Slow Burn (20 page)

I feel the
bed shift as he sits up.  “I’m pretty sure you can,” he repeats, his voice hard.  “I’ve done it before.  Don’t tell me you didn’t like it, because I know you did.”

I glare at him, even as I’m blushing a little at his blunt words.  “Of course I liked it.  But I didn’t want to like it!  Damn it, we shouldn’t—we’re broken up, and I’m still pissed at you!”

Johnny sighs harshly, letting his head fall forward, damp hair falling over his eyes.  “I made a mistake,” he says quietly.  “I was drunk, and hurt—and really fucking stupid.  Please, just give me another chance.”

I hate when
he sounds so full of self-hatred like that—it makes me want to do anything to take the pain away.  I cover my eyes with one hand, shaking my head.  “I can’t do this.  I’m so confused, I don’t even know what I’m feeling anymore.  Could you just give me some space?  I can’t think when you keep messing with my head like this.”

His temper spikes, the way it always does.  He gets up and starts pacing, muscles tense.  “It’s not that complicated!  I screwed up, now I’
m trying to make up for it—the roses, the—the serenade—all those gestures you found embarrassing and stupid—were my lame attempts to win you back.”

He st
ops in front of me, leans over, planting his hands on other side of me on the bed.  “As for what happened just now…I wanted to touch you, hear you make those goddamn sexy noises you make when I put my hands on you.  Watch your face when you get off.  I wanted to, because I lie in bed every night, missing you and hating my own guts for hurting you.  I’m not trying to mess with your head.  Jesus, I just want you back.  I want you back, okay?!”

“No, it’s not okay.  Nothing about this is okay
. 
This
is a Mexican soap opera!”

I scramble off the bed with my pillow, scoop my top off the floor, and turn my back to Johnny so I can put it back on.

“You know, I’m starting to realize, our relationship was all about hormones and drama,” I continue, trying to untangle the strings, and talk over my shoulder at the same time.  “We’re just two horny, melodramatic, screwed-up people who had the misfortune to find each other.  What the hell is wrong with this damn thing?!”

Johnny comes up from behind me.  He grabs the tangled mess I’ve made and proceeds to straighten it out for me. 

“You think you’re screwed up?  You’re one of the most well-adjusted girls I know.”

“Yeah, well, you’re self-destructive, obsessive, and unstable—and I like it!”
  I stare up at the ceiling.  “So there must be something wrong with me.”

Johnny’s arms reach around me.  He positions the scraps of material over my breasts, and ties the top strings around my neck.  I hold it in place while he does the bottom
ones around my back.  His fingers brushing my skin sends shivers through my insides.  He turns me around to face him.

“You forgot conceited asshole,” he says with a little smile, keeping his hands on my shoulders.

“No, I didn’t.”  I glare up at him.  “I didn’t want to be rude.”

“Thanks.  Listen.”  His smile fades, face turning serious.  “You could fix me.”

I blink.  “What?”

Johnny shoulders straighten.  He looks me in the eye.  “Fix me.  Come on.  Consider it a personal challenge—make me a better person.”

I groan.  “There are so many things wrong with what you just said that it hurts my brain.”

He drops his hands, and starts pacing again.  “Come on, I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime, Teeny,” he coaxes.  “You’re duty bound, as a female, to accept the challenge on behalf of
all womankind.  Remake me into one of those perfect book boyfriends you keep talking about.”

I almost can’t believe what I’m hearing. 
But I can tell Johnny’s being sincere—and he’s sober!  “Okay, first of all those perfect guys in books?  They’re perfect because they’re fiction.  They don’t even have bodily functions, and if you get tired of them, you can just stop reading.”

I step in front of him to get him to stay still.  “I don’t w
ant to remake you into anything, okay?  You cheated on me, you disrespected me—and we broke up, simple as that.  Us together was kind of a disaster, anyway.”

Johnny is bewildered.  He absently rubs a hand over his shoulder.  “What are you talking about?  We’re great together.
  It’ll be even better when you fix me.”

Wow, he is actually batshit crazy.

I feel a tension headache starting to form, turning my neck muscles twisted and hard.  How does he keep doing this to me?  I want to laugh and cry at the same time.  Restraining those urges makes me feel like I’m going to explode.  I am so confused.

“I need to think,” I say finally.  I look up at him with pleading eyes.  “Can you just give me some space so I can figure things out?  I will—I will consider your offer.”

Johnny holds his hands up, palms out, and takes a step back.  “Done.”

“No more crazy stunts.”

“No crazy stunts.”

“And no threatening other guys over me.”

“No more crazy stunts.”

I sigh impatiently, folding my arms over my chest.  “And the second thing?”

He cocks his head, giving me an innocent look.  “Huh?”

I groan in defeat.  “Never mind. I’ll take what I can get.  Um, I’d better get home.  What should we do…should I take that home and wash it?”  I gesture to the bedding.  There is a big wet spot where my head was—my
soggy bun is still dripping water down my back and onto the beige carpet.

“Nah, I can throw it in Mack’s washer
,” he says dismissively.

“Okay, well…can you tell the guys I said goodbye?”  I’m too embarrassed to face them after…what happened.

“Sure.  Hey, Teeny.”

I sigh.  “
Yeah?”

Johnny moves closer to me, looking down at me with suddenly vulnerable eyes.  “Love me, or hate me—just don’t shut me out, okay
?”

“Johnny…”  What can I say to that?

He pulls me into his arms, and I go willingly enough.  He kisses me deeply, and I melt against him. 

I’m such a sucker.

******

Chapter 14

Johnny’s been behaving himself lately.  I don’t see much of him—just here and there on my way to and from class.  He always stops to say hi, how are you, like I’m any other acquaintance of his—but that’s it.  The longest he spoke to me was when we were evacuated for an hour due to a small fire or something in the girls’ bathroom.  He made sure to find me to see if I was okay, and he ended up sticking around for a little while to tell me about Aunt Jo freaking out on the janitor who discovered the fire.

I don’t even see him
at lunch, anymore.  When I casually inquire to Nick about his absence at the table, Nick informs me that he’s been eating out with Dean.

Has he lost interest in me?  Finally accepted the fact that we’re no longer together? 
I don’t know how to feel about this.  Not about Johnny eating lunch with Dean, but him treating me like I’m just a friend.  That’s what I asked for—space.  But instead of giving me clarity, I end up feeling more confused.  And so wishy-washy.  I wish I could just make up my damn mind.

I also wish that
evil bitch Kara would get locked in a cage, and groomed to death by angry howler monkeys.

“Hey, Juliet?  I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but—you have a picture of a giant penis taped to your back.”

I barely glance over my shoulder.  “Oh, that.”

Ben plucks the paper from my back and studies it closely.  “Hm.  ‘Will suck for money.’  You were aware of this?”

I let out a slow breath.  “Yeah, I was going to take it off, but I forgot.  Your girlfriend and the other sea harpies thought they were being sneaky in Spanish.  I had my blazer draped over the back of my chair during class—that’s probably whe
n they stuck it there.  Then, when I went to put it on, of course I saw it.  But they were looking at me, watching my reaction, so I made like it didn’t bother me, and put it on, anyway.”

“Okay.  Hey, what’s that in the corner?  Looks like a giant lollipop?”

“Oh, I think that’s suppose to be me.  See, that stick is my body, and I have a little tag with my name on it, in case there was confusion.  I guess I’m not important enough to get arms and legs.  No, don’t throw it away—I was saving it.  Isn’t that a cool picture?  Someone’s an artist.”

Ben chuckles, smoothing out the paper he’d started crumpling.  He hands it back to me
, and I stick it in my notebook.  “That would be Arianna.  She’s pretty good, huh?” he says, a faint hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, she’s super,” I mutter.  I shake my head slightly.  “So, why
exactly does she hate me so much?”

“Pretty girls always hate each other,” he says matter-of-factly.  He stops so I can enter the room in front of him.  “Even when they pretend to be each other’s friends.
”

“Maybe when they consider each other competition,” I say over my shoulder.  “I’
m pretty sure she doesn’t consider me competition.  More like something she stepped on that she can’t quite wipe off the bottom of her designer shoe.”

Ben laughs at that.  He swings his messenger bag onto his chair, and half-sits on his desk.  “If it makes you feel any better,
Arianna doesn’t really hate you.  I’m pretty sure it’s Kara who’s the source of all this intense—and kinda hot—animosity.”

“I
figured that, but I don’t understand why.  What have I done to her?”

Ben leans back, crossing his arms over his chest.  “Kara’s just a bitch.
  She doesn’t like sharing the limelight with anyone.”

“Yeah, well,
she’s welcome to it.” 

I frown in annoyance.  Looking up, I spot Sloane entering the room.  “Hey, what do you know about Sloane?”

He flicks a glance at her.  “What, other than the fact that she’s a pill-popping princess whom I’d like to see naked some day?”

“
Pill-popping?”  Oh, great.  When the Junkie met the Alcoholic.  That’s the last thing Heather needs.

“Oh, yeah.  The good stuff, too.  Why do you think she’s friends with Kara?  He
r parents are both psychiatrists—the kind that give out Valium like candy.”

I stare at Ben, eyes wide
in disbelief.  “Kara’s parents are psychiatrists?”

He grins, running a hand through his short blonde hair.  “Right?  How ironic will it be when she
murders both of them in her sleep?”

I immediately p
icture this scenario in my head:  Kara covered in blood with a macabre grin on her gore-covered lips, dangling a shovel from her hands as she looks down at her handiwork, lying in pieces on the blood-soaked bed.  In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida is playing in the background.

I shudder a little.  That image came way too easily.

Dean slides into his seat, bringing me back to reality.  I glance at him out of the corner of my eye.  He looks a little tired, I notice.  How does that not detract from his looks?  When I have dark circles under my eyes, I look like the living dead.  Tired Dean somehow looks like the hot tortured hero on a CW show.  And that’s without the benefit of makeup.  Unfair.

Mr. Shannon comes bustling into the room, so I take my seat next to Dean.  He doesn’t look up, which is fine.  We’ve been mostly ignoring each other lately, since last Friday.  I get the feeling he blames me for Johnny’s deranged state of mind.  If this is true, he can suck it.

I really wish Mr. Shannon wouldn’t raise his arms.  The shirt he’s wearing is too short, and every time he gestures, the hem rides up and reveals the soft pale globe of his belly.  Weirdly, no one comments, or even seems to notice.  I, however, cannot look away. 

“Okay!” he says, clapping his hands together.  “First off, all those of you who haven’t already e-mailed me your essays, go ahead and hand ‘em in now.  Th
at’s it, boys and girls, keep ‘em coming.”

Megan passes me a bunch of papers.  I place mine on the top and hand it to Dean.  He takes it, glancing down.  He appears to do a double take, and looks at me uncertainly.  I glare at him.  If this is about the tiny chocolate stain—barely noticeable—on the top left corner of my paper, well he can just save his
judgment.  Not all of us can be neat freak perfectionists.

“Now, I told you
I would have you all assigned your partners for our very first project—and I haven’t lied.  So…”  He adjusts his glasses, and shuffles through the papers on his desk, before picking one out with a big “ah-ha!”  “Now, these pairings are completely arbitrary, and if you have a problem with your assigned partner—well, you’ll just have to work it out amongst yourselves.”

Mr. Shannon calls out names—and I’m disappointed when Ben is paired with Zoey—aka Glasses Girl.   I really think he and I could have b
een a good team, and our presentation would have been full of epic memes and sarcastic observations.  Now he’ll be forced to work with someone he doesn’t like, and who doesn’t like him.  Talk about a personality clash.   I would hate to—