say hello wave goodbye

15: maybe our relationship isn't as crazy as it seems (1979)

November 1979

He can't read her face as she moves in closer, can't tell what's behind those blown pupils, and that's exactly what she wants as she watches his own drunken gaze drop lower. She gives him the tiniest of nods, the corner of her mouth twitching in what he thinks is a hint of an encouraging smile. He's so confused but the alcohol tells him to go for it, take a chance, and so he reaches out...

And she slaps his hand away, her expression dripping with scorn. "Don't you fucking touch me."

She turns her back to him, about to lie down on her side. But just before her head meets the pillow, he grabs her by her hair and forces her onto her back, crushing his mouth against hers.

"What the hell do you- get off of me!"

Stevie struggles to get away from him, turning her head so that he couldn't kiss her, but Lindsey was anticipating this and already had her bracketed by his long limbs. He bites at her exposed neck, ignoring her protests. "Just shut the fuck up."

"Let me go, you asshole." She kicks at his shins with her feet and pushes at his waist with her hands, unable to lift her arms up any higher. "If you think I'm gonna-"

She manages to get her arms freed, but before she can use them he's got her wrists pinned over her head. "Who said you had a choice?"

"Lind-"

"Didn't I tell you to shut up?" he asks, tightening his hold on her wrists as his voice gets louder. "All week you've been leading me on, putting me off because your goddamn producer's always hanging around, and then you tell me 'I'll come find you tonight,' but you never do because you're too busy snorting lines and sucking someone else's dick until I end up being the one who has to take you home so you don't end up ODing on God knows what with God knows who. So I don't really care what you want, because you fucking owe me. "

"Are you done yet?" she shouts back at him, having remained absolutely impassive through his tirade.

He growls and flips her over onto her stomach, his voice dropping to barely more than a whisper as he rests his head next to hers. "What's the word?"

She stays silent and refuses to look over at him through the curtain of her hair. She's going to test him, to see how long she can make him wait, and a sick thrill passes through her at the thought of him deciding he's just not going to wait any longer. They've played this game before and every time it feels more dangerous. Sometimes she wonders if one day they'll get to a point where it's not a game at all.

"Stevie. I'm not going to ask you again. Say it or I'm leaving," he says, his tone emotionless even though she knows he's got to be positively seething inside.

She holds her breath, hyper-focused on detecting even the barest twitch of a muscle from him. Even as she's calling his bluff, certain that he's not going anywhere, she doesn't dare take the chance that he might actually follow through. She's the one in control here and the alternative is simply unacceptable.

"Ginny," she says so quietly that she repeats herself, unsure if he could hear her. "The word's Ginny."

As soon as he lets go of her shoulder, she wriggles around underneath him until they're face to face once again. "Are you done being a little bitch?"

"Fuck you," she spits back.

"Guess not." He grabs one of her breasts roughly and squeezes it, feeling her hardened nipple beneath his palm and below that, the thump of her heartbeat. It reminds him of being back at the club on that disgusting floor with her, dragging her ass out of there just so she could get high again and crawl naked into his bed. She was taunting him, they both knew it, and he fucking hates the thought that he's giving her what she wants. But it makes it easier when she's fighting him, pushing him back as he sheds his boxers. He reaches for her wrist and puts her hand on his cock. "C'mon. Get me ready."