Bad Taste (Part I) // Colby Brock

21 - Rebecca

          When Colby looked at me, I knew there was something hidden in his eyes; a secret.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into saying that."

I raised my eyebrow at him. "Then enlighten me. Right now... well, I want to punch you in the face for avoiding my question but that's besides the point."

He smiled.

"Come on, what's so dangerous about you, or whatever?"

"'Or whatever' is not a good attitude."

"Is any of my attitude good?"

"Touché," he mumbled. "But I can't tell you anything. It's not just my secret to keep — it's everyone's, even Tara's."

"Tell me," I demanded.

"Don't be nosey."

My jaw set. "You're not helping yourself here... if it's me you want, which I still don't know because" — my voice raised just barely, not enough for other tables to hear — "you won't fucking tell me."

He glared now. "Because 'all or nothing' isn't smart." His expression twisted in guilt before he hung his head. "I should be trying to get you away from me."

"Don't. You. Dare," I snarled. "You came to my door yesterday. You insisted on coming in. You told me to give it a chance. So don't you dare, now that we're here, start with the 'keep you away to protect you' bullshit. I won't stand for it."

Colby groaned and laid his head down on his folded arms on the table. He didn't lift it for a while.

"If you're self-loathing, can you please finish it later and discuss this with me now? Pretty one-fucking-sided."

Colby just grunted.

"Colby, now." I reached across the table and lifted his head up. I knew that he was just moving with my hand, that I hadn't actually picked up his head.

His gaze finally met mine. "This is going to be really difficult. I want to scream at you right now, Rebecca. At the same time, I want to take you on this table. And I want to tell you all of the things I'm feeling. And I want you to argue with me. Fight with me. It's all way too hard to handle. I don't know if we can."

"I agree that we're both difficult. I'm a bitch, you're an asshole — arguably interchangeable. We get on each other's nerves easily and it seems that we've argued every time we've seen each other." I leaned forward. "And that's because I fucking hate you for making me have feelings."

He scoffed. "You don't even know the beginning of that kind of hate."

"Oh, I do, trust me. I feel it right now sitting here. I'm wondering why I let myself get into this mess. With Tara, with you. All of it. And I'm questioning every other life choice I've ever made. I'm confident about everything I do. This, I don't know about. You can't even imagine what that's like."

"I think I know," he whispered back.

"You said you're known to take chances, right? So take the chance, slap a label on me, and see what happens."

He didn't say anything for a long time, and I thought that maybe that was it, that he would take me home and I'd only ever see him in the red room. But then he growled out under his breath at me. "Come and sit by me." It was a command.

I did it. The moment I was next to him, his hand clamped down on my thigh and tugged me closer. I moved, mostly because I couldn't do anything but focus on trying to breathe. His other hand rested on my neck, and he stared at me. I thought I might faint.