My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 35: Stay

Sorry for the wait, the writer's block is real, and also my aunt's in town so I've been busy hanging out with her. It's been fun, but I haven't had much time to write. There's smut in this chapter with ** around it as usual. Enjoy!

"Well, that was horrible," Rosemary said on the drive to my house from the cinema. 

"You think?" I asked, not surprised the dainty beauty queen didn't take to the gory picture, even though I'd rather liked it myself.

"Absolutely! There was no point or moral, just senseless violence; it's disgusting."

"I sort of think the moral was amorality," I said. I hated that I sounded like a jaded university professor, but continued none-the-less. "You know, that nothing means anything, and the roles we play are totally arbitrary, and how fate doesn't care what kind of a person you are."

"It's still gross."

To my surprise, Thelma popped her head out from the cramped backseat to come to my defense. "I get what you're saying, Lo, but the execution could've been cleaner."

I turned to smile hesitantly at her. "Yeah, I think sometimes things don't turn out like we hope they will when we plan them out in our heads."

Rosie seemed utterly oblivious to the moment we were having, driving straight (and acting straight) until she pulled up in front of my house. "Are you both getting off here?" she asked.

"Um..." I stared longingly at Thelma with my big, doe eyes.

"Yeah, I'm gonna chill for a while, see you around, Rose."

We climbed out and passed the three fangirls clustered outside the gate. I remembered seeing videos on the telly of the Beatles getting mauled by fans; it was nice that they'd calmed down a bit over time. Thelma stood almost too close to me; as I unlocked the door, I could feel her body heat against my back. When we finally got inside, she slid her around my waist under my t-shirt, her soft hands pressed against the fleshy part of my hips that hangs over my workout shorts.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. 

"No, I'm sorry-"

"No, no, no," she said, putting her finger to my lips. "This is my fault. I shouldn't expect endless devotion from you when I've done nothing to deserve it." She leaned in close, and I could see a tiny popcorn kernel stuck in her incisors, but it didn't gross me out or turn me off, in fact, it was strangely intimate. "At least I haven't done anything to deserve it yet."

Before we could kiss, a voice shouted at us from the living room, interrupting our moment. "Lorraine, is that you?" Paul's voice slurred slightly, meaning he was probably on his fifth or sixth drink of the evening.

"Yeah, it's me. And Thelma."

Two beats of silence passed. "Come in here."

We did as instructed, and saw Paul leaning back in his recliner wearing jeans and a shirt that had so few of the buttons buttoned, it was confusing why he even bothered wearing a shirt place. "I forgot to come pick you up after school," he confessed, taking a sipping of whiskey on the rocks. "But I see you found other arrangements, so that's good."

"Yeah, you met Thelma, right?" I said, even though that day was burned permanently into my mind.

"Of course, of course."

My friend gave a little wave. "Good to see you again, Mr. McCartney."

He forced himself out of the chair, swaggering over to us to shake Thelma's hand. "Please, call me Paul, Mr. McCartney's my father."