her, hooking up or whatever and …
Without really even thinking about it, he puts his arms around her, pulls her in. He holds his breath for a moment. And so does she. He can feel her stop. Just stop. Every movement.
She lets him.
Until she doesn’t.
“Let me go,” she whispers in his arms, but she is also clearly crying now. He can feel her body shaking and holds on a little tighter, then nods into her fruity smelling hair.
“Okay …” He starts to let go when she clings to him even tighter.
And cries harder.
He holds on to her again.
So … he is supposed to be the asshole, make fun of her for crying. He’s supposed to tease her and tell her how ugly her face is when it’s all red and swollen up from crying.
But he knows it’s all lies.
This girl is beautiful and he’s gonna tell her.
Over and over again he’s gonna tell her. Until she believes it.
But first he’s gonna let her cry as long as she needs to.
He's running his hand slowly over her hair, over her back. Again and again.
As long as she wants him to.
And he’s gonna ask the questions he needs to.
Maybe, just for Abby, he’s gonna stop being an asshole.
Okay, he’s not gonna stop. But maybe he can be a little better. At least to her. At least sometimes.
He’s gonna try.