"Shut the fuck up." Anthony groaned in response to his brother's teasing. It didn't need to be said, we all knew the trouble ahead of us.
Tristan's car zipped through the town while the three of us sat in silence. Outside looked gray as we drove through it, a blue haze from the early evening sun painted the town. The small charcoal colored car crept to a stop as the traffic light clicked red. Slumping to the side of my seat, I rested my head on the window. The old motor shook the frame of the car, vibrating the glass and feeding my headache. I was too tired to move.
I thought I couldn't move at all until a matte black push bar came into my peripheral. The police car was parallel to us at the stop light. His tattooed arm hung out the window causally as the officer looked at me. He waved with his fingers, I smiled politely.
Anthony had turned his body the opposite way, pretending to be busy and not hiding the blood that still covered his shirt. Tristan sat unmoved, focused on the road ahead and begging for a green light. The minute felt like an hour as the seconds passed slowly. Finally the light did change and with that the officer turned down the other road.
The three of us simultaneously exhaled.
"I'm going to need a strong drink when we get home." Tristan laughed. Anthony and I were a bit too drained for any humor at the moment. We hurried cautiously to the boys' neighborhood and drove to the top of a hill at the end of the road. The very last house was theirs; a modern two story home tucked into the side of a tall hill that was otherwise fenced off for a distant cattle farm. A few large black cows wandered along the wire fence, trying to eat at the green grass of Anthony's front lawn.
Pruning a pink flowering bush by the larger window facing the street, stood his mom. Her long platinum blonde hair was neatly swept back under a bright pink baseball cap. She didn't seem to notice Tristan's car pulling up or parking in front of the house, until we stepped out and the doors slammed shut. His mom did a double take over her shoulder as Anthony led the way towards the front door.
Her arms went up in annoyance, "Anthony. Now what did you do?"
"It's nothing, mom." He said, trying to avoid her.
She pulled off her gardening gloves, pointing to his stained shirt, "This is not nothing. What did you do, Anthony?"
"It's fine, mom. We handled it." Tristan hugged her from the side.
Sucking her teeth, she sighed. "Oh, I know you did, honey."
Anthony tried to move past her once more. She blocked the door and locked eyes with me. "Who's that?"
"Hi, I'm Stephanie. Nice to meet you." I said nervously. I reached my hand out to shake hers, but she didn't accept my greeting. Instead, she looked back up at Anthony with a disappointed scowl.
"Your father is not going to be happy-"
"Yes. I'm well aware." He snapped back with a deeply irritated tone. She finally moved, the three of us making our way into the dark and quiet house.
Everything inside was expertly curated. The walls were all painted a deep wine purple, large gold frames wrapped around prints of painting and family portraits, besides two leather recliners all of the furniture matched the color scheme closely. I could tell Anthony's mom had made all the choices with heavy consideration, from the decorative pillows all the way down to dozens of fake plants. It was clear she tried to achieve a very sophisticated aesthetic; it felt to me like an Italian restaurant.
Walking out of the kitchen with a cup of hot coffee, Anthony's dad was startled by us. Tristan continued walking past him, and straight out the back door.
"Anthony, what the hell did you do?" He asked.
I looked on as Anthony's fists and jaw clenched. His dad shifted his weight, his brows pressed together. The air between them was thick with tension as the two stood in a silent stare down. A tidal wave of anger rushed inside Anthony. I began to worry that he had no patience for holding his frustration after the incident this afternoon.
"Hi, Mr. Slater!" I blurted out, "I'm Stephanie. Anthony's told me a lot about you."
"No he hasn't." His dad grumbled a reply. He took a long, slow, sip of his drink, keeping his light colored eyes fixed on his son's battered hands. Anthony's dad kept his hair short and slicked back with gel. It was a dark brown all around his head except for a half inch of solid gray growing from his roots. He didn't have lots of wrinkles but the ones he did were very deep. Mr. Slater's powder blue polo shirt was freshly ironed, as were his jeans. Even his crisp white tennis shoes were perfectly knotted; this was not a man who left wiggle room for error.
I smiled awkwardly, looking back and forth between the two of them. It felt like a game: the first one to talk, the first one to move, loses.
It was a draw; the game ended as Anthony's little sister made her way down the stairs. Gasping dramatically as she ripped the sparkly silver headphones off, she began fanning herself with one hand as she sat clumsily on the steps.
"Oh my god, Anthony! You know I'm sensitive to blood!" She moaned, practically hyperventilating.
His sister looked about my age. Her hair was the exact same shade of yellow as their mom, but it was pin straight down both sides of her head. Jingling with each wave of her hand, I watched her many silver charm bracelets shake. Like many of the other more popular girls at school, Anthony's sister wore a crushed velvet tracksuit. Several of the rhinestones had fallen off of the lavender fabric, but it sparkled nonetheless.
Her head leaned back drastically as she cried, "I hate blood. That's literally so gross. What is wrong with you?"
"No one asked you to look." Anthony rolled his eyes.
She pretended to gag as tears came down her cheeks.
Taking the opportunity to go back to his business, Mr. Slater spoke to Anthony with a low voice, "Get cleaned up and come talk to me. Alone."
I watched as he walked down the hall to his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Anthony had enough of the drama and led me upstairs. We squeezed past his sister and followed the steps to a narrow hall. The wall was not finished being painted; I wasn't sure if it was beige and being painted red, or the other way around. Three recessed lights overhead guided the way to the very last door and Anthony's room.
I don't know what I was expecting, but I was enamored with what waited on the other side of the door. The walls were navy blue, making it feel even darker than it already was. Everything else in the room made me want to smile. I felt like I was stepping foot onto the set of a 90's family sit-com. The worn down wood furniture, the red plaid quilt half off his bed, clothes strewn across the floor, old teddy bears on the shelf, and the posters of famous old baseball players all encapsulated a feeling entirely different from the rest of his house. This was a space for his own comfort.
Anthony closed the door and immediately pulled off his shirt. He dropped the shirt in a wicker basket before rummaging through his closet. I found myself struggling to look at anything else.
His muscles glistened. Anthony's broad shoulders only accentuated his narrow waist, every inch in between laid with well defined muscles. Like a marble statue of a Roman warrior, I wanted to reach out and rub my fingers against his body.
Whoa, play it cool, Steph. I shook my head, wiping away the thought. At least, I tried.
"Here, come with me." With an arm full of fresh clothes, he led me back into the hallway. Across from his door was the bathroom.
Anthony set down a t- shirt, a pair of boxer briefs, and tall socks that were rolled into a ball. Leaning under the sink, he pulled out a freshly folded and very fluffy green towel. I watched on silently as he slid the glass door back on the shower to turn the water on. He waited with his fingers in the water until it got warm.
"I'm going to step out while you get in. Then I'll come grab your clothes and wash them. Take your time in the shower- there should be shampoo and stuff- do you need anything else?"
"No." I gently rested my hand on the side of his face, running my thumb over the bandage above his eye. The blood had soaked all the way through so quickly, I wondered if he was going to need stitches.
He kissed my palm and made his way to the door. I slid off my sneakers and dropped my clothes by the door before stepping over the high ledge of the tub and into the shower.
This feels amazing. The hot water against my skin was like a massage. The water at my feet was a murky pink. I had not even noticed that I had blood on my hands too.
***
Once I was dried and dressed, I made my way back to Anthony's room. My long wet hair dripped down the back of the shirt he gave me; the graphic was faded but it looked to be the school's mascot on the front of the extra large shirt. I had to roll the waistband of his boxers twice in order for them to stay on. Wearing my Anthony's clothes made me feel so tiny.
"You have no idea what you're talking about!" I heard Anthony yell just as I opened the door to his room. He was downstairs arguing with his parents.
"I know enough. I know you were completely normal, then you met some girl and now everything has changed. You're always out of the house, you're skipping practices, and now you're beating people up? What in the world has gotten into you?"
"Some little girlfriend isn't worth this kind of trouble." His mom added.
"She's not some little girlfriend- I am in love with her!"
His dad snapped, "I don't want to hear it, Anthony! This isn't up for discussion."
"Of course not. You don't give a shit what I have to say."
"That's enough. First thing in the morning, you take her home and then you're done. All of this is over. You're letting some girl ruin your future."
My stomach dropped at the words. I can't blame his dad for feeling that way. I have been a troublesome burden to Anthony since the day he first messaged me.
They bickered some more, but I could no longer understand them. I did not care to find out what other ways I was being disappointing to his family. Settling on the edge of his bed, I pulled the heavy red blanket around myself. I could still hear murmurs of their argument through the floor. Was I really disrupting his life this much?
Just then, the door swung open and slammed shut. Anthony dropped a large first aid kit on the end table by the door. He exhaled heavily through his nose, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor.
"Sorry if you heard any of that."
"No," I lied, "I only just got out of the shower. Are you okay?"
I straightened up as he looked at me. His eyes softened as he began to smile.
"You look good in my clothes."
I blushed. Anthony made his way across the room with the first aid kit in hand. The bed wobbled when he sat down heavily. He rubbed the back of his neck, "Would you mind-"
"Oh! Yeah, I got it." I interrupted, rummaging through the box of mix-matched medical supplies.
I wiped at his brow with antiseptic and gauze before pulling the wound shut with butterfly closures. I remembered how my mom used those narrow bandages on my dad when hurt and refused to go to the doctor. It left a scar, but it healed.
"You should put some ice on your hand." I said.
"I'll grab an ice pack later. I don't really want to go back down there right now."
I dabbed the gauze on his bruised knuckles, "Thank you, by the way. For standing up for me. Again."
"I told you, I am going to protect you for the rest of my life. Whatever it takes." he replied, using a finger to tilt my chin so that I was looking into his beautiful hazel eyes. I trusted him implicitly. As I met his loving gaze, I knew that he was being truthful with me and about me. Yet, I couldn't help but feel guilty.
"You shouldn't have to keep putting yourself in these situations because of me. I don't want you to get hurt or in some kind of trouble because of me."
"Would you rather I just let that human trash take you somewhere?" He laughed. I shook my head. "What were you doing with him anyway?"
"I wasn't with him. He just showed up..."
"I know." he paused for a moment, "He deserved it."
Agreed.
"Can I ask you something?" I twisted my hands quietly for a moment before being a bit too honest, "What was all that stuff he said about Sara and you being hurt?"
Anthony's smile faded quickly, his leg bouncing nervously.
"Sorry. If you don't want to talk about it..."
"No, it's okay. I had to tell you at some point. The thing with Sara, that's nothing. She's been friends with Jenny and Monica for a long time, and they always kind of hung out with me and the guys. I never paid much attention to the girls. But I guess Sara had feelings for me. Brett and Monica have been off and on forever, and apparently Monica thought it would be cute if Sara and I got together so we could double date or whatever. I talked to Jenny about you and Monica didn't want Sara to miss her chance or whatever. She ended up telling Sara that I had feelings for her and that she should make a move. She tried a few times, I rejected her, she took it hard. But I promise you, that's all it was."
I nodded. "Just a misunderstanding. I get it. It's gotta be hard for anyone to hangout with you and not get to kiss you."
He laughed. Pulling himself on the middle of the bed, Anthony opened his arms, inviting me over. I snuggled close beside him, looking through his window, I could see the stars beginning to shine.
"About me being hurt, though... I don't know how that little snake found out. I wasn't really hurt. I was sick. They didn't know what was wrong at first and I ended up being stuck in the hospital for a few months. It sucked. That's why we missed the registration for school. I got behind on everything and... I couldn't walk. The wheelchair and all the doctors and tests- that was the worst thing I've gone through. It's really hard to talk about."
"Anthony, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked." I propped myself up on his chest, looking at his uncomfortable smirk with heavy concern.
"There's nothing you can't ask me. I want to be with you for the rest of my life, Stephanie. At some point, we're going to know everything about each other. Nothing about me is off limits to you."
"You keep saying that. Talking to me like we've been together for years and you're planning to propose. How can you possibly feel like that about me? How is this real?"
Flashing me his ever confident smile and tucking my wavy wet hair behind my ear, Anthony didn't hesitate to give me his answer. "You are the prettiest girl I have ever seen. From the moment I saw you, I knew you were something special. Then we started talking and I realized you were everything I have ever wanted. I knew I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't get you. We were made for each other. Life is so much better with you. I don't really know if I believe in soulmates, but I know for a fact that you are mine. I never want to be away from you."
"Neither do I." I smiled, "We're just meant to be."
As I rested in his embrace, my body was hit with a wave of exhaustion. All at once, I could hardly keep my eyes open. Anthony's body radiated heat underneath me. His arms remained wrapped around me, his muscles firm but soft. I had never felt so comfortable in my life. As I rose and fell with his chest, I could hear our hearts beating in sync. His steady breath lulled me to sleep.
The cold nighttime air poured over us from the open window. Down below, a symphony of crickets filled the quiet street. I was pretty sure I heard something about me needing to stay in the other room if I was going to stay the night. I was even more sure that no one could pry me from Anthony's arms.