Slow Burn (7 page)

If not for all the questions and drama that would surely arise, I’d want to call Heather and tell her she was right.

Tonight was very memorable.

******

Chapter 5

The small house is quiet and dark, and I prefer it this way.  Mom’s working a double shift at the hospital, and—as she often does—is sleeping there tonight.  She’s hardly ever home, which is fine.  I start a load of laundry, since I just remembered her saying she didn’t have any clean scrubs left.  I would wash Nick’s shirt, but it’s torn, so I toss it in the trash along with mine.  I guess I owe him a new one, though I doubt he’ll care.

I’m  throwing out everything that
could possibly remind me of Johnny—every picture, every stuffed animal, every memento—except for Carnie Horse.  All his stupid little gifts were starting to clutter up my room, anyway.  I start the shower and strip off my jeans.  When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, standing there in my fancy pink lingerie, I am disgusted.  My bra is sticky and gross from the drink that idiot at the party spilled on me.  I peel it off and throw it in the trash.  I throw the thong away, too, because I’m sure I won’t be wearing it again.  I try to yank the elastic ponytail holder out of my hair, and it ends up getting tangled in the strands.  My eyes water as I accidentally pull roots out.  I end up getting the scissors and cutting the damn thing out.  I lunge for the shower, attempting to drown myself under the hot spray.

Why is it so comforting to cry in the shower?
  With the right kind of nozzle, a shower can feel like a warm full body hug.  And I mean that in the least dirtiest way possible.

People
cheat, I get that.  Sadly, many of the people I know have been cheated on, or cheated on their significant other with someone else.  Hell, a lot of the gossip at Jefferson High (my former school) was about who cheated on whom with whom.  Seems to me that a lot of them do it just for the drama it creates.  Stupid.  If you want to be with someone, then be with them.  If you find yourself attracted to someone else, then break up with your significant other and go nuts.  If you truly care about her/him—then show some damn restraint!  Maybe it’s not so black and white, but from my viewpoint (being the one cheated on), it seems pretty damn simple.

I’m wrecked, shocked—but above all,
I’m pissed.  I probably shouldn’t be surprised, considering Johnny’s unstable bad boy rep.  Damn it, I knew I couldn’t trust him!  I’m so…disappointed in him.  I expected better—I thought he was better than that.  And the worst thing?  His excuse to cheat on me was revenge.  He could have asked me.  If he couldn’t respect me enough to have one
ounce
of trust in me, then he could have talked to me instead of blindly believing Arianna—a known liar.  The girl who claimed that the governor of Massachusetts was so in love with her that he erected a statue of her likeness in front of some small town’s chamber of commerce.  Such a lie—the statue was of Lizzie Borden, and I seriously doubt the governor even knows of Arianna’s existence.

Anyway.

The only conclusion I can reach is that my boyfriend was just looking for an excuse to hook up with another girl.  God, I can’t get that picture out of my head.  How could he?  I thought we belonged only to each other.  He said I was his whole world, which I thought was both scary and romantic.

I hate him.  I
hate
him!  So…how can I miss him?  Johnny Parker… 

Fricken disease.

The pounding scares the crap out of me. 
I’ve got my baseball bat and my phone out, ready to dial 911—when I hear my name being shouted outside.

“Juliet!  Juliet!”

Oh, great.

I peer out the front window.  Johnny is standing on the front lawn, giving the neighbors a good show, and pissing off all their dogs.

“I’m sorry!”  he’s shouting, running both hands through his tousled locks.  “I’m so damn sorry!  I fucked up.”

No, really? 

Lights are turning on in my sleepy little cul de sac.  The old woman who lives next door—I don’t know her name—but she is so the type to call the cops on us.  Sighing, I unlock the door, and crack it open.

Johnny’s eyes widen at the sight of me.  I gesture for him to come in, and he comes racing up the
steps, trying to push his way through.

I hold firm, one foot braced against the door to keep it just barely open.  “What do you want, Johnny?”

“Teeny, let me in,” he pleads, squeezing a hand through the crack to touch my face.  “I need to talk to you.  Please!”

“There’s nothing to talk about.  Go.  Away.”

“I can’t do that.  I need to be with you.  Please, just give me a chance—I swear I’ll make it up to you!  I’ll do anything you want—I’ll stop drinking, I’ll—”

“Okay,” I say, leaning against
the door jamb.  “Can you un-screw her?”

Pain flash
es through his eyes.  “I didn’t—”

“
No?  Okay, bye, then.”

I attempt to slam the door in his face, but he easily stops me with an outstretched arm.
  He muscles his way through, and I seriously consider using my bat on him.  Nah, I’ve already physically assaulted him enough for the night.

Johnny
looks awful.  Well, awful in that sexy way that only hot guys can pull off.  You know…bloodshot eyes, messy hair, tormented?  My eyes are swollen, my hair is a mess—and I’m about as sexy as a potato.

But Johnny’s looking at me like he’s starving and I’m a steak dinner.  His eyes fall on me, approving and possessive.  “You’re wearing my shirt,” he says huskily.

I glance down.  I hadn’t even realized…My favorite sleep shirt happens to be an old jersey of his.  He left it here one day, and I’d claimed it for my own.  It’s huge on me.

Shrugging, I casually strip out of the shirt and throw it at him.  He catches it against his chest, dumbstruck.  I go over to the hall closet and find a hoodie, slip it on, and zip it up.

There, asshole.  That’s the last time you’ll be seeing them.

“Juliet.”  He moves towards me, expression darkening in that intense way that means he’s turned on.

“Nope,” I say, and head for the kitchen.  He follows right on my ass.

He’s refusing to give me any space.  I lean against the stove, and he’s right there—crowding me in with his familiar smell and heated presence.

“I know I can’t make it right, but just let me explain, okay?”

I turn my head away, refusing to acknowledge him.  I don’t want to do this, not now. 
I’m afraid I don’t have the strength.  To not let him kiss me, and make it all better.

“After we won the game, and everyone
was celebrating…the first thing I did was look for you.  You weren’t there, of course—you hardly ever are.  And I get that you have a life, and shit, but sometimes…I don’t know.  Sometimes I feel like I’m low on the list of your priorities.”

I roll my eyes so hard I give myself a headache.

“Dani was there.  She comes to all the games, and she always makes it a point to find me and give me a big hug and congratulate me.  We’re friends, we hang out with the same group of people.  And she...”

I grit my teeth, and shake my h
ead.  “What is the point in retelling the events that led up to the grand finale?  We all know how it turns out.”

Johnny gently grabs my face with both hands and forces me to look at him.  “I have to explain, okay?”

I jerk my face away.  “Whatever.”

I feel the sigh coursing through his body before he continues.  “I should have never started drinking, but…I don’t know.  I was excited, and I needed to let off some steam. 
I was counting the minutes, waiting for you to get there, and Dani just kind of glued herself to my side.  Then Arianna…”

“She said she had just come from the mall, and she saw you there, making out with some guy.  At first, I didn’t believe her—but she had pictures on her phone.  You and some dickhead—he had his arms around you.  You were walking close together—and there was one where he was touching your face, and you were smiling and looking at him—”

“Smiling and looking at him?” I interrupt, my voice horror-filled.  “In a crowded mall, of all places?  Damn me and my slutty ways!”

Johnny just gives me a look.  “When she showed me the pictures…I thought you had ditched me to be with him.  I got so pissed.  I started really knocking back the drinks.  Then Kara said—”

“Kara?  That redheaded bitch?” I snap.  “What could she possibly have to say, considering I never met her until tonight?!”

He frowns.  “She’s my friend.  She…”  He wisely trails off on his own, putting his hands on my shoulders.  “Look, it was a huge mistake.  I didn’t mean for
it go that far with Dani.  I was stupid drunk, and—”

“And what?”  I give him an incredulous look.
  “You tripped and fell into her vagina?”

“I didn’t have sex with her!  I never intended to.  We were fooling around, and it got a little out of hand—”

“A
little
?!  I saw you, Johnny!  You weren’t that drunk.  And the way you looked at me…and the things you said…”

“I know, I’m an asshole.  I wanted to piss you off.
”  He closes his eyes, face full of useless regret.  When he opens them again, they’re shiny with unshed tears.  “I’m messed up, right?  I destroy everything I love.”

Love? 
Oh, now he can say the word.  That’s just awesome.

I try to pull away again, but he doesn’t let me.  “Please,” he begs, lowering his face to mine.  “Give me another chance.  Don’t let me ruin us.”

I take in a shuddering breath, trying to steel myself.  “Have you done this before?” I ask almost fearfully.  “Cheated on me?  You did it so easily tonight.”

Johnny catches my face with both hands and looks me dead in the eye.  “I swear to god—I’ve never even looked at another girl since I met you.  Tonight was—I don’t even know.  It’s always been just you, Juliet.”

The next thing I know, we’re kissing—passionately, desperately.  I can’t tell you who reached for who first.  I can’t even tell you that there wasn’t biting involved.

You know the really sick part?  I’ve never been more turned on.

“Juliet,” Johnny whispers, dragging down the zipper of my hoodie.

I suddenly come b
ack to myself, pushing him away.  “No.  Stop.”

“I can make this up to you.  I swear.”

“We’re over.  We were over the second you believed the words coming out of some lying bitch’s mouth.  Go home, Johnny.”

I jerk myself out of his arms, and this time, he releases his hold, shoulders slumping.  But as I start walking away from him, he says quietly, “I’m never letting you go.”

Why does it sound like a threat?

Oh, yeah.  Because that’s what the stalker said to the girl right after he tied her up and left her in his basement for a year.

The next mor
ning, I stumble into the downstairs, only half-awake.  I need caffeine…I need…what’s that s smell?  Nose wrinkling, I walk into the kitchen, and almost bump into my mother carrying a steaming cup of coffee.

“Careful,” Mom hisses, wincing as the hot liquid sloshes out of her mug.

“Sorry!” I gasp.  I wet a dish towel and hand it to her.  “Did you get burned?”

“No, it’s fine.”  She takes the towel and wipes her hand and the sides of the cup.
  Then she gives me a hard look.  “You look worse than I do.  Rough night?”

I collapse at the kitchen t
able burying my head in my arms.  “Boys suck,” I groan.

“Yeah, they do,” she agrees readily.  “Speaking of boys, did you know there’s one asleep on our lawn right now?”

My head shoots up so fast I give myself whiplash.  “What?”

“That boyfriend of yours.” 

Mom points toward the front of the house, eyebrows raised.  I run into the living room and peek out the curtains.

And there’s Johnny, lying under the big oak tree in our front yard.  His jacket is
bunched up under his head, used as a makeshift pillow, his hands resting on his stomach.  He looks like an innocent little boy, sleeping there so peacefully.  I bite back a scream of exasperation.

Mom is
sitting at the table, calmly sipping her coffee when I stomp back into the kitchen.

“He’s an idiot!” I seethe, plopping down next to her.

There’s a spark of malice in her usually calm eyes.  “Want me to turn the sprinklers on him?”

I consider it—for a very brief moment.
  “No.  Let’s just leave him.  He’ll get the hint eventually, and go home.”

Mom just shrugs.  I wait to see if she’ll ask me about it—but she doesn’t.  “What are your plans for today?” she asks instead.

“Oh…I guess I’ll head over to Dad’s in a bit.  I’ll be back tomorrow before dark.  What about you?  What time do you go in today?”