01 by Stray

Author:Stray [Stray]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2011-07-26T16:38:28+00:00

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When I got back to the living room, Ethan and Parker, who seemed least affected by the liberal flow of alcohol, were taking out their anger vicariously through a video boxing game on the huge television, their digital counterparts pixilated and nearly life-size. And very bloody.

Averting my eyes from the simulated death match, I saw that Marc had taken my seat on the couch. I stopped in the middle of the room, trying to make the floor quit rolling while I waited for him to move. By the time I realized he wasn’t going to, I was past the point of caring where I sat.

“I won’t bite,” he said, staring up at me through half-closed eyes. “This time.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes, which turned out to be a bad idea. When the room stopped pitching like the deck of a ship at sea, I relented. “Fine, scoot over.”

“There’s plenty of room.” He patted the six inches of threadbare cushion between him and the arm of the couch.

“Scoot, before I throw up on you.” That did it.

Marc moved several inches to his right, and I dropped onto the vacated cushion. My empty glass sat on the floor by my foot, and I thought about asking Parker for a refill but decided that if I was too drunk to get it myself, I was too drunk for another. That turned out to be a really good decision. It was the only smart thing I’d done all day. If only I’d done it a little earlier.

My left arm rested on the arm of the couch, my short fingernails scratching back and forth across the rough plaid pattern. The rhythm of my nails skimming over the raised threads echoed through my head like the beat of a hopelessly unimaginative drummer. For some reason, I found the sound fascinating.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Marc said, dragging me from my drunken rhythmic epiphany.

I glanced at my lap and realized our legs were touching from knee to hip. My shorts ended at midthigh, and I could feel the heat of his skin against mine through the layer of denim covering his leg. It felt so good, so familiar, even after all those years apart.

“I can hear yours, too.” I turned slowly to look at him, and my eyes were only a few inches from his. A few completely insignificant inches. His breath was warm on my cheeks and on my lips. He didn’t look drunk anymore. Maybe he wasn’t. Just because I’d done a fine job of retaining my buzz didn’t mean he had.

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered directly into my ear. His chin rested on my shoulder, bare except for the thin strap of green cotton holding my shirt on.

“I am?” I could barely speak. My pulse raced in my throat, seeming to say more than my mouth ever had. I blinked, trying to hold my head still as vertigo claimed my attention, surely the result of his declaration rather than of alcohol.

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