Model Behavior

Chapter 2: Drunken Kisses

Chpt. 2

Drunken Kisses

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The rest of the ride was quiet. I had no idea where we were going but I didn't really care.

I looked down at my phone and read a message Kristie sent me.

'Hey! I covered for your skipping ass XP

Just make sure to get me that Victoria's Secret contract and we'll be even.'

I sent her a 'thx' and continued to look out the window.

"Soooo.... where are we going?" I finally asked, bored of the same fleeting grey buildings.

"My place."

"What!?" I choked out, "Why!?"

I began imagining horrible things. And you know my imagination.

"Well I AM dripping with blood over here." He said while turning into a parking lot.

I looked down at his arm, now stickly red, "Oh yeah..."

"yeah."

He parked and we both got out of the car. We were at an old crumbling apartment building. Yet another grey, old building.

I gulped.

'Calm down.

You can kick his butt if he tries anything.' I tried to reassure myself.

He led me up some stairs and got to a door, unlocked it and held the door out for me.

I slowly walked in. Facing me was a messy queen sized bed and an old TV. On the wall where the door was, there was a sink, fridge, counter and shelves. A couple of stools were next to the counter and dishes were everywhere. There were two more doors on my right and I figured they were a bathroom and a closet.

"Uhm, welcome?" he said as he moved around me (seeing as I wasn't moving out of the doorway) and searched for some bandages in the (supposedly) bathroom.

"Thanks..." I said as I cautiously shut the door and sat down on one of the stools.

Even though the room was bare, and dusty, I typically find those the most interesting. My eyes scanned the few spider webs, the dim light coming from the curtains, the dotts on the old TV's speaker... even the cealing fan seemed really interesting.

He came out, first aid kit in hand, and sat down on the stool beside me.

Feeling useless, I got up and wet some paper towels from the sink in the kitchen area.

He took off his shirt and I tried not to stare.

'A six pack!' My girlie mind squealed happiness.

It made me hard to believe that he was a crappy fighter.

Shaking my head out of my thoughts, I began to clean his gashes.

"I'm guessing you got into another fight?" I said as I slowly placed the towel on the side of his lip, soaking up the blood.

"What makes you think that?" Jason asked smoothly. Which is hard to believe since I had a wet cloth pressed to his face.

I looked into his eyes. "Please. These wounds look like they were made with a knife, not a couple of punches." I rolled my eyes.

He smirked. "So what's your story? Most models can't do a kick like that."

I laughed, remebering the few times I had to use that sparta kick in a photoshoot (FYI, photographers are crazy). "Yeah, that's true. How do you know I model?"

I moved my hand away from his face and began wrapping his shoulder up. Once I was done I threw away all the bloody paper towels and packed the first aid kit back up.

"On the bar there's a couple of pictures of you. Most of them are ads, but yeah."

"Oh. I didn't know they had pics of me at The Place..." I trailed off.

The awkward silence set in.

So what now?

As if he was reading my mind, he said "I could take you home now If you want."

I looked at my phone. It was only noon.

"Nah. My mom will be suspicious if I show up home before school ends."

He raised his eyebrows, "How old are you?"

"How old do I look?" I smirked. I loved the age guessing game.

"21"

"Try 18."

He laughed, "Wow...How old do you think I am?"

"Hmmm..." I studied him closely, "24?"

"Close, I'm 22." He got out of his stool and walked towards the fridge.

"Wanna beer?" he asked.

I swung my legs under the stool, "Yeah."

He handed me one from across the counter and I cracked it open and took a sip.

"So your name is Rue..." He said leaning on the counter.

"Yup."

He smirked, "So you can officially say you'll rue the day"

I laughed, "that's so corny."

"Hey at least you have a cool name."

"Yeah? What about your name?"

He rolled his eyes, "Jason? It reminds me of some lame jock football player type."

I laughed again. "Wow. It does sound like a Jock's name!"

"Soooo....I have a question" I confessed as he looked up from his beer can.

"If you suck at fighting so much, why do you fight?"

He gave me a glare.

Oops, bad topic.

He sighed raggidly, "I don't know. Why DON'T you fight?" He gulped down the last of his beer and threw it into the trash can.

I looked down at my can. "Wouldn't you like to know." I muttered.

He got out of the kitchen area and turned on the TV but went back to sitting on the stool.

My back was facing him, my beer can now becoming the only thing interesting in that room.

I heard him sigh, frustrated before he wrapped his arms around my waist, my back pressing against his bare, bandaged chest. He laid his head on my shoulder, his hair tickling my neck as I could hear his slow  shallow breathing.

On another ocasion I would have slapped him, caused a huge scene, or something of that sort. But not this time.

I sighed, gulped down the last of my beer, and kissed him.

I know I'm crazy.