Anyone But You

Chapter 9 - Erin

Two large, heavy hands gripped my arms, pinning me against my kitchen wall. 

Dean was hollering at me for reasons I can't remember. I'm pretty sure I kept him waiting after his basketball practice.Yeah, that's it. My news paper meeting had run late again and I had run up to him ten minutes after our normal rendezvous time. Usually I was the one kept waiting, but I didn't mind because I knew Dean hated it if I was the one who was late. He may slack off, but he likes having things organized and being on time.

I couldn't exactly explain to him where I had been, either. He still didn't know that I was editor of the school paper and assumed that I kept him waiting because I was caught up studying.

We spent the entire car ride to my house in  a tense silence, his fingers white as he gripped his fancy leather steering wheel. I wanted to say something, anything, to defend myself, but when I most needed them, my words deserted me.

Now, he had me cornered, his handsome features red with rage.

I realized too late that he had asked me a question. "What could you even have been doing that was so important, you were late? Huh?" He throttled me slightly and I could feel my brains rattle.

When I didn't answer, his hand came up and hit me across the face.

I probably deserve this, I thought.

To get smacked in the face every time I kissed Nate. I shouldn't have done that to Dean. He deserves better, and I don't deserve him. Maybe I deserve to be smacked around a little. Not that Dean knows about all the kissing, though.

You're probably expecting me to defend myself. You know, about making out with someone while dating another guy. Especially when that someone is Nate.

But my only excuse is that I hadn't been thinking straight.

Well, the first time we kissed I hadn't been thinking straight. I was sad and overwhelmed and Nate was a shoulder to lean on. Someone who could listen to my problems. I never thought I would have to worry about myself blabbering about all of my problems to someone because, well, I don't talk to people about my troubles. I'm good at getting to people to talk. I mean, I'm a reporter. But the prospect of actually doing it myself? That's daunting to me.

So trust me when I say, I wasn't expecting my barriers to come down quite so easily, and pouring everything out. The next thing I knew, I was thoroughly enjoying the most passionate, ugly, bruising kiss I've ever had. Then I was running.

The second time I made the mistake of being alone with Nate, I was thinking. A lot. And none of my thoughts had to do with pinking shears with Nate Smith.

As soon as I saw who it was that smacked the papers out of hands with a swinging door, (and who else would have done something so stupid?) I should have run away screaming.

But my pride kept me there, and even forced my feet to pursue him when he tried to leave. You couldn't have expected me to let him get the last word, now could you? And he just made me feel so... angry. And alive. I haven't felt that alive in a long time.

My thoughts had become muddled again somewhere around the time that Nate shared the story of our first encounter. Something I didn't remember at all. But it was just so... dare I say it? It was sweet. And very wrong.

And then we started with the kissing again. And for the life of me, I couldn't pull myself away from him. And I don't know why that is.

All I know at the moment is the throbbing pain in my cheek and arms, which Dean were gripping again and where he would most likely leave marks. I wish I could say that it didn't hurt. That I was numb to the pain at this point. But that would be a lie. Because it hurt. It hurt a lot.