DON’T JUDGE MY INTRUSIVE STEALING SHAMPOO THOUGHTS
24
Jack : Where’s my sister?
Nate : Hungover in a spare room.
Jack : Why?
Nate : Did you not place a tie on the handle of the house you share with her?
Jack : I did… But it only meant “enter with caution” not sleepover next door!
Nate : Well, she was drunk out of her mind.
Nate : I was not going to let her get lost in the house and risk stumbling upon a scarring vision.
Jack : A little rude.
Jack : But I guess you have a point.
Nate : You’re fine with it?
Jack : Why wouldn’t I be?
Nate : Really?
Jack : The tie was a precaution, by the way. Just in case.
Jack : It did not happen.
Nate : And you’re telling me this… Why?
Jack : Because you’re my friend.
Jack : And I might or might not need to talk about it?
Nate : Okay… So, why did it not happen?
Nate : Were you in any pain or unable to…?
Jack : No, no, I was perfectly fine.
Jack : But Ikram wants us to get to know each other a little better before we jump into this.
Nate : He has a point. You don’t need to rush.
Jack : It’s just…
Jack : It’s been so long, you know?
Nate : So you’re… Nervous?
Jack : No, I’m horny.
Jack : If he would have made a move before we even had dinner, I would have been down for it.
Nate : Ah.
Nate : I’m not sure what to say to that.
Jack : Once upon a time you would have had some advice?
Nate : Yeah. Right.
Nate : Uh…
Nate : When you say “a while” how long are we really talking about?
Jack : Hm. About… 6 or 7 years.
Jack : Ish.
Nate : Wow.
Nate : Does Ikram know? How long it’s been?
Jack : He doesn’t.
Nate : Damn.
Nate : I’d be going mad too.
Jack : That’s not advice.
Nate : It’s not.
Nate : But I don’t have one.
Nate : Because I’m dumb and I’m already struggling to get my shit in order.
Jack : What do you mean? You’re seeing someone?
Nate : No.
Nate : I wish.
Nate : It’s a mess, really.
Jack : Do you want to talk about it?
Nate : Maybe later.
Nate : But not over text.
Nate : I’ll need a beer.
Jack : Let’s do something tonight.
Jack : Just you and I, like old times.
Jack : Nuri and Prue will be glad to be left alone for a night.
Nate : Sure. You can come over to my place.
Nate : It’s accessible to wheelchairs.
Jack : No way, I’ll walk. It’ll be fine.
Nate : You sure?
Jack : Yeah.
Nate : Okay then.
Nate : I hear noises upstairs. Prue might still be alive after all.
Jack : Alright. See you later at the restaurant. I’ll text you the address.
NATE
I smile to myself when I hear her soft voice cursing upstairs. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of her drunk state to talk. I did stop myself from kissing her, though, and I’m giving myself bonus points for that alone.
But she started talking. All her thoughts were just exposed. And I felt bad, but I couldn’t stop myself from drinking every one of them. And now, I know. I know that, subconsciously, being near me makes her feel the same thing I feel when I’m near her. Just intoxicated by her scent, her voice, her gaze.
I hoped she wouldn’t remember what we both said, but I’ve changed my mind. I want her to remember. Especially what I said. To know how I feel, how I’ve always felt, about her. I’ll talk to Jack. Sunday, I’ll tell him. I have to. I want to move on with her, but I don’t want to go behind his back. He has to know that I’m serious, that I’ve wanted this since that first time I met her, in that cozy coffee place on campus where he introduced us.
I turn off the cooker and empty the frying pan on two plates, a small smile on my face as I place them on the dining table. A tall glass of water and an ibuprofen are already waiting for her.
Just as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, I start to pour two espressos.
Am I bribing her with food because I feel a little guilty?
Yeah, maybe.
From the corner of my eye, I see her freeze, finally spotting me. I glance at her with a side smile and she blushes, her eyes dropping to my cheek.
The sight of her wearing nothing but my shirt? Probably one of the best ways to start my day. It reaches her mid thighs, and it’s large enough that I barely notice that she’s not wearing a bra underneath. Barely being the key word here. Because I do notice. And I shift a little when the swelling in my jeans becomes quickly uncomfortable.
Why does she keep pulling down on the hem?
“Good morning, Sweetness,” I say, clearing my throat. “Did you sleep well?”
“Hum… I—uh… Yeah. My head hurts, though. And my feet.”
I nod, grabbing the two small cups. “I made breakfast. And there’s an ibuprofen waiting for you on the table. You knocked your feet against the car door and you almost fell out of the car…”
I tilt my head towards it and follow her when she limps in this direction. She stops in front of the table, hesitating.
“Is there something wrong?” I ask, worried.
“No, I’m just—I… Shit. I’m mortified and I’m not sure I can sit in front of you. Do you think we can change the sitting arrangement you made, or—”
I place the cups on the table, next to the plates, and take another step to stand just behind her. I pull her chair without saying anything, a silent invitation to sit. She does, with a defeated sigh and I hold a chuckle.
“Why are you mortified?” I ask, ignoring her request and sitting in front of her.
“You know why,” she whines.
“Enlighten me anyway? I wouldn’t want to assume.” Or mention something she doesn’t remember.
She grabs a fork and starts to push the scrambled eggs around on her plate, her eyes fixed on it.
“Is it… Because I saw you drunk?” I try, keeping my voice innocent.
“I don’t care about that,” she mumbles. “I—I remember. And I said things. Things I shouldn’t have and that should never have—”
“Are those things the reason you feel mortified?”
“It’s many things, alright?” She sighs again, dropping the fork and rubbing her forehead, pinching the bridge of her nose, her eyes tightly shut. “I don’t know what to think. We should have talked about it last night, when I was still drunk. Now my head’s a mess and I can’t talk about it.”
“Why can’t you?” I ask, pushing the ibuprofen closer to her until she notices and takes it with one big gulp of water. “If you remember all that was said last night, you know where I stand on this. So, we should talk. About what you said, but also what I said. I want to know how you feel about it.”
“That’s the problem,” she says, leaving the now empty glass of water to trade it with the espresso. “I can’t say how I feel about all this, because the only feelings I’m able to express are negative ones! Feelings are just… Too much for me. My family is fucked up and now, unless I’m drunk, I can’t speak or understand how I feel most of the time, and it’s just—too many feelings and—”
“Hey, hey…” I lean forward, grabbing one of her hands into mine, and she stops rambling, her breathing labored. “It’s okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push.”
She nods a couple of times, her eyes fixed on her plate. Her hair is up in a chaotic messy bun atop her head but a few strands are falling over her face.
“Is Jack struggling as much as you do?” I ask softly.
She shakes her head. “He doesn’t. But because of his disease, they never berated him as much about hiding his emotions or just… expressing how he felt.”
“And… I know you’re not close to them, but how about your other siblings? Jack told me you were a family of five?”
“Yeah, well… They’re basically strangers. We all feel some kind of resentment towards each other, and trust me, that we can express. I don’t know how they’re doing now, but we never really talked. At least they didn’t talk to Jack and me.”
My thumb rubs over her knuckles and I can feel her relaxing a little. Jack wasn’t out to their parents when we met, but I knew from what he told me that they were not parents of the year. My opinion of them got worse after he did. I didn’t know it could go lower before today.
“Are you struggling to talk about how you feel with Jack too?”
She lifts the cup to her lips and takes a sip of coffee, her eyes still avoiding me. “Sometimes, yes. It’s just—I don’t really understand my own thoughts and feelings most of the time. Except anger. I can express anger just fine. But the rest? It’s difficult. Even with Jack.”
I nod slowly and give her hand a squeeze. That makes her lift her face a little, our gaze meeting.
“I’ll tell you something I’m feeling right now, is that okay?” I ask, and I see her hesitate before she nods once, not pulling her hand away from mine. “I’m feeling a little guilty.”
Her brows lift in surprise. “Why?”
“Because even though I said I didn’t want to, I kinda took advantage of you being drunk last night. A good guy wouldn’t have listened when you spoke every thought that went through your head. I shouldn’t have told you how I felt about you, because it was easier for me when I thought that maybe you would not remember.
“I’m also feeling relieved that you do. Even though it makes you uncomfortable, I’m glad I finally told you. And even if it was only the drunk you thinking, I’m relieved that it’s not one-sided. That you might be feeling something for me too.”
She sighs again. “See? I can’t say stuff like that. Even in my head it’s all mixing together, and all over the place.”
“What if I ask you questions about it? You might have to dig into “drunk you” memories, but it might be easier for the talk I really need to have with you.” Her eyes dart around the room, and she slides her bottom lip between her teeth nervously. “Or if you want to, I have some tequila somewhere…”
There . A small smile, but a smile nonetheless. We’re getting somewhere.
“Definitely not drinking tequila for a while,” she chuckles before releasing another long breath. “I guess we can try the question thing.”
I smile and her eyes slide to the side of my face again.
“Alright. For example, you said yesterday that I smelled… Safe. Why is that? With all the things you said you hate about me, I would have thought…”
She groans, turning her reddening face away. Okay, maybe not the right question but…
“I’m not sure,” she says, interrupting my thoughts. “I like your perfume. And every time I smell it, it reminds me of that time you wiped the graphite off my face with your shirt. And it might be surprising for you to hear, but when I met you I had this silly crush. I quickly pushed all thoughts of you away with the gossip going on about you having visited most of the campus’ girl’s beds and all, but that time you stepped in it just… It meant something to me. And now, when I… I smell you, it just feels… Comforting? Like you might step into any situation I’m in and… I don’t know, really, it’s silly, and now you’re looking at me with a weird smile and I’m obviously making a fool of myself because of drunk me and—”
“I like the way you smell too,” I interrupt with a chuckle. “Your hair in particular. Peaches and honey. I’ve actually considered stealing a bottle of your shampoo.”
Her eyes widen. “That would be weird,” she says, stifling a laugh.
“No judging what people are feeling,” I say, narrowing my eyes and squeezing her hand again playfully. “Especially when “drunk you” wanted me to take my shirt off to smell my skin better.”
Her face turns the same color as a ripe strawberry, and I laugh.
“Not fair, you can’t hold “drunk me” voiced thoughts against me!”
“Then don’t judge my intrusive stealing shampoo thoughts.”
She laughs now, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of that sound.
“I’ll tell you what,” I say when her laugh stops and just a smile remains on her face. “Two random feelings a day.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ll share two random feelings with each other. Everyday.” She arches a brow in confusion. “It’s easy, we see each other everyday. And if at the end of the day you still haven’t given me your thoughts, I’ll ask you questions. Like I did now.”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on, sweetness… It’s not forbidden …”
She rolls her eyes and throws a napkin at my face that I don’t even bother to dodge.
“You’re evil. Making fun of me for things I said while being drunk. Truly evil .”
“But… Is it a yes?”
“Sure. I don’t see the point, but okay.”
“Way to kill the fun out of it…” I mutter, bringing her hand to my lips and nipping at her finger. “The point is, you can try to talk about what you feel to someone who won’t judge. And get to know how I feel.”
She tries to pull her hand away with a frown, but I drop a kiss to the spot I just nipped at before I let her go.
“Are my thoughts and feelings that important to you?”
“They are. I loved hearing them last night.”
She rolls her eyes again, exhaling loudly.
“And I meant what I said before you went to bed. The feelings I have? I’m done avoiding them. And I hope you’re ready to hear all about them.”