Entry #528047, added on 08-22-07 @ 12:54 pm EDT
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Violet climbed out her window and walked to Drake's. His light was on and it was so dark outside that the light coming from his window illuminated the entire space between their houses. She tapped lightly on the window and waited.
She inclined her head and watched Drake get up from his bed and walk to the window. He looked at her for a few seconds, not opening the window, then clenched his jaw and opened it.
Violet forced an innocent smile. "I come bearing Will Ferrell and soda," she said, lifting the movie and the 2 liter Mr. Pibb she'd picked up on the way home.
He seemed to consider her offer, and then smiled at her and offered his hand.
Half an hour later, they sat on his living room couch, the light around them dimmed. Drake's parents were working late that night and wouldn't be home for hours. They were both used to this.
Violet was turned sideways on the couh with her feet in Drake's lap, a bowl of popcorn resting on top of them. Drake passed her the bottle of Pibb and took a swig of it before passing it back. Drake set it on the table next to the couch.
Violet tried to focus on the movie, but she was beginning to get tired. her stomach was rumbling. She'd made herself a hotdog before going to Drake's, but that had been almost an hour ago, and she was getting hungry again. She got sleepy when she got hungry.
Her eyelids were beginning to droop again when she felt something rubbing against the bottom of her foot. She moved around a bit, trying to move her foot without bothering Drake.
The feeling stopped, but only for a second. Suddenly, it got stronger, and it tickled so much that Violet pulled her leg back as a reflex.
The popcorn bowl fell to the floor, overturned, and Drake looked down at it with longing in his eyes. "Good job, Violet," he said.
She smacked him on the arm. "Well, if you hadn't been tickling my feet, I wouldn't have knocked it over."
Drake's face was perfectly serious as he said, "That wasn't me."
Violet shoved him. "Of course it was you!"
Drake shoved her back. "You have no proof."
"You want proof?" Violet demanded, holding back a laugh. She bent over and reached down toward Drake's feet, trying to pull at his shoelaces and get his shoe off at the same time.
She laughed as Drake's hands pushed on her stomach, causing her to fall back on the couch. She covered her stomach, knowing that would be the first place he would go, but his hands went around her, to her ribs.
She cried out with laughter as he poked at her ribs. She tried desperately to push his hands away with her elbows, but she was laughing too hard.
Soon, Drake was bent over her, reaching for every ticklish spot he knew of, and not leaving his hands in one place for too long.
Violet's stomach was on the verge of cramping and she cried out, "Please, Drake! Please, stop. I can't take it anymore."
His hands stopped roving and she gasped for air, her head thrown back. When she could finally caught her breath, she felt like laughing again. But the laugh caught in her throat when she looked back at Drake.
He wasn't laughing. His hands were resting lightly around her ribs and his eyes were looking right into hers. When he'd leaned over her, he had ended up between her legs and she'd automatically wrapped her legs around his while trying to gain control.
Drake took a deep breath, bracing his arms on either side of Violet to push himself up. He sat on his knees and waited for her to pull her legs back and turn so that she faced the TV.
They didn't say anything, and Violet tried once again to focus on the TV screen, but soon, her eyelids were drooping.
She opened her eyes a while later and saw nothing but darkness. She was about to gasp and sit up when she felt what had woken her up- someone was running their hand lightly down her cheek. She turned over and looked at Drake, who was crouching next to her.
She was lying down on the couch, her back to the TV screen and her feet stretched out where Drake had been earlier. "What time is it?" She asked, sitting up.
"Almost eleven," Drake answered. "If you want to stay, you can. I just didn't think you would be very comfortable on the couch."
Violet saw the TV. It was blue. She looked at Drake, who was now standing, looking down at her. "It's okay," she told him. "I'll go home."
Drake nodded and helped her climb out the window in his room.
"Goodnight," he called to her before she shut hers.
She blinked. Everything about this seemed so unfamiliar- Drake tickling her, then giving that look that he had, letting her sleep on his couch, then waking her up and saying goodnight. None of that stuff had ever happened before.
"Goodnight," she answered quietly before closing the window and crawling into bed.
Maggie was cleaning out the closet when she found it. Thomas was on the couch, having fallen asleep right after dinner, Pacey lying on top of him and Darcy curling up at his feet. She had decided to get a little bit of cleaning done before Thomas realized that he should be in bed, and had gone stright to the closet, which would take the longest.
By the door, there had been a stack of books. Most of them were old murder mysteries from back when she and Thomas had the time to read. But at the bottom of the stack, there had been an old black-leather planner markered 2005-2006, only a year ago.
In the back, between the last page and the cover, was a picture, a girl much younger than Maggie, her long hair cascading down her back, reaching to her hips. The girl was pretty, very pretty, probably in her late twenties, full lips, a slim stomach. She was wearing a tank-top and jeans, a bright smile on her face.
Maggie wanted to throw up.
That was it, wasn't it? This was the reason her husband wouldn't touch her, wouldn't say he loved her, wouldn't make love to her?
He was cheating on her.
Maggie dropped the picture and covered her face with her hands, holding back the sobs that were rising her in throat.
She was one of those women, the stupid ones who didn't notice the signs when her husband was so obviously cheating on her. Why hadn't she seen it?
She heard the bedroom door open behind her and dropped her hands, taking a deep breath.
Thomas walked in, obviously wanting to ge straight to the bed, his eyelids drooping, but then his expression changed, his eyes widening. "Maggie?" he called out.
From where she sat in the closet, she could not be seen from the room's entryway. She leaned out so that her head was visible. "I'm here."
If she hadn't known better, she would have said that there was relief on his face, but it was gone too quickly, replaced with concern. "What's wrong?" he asked, walking toward the closet.
She felt around, behind where she sat, for the glossy photo. She found it with her hands and shoved it into the back pocket of her jeans. "Nothing," she replied, throwing on a fake smile and standing up as he made his way closer.
When he got to the doorway, he looked in and, seeing the array of random things on the floor, asked, "What are you doing?"
She looked down at the books at her feet and said, "Nothing, just cleaning up in here."
He nodded, the sleepiness apparant in his facial expression.
She forced another smile. "Don't even worry about it. Let's go to bed."
And he obviously wasn't worried about it. He asked no more questions, and didn't seem suspicous. He simply fell asleep next to her in bed as she tried to make sense of the situation. Perhaps he had been having an affair last year and had now ended it. It seemed to her that he'd forgotten the photo. If he had known it was still there, he would have tried to hide it, right? Unless he didn't think she would find it.
She took a deep breath and turned over to face Thomas. They had slept with the length of the bed between them for the past few months. Maybe she should have pushed him more. Maybe if she had been more available, he would not have felt the need to go to another woman. Or girl, in this case.
Maggie fell asleep with tears in her eyes. |
© Copyright 2007 GryffindorGurl (UN: magicfreak11 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
GryffindorGurl has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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