EVECATES-ROMANCE

Avery

 

Dylan sits in front of me on the kitchen stool I brought up to the bathroom, as I run the clippers through the overgrown undercut of his damp blond hair. It’s soft and silky against my fingers and smells clean and fresh from his shower. I watch it as it falls in clumps onto the tiled floor and slowly exposes the intricate tribal pattern that adorns the lower part of his skull.

He doesn’t speak to me at all, and I wonder what I’ve done to him to make him feel angry with me. I thought we were friends. I was beginning to see him as my best friend. I felt so close to him and right now, I feel so far away that it makes my heart ache.

Using a soft brush, I flick away all of the loose hair when I’m finished, then I brush my hand over his scalp feeling the smooth skin beneath my palm. Then I pause and slowly trace my finger along the thick black lines of his tattoo design.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” I ask, when I reach the end of the pattern. I unclip the cape around his shoulders and place my hand on his bare shoulder, firm and broad. I trace my fingertips over the tattoo design there as well; a black and grey, gladiator style battle scene on one side, then on the other, there’s a colorful Japanese koi design with moving water and floating lilies to complete the scene. Each is vastly different in style but they’re both perfect works of art on his skin.

His well muscled back is still a blank canvas, as is his chest, however, he has some script written on his left ribs that is being obscured by his arm so I can’t read it. I take a crazy long time inspecting his tattoos, knowing I shouldn’t, but wanting to anyway because I’ve always wondered exactly what they looked like without his t-shirts obscuring them.

I look up at his face where it’s reflected in the mirror, and I see that his eyes are closed, as if it hurts him when I touch him. So I pull my hands away.

“Why won’t you talk to me? Have I done something? Are you angry with me?” I ask, keeping my eyes on his. He opens them, his green eyes meeting mine via our reflections and just staring at me for a moment.

“Don’t forget who you belong to, Avery” he says, before he stands and pulls his tee over his head. “Thanks for the haircut.”

Then he brushes past me and walks straight out of the bathroom, leaving me wondering what the hell happened between yesterday and today. I know he held my hand when we were with his Grams, and maybe I shouldn’t have let him. But, he seemed to need me, and I wanted to be there for him. I thought we cared about each other. I thought he cared about me.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I see the worry in my eyes and the anxiety in the pink of my cheeks. I won’t let him do this to me. I won’t let him take away the only real friend I’ve ever had…

 

Dylan

In my room, I remove my sweats and pull on a pair of jeans for work. Then I sit on the end of my bed to put on my boots, when my door bursts open and Avery storms through it as well as anyone with a cast on their foot can.

“I’m not letting you do this, Dylan! I’m not letting you push me away over…over fucking handholding!” she yells, her eyes wide and her hair looking like fire in the morning light. It’s like it’s taken on a life of it’s own and is projecting her anger. Fuck, she’s beautiful when she’s angry.

“It’s not your decision to make,” I state calmly, leaning forward to tighten my laces before I stand up and slip my wallet in my pocket, attaching the chain to my belt loop.

“And it’s not yours. What have I done to you? None of this makes any sense, Dylan. You don’t get to suddenly end our friendship without some sort of an explanation.”

“What friendship, Avery? I felt bad for making you fall and break your ankle. I helped you while you recovered. Today you’re getting your cast off. My job here is done. I don’t need to feel beholden to you anymore,” I snap, pushing her away with my words. I need her to leave me be. I need her to get out of my head and out of my dreams.

Not when she’s not mine. Not when she’s not mine.

Stubbornly, she moves toward me and pokes her finger in my chest. I can smell her hair and her skin. It makes me a little lightheaded when I’m so on edge from having her hands on me, cutting my hair, inspecting my tattoos – tracing them with her fingertips. I had to close my eyes and force myself to stay calm before my cock betrayed me and stood to attention at the intimacy of her touch. I have never let a woman touch me like that. My ink is my ink.

I close my eyes again, and when I don’t respond, she slaps both of her hands against my chest, in a futile attempt to move me. I open my eyes again. I need her to understand…she’s not mine.

But I want her to be mine.

“What is your problem?!” she demands, her ice blue eyes shining up at me with confused emotion.

She doesn’t know what she does to me. I need to make her understand. I need…

Before I can finish the thought, my instincts take over, and I grab her on either side of her face and bring my mouth down on hers. I hold her to me, my kiss demanding against her mouth. At first she responds with surprise, tensing up and pushing against my chest. Then something changes, and she relaxes into me, her hands sliding over my shoulders until her arms wrap around my neck, and she returns the kiss with equal intensity.

My head spins with a mixture of emotions, knowing this is wrong, but feeling a need so strong that I can’t seem to stop myself.

But I have to.

She’s my best friend’s girl. She’s not mine…