m&ms - tei shi
"So my brother is coming," I say.
The small electric buzz that the toaster chants criss-crosses the silence. Étienne has a shirt on, thank God. I'm too close to seeing him as a man these days. A man that can slam me against the wall and have his wretched way with me, while making me beg for more. On all fours, of course. It's a bit frightening. My imagination, that is. Not so much the possibility.
Étienne turns to look at me. His hair is long now and hides his ears. Though, I'm sure he heard me. I have large lips, but a little voice. I'm sure he heard me.
"Oh," he sighs, "I didn't know you had a brother."
I plan on saying my infamous line, 'you don't know anything about me'. But I just can't afford to sound enticing, because when a guy plays basketball and goes to the gym every single day... you just can't afford to.
"Um, yeah," I sigh, too, "So, yeah."
"Cool," he nods, reaching for Philadelphia cream cheese.
He didn't hear me.
"He's—" I start and stop.
Étienne spins around and takes a bite out of his bread.
He stuffs his mouth with more carbs. Carbs that he'll work out into muscle mass. Muscle mass that'll shock me later. My mind won't stop racing, raging.
His phone beeps and he analyzes it.
I start again, regrouping my thoughts, "Anyway, I'm going to school."
I walk out.
Last night, this boy got wasted. I, unfortunately, was the recipient of a few drunk texts. I know he drinks and parties, but nothing like that. By the time he got home, God himself was asleep. I had to get up and help him wash his own face. He vomited a bit, half in the tub, half in the toilet. That's when I hypothesized that he mixed with some drugs or something, because the world knows Étienne can hold his liquor. He's French-Canadian after all. Yes, that's a thing, especially where I live.
He was sweaty all night. I lectured him, even though he was out cold.
Then, 5 in the morning, he wakes up, showers, and decides it's okay to spoon.
Too tired to object, I put up with his Irish Spring scent and cold nose. We started talking about our philosophies.
·•●⦁·
I watch the bunch of boys smoking and slandering. They hang around those picnic tables by the campus grass. It's wet and muddy.
I walk up the stone steps to the N building. I like it because it's fairly new and renovated. On the third floor the doors are yellow. I meet up with my classmates for a chat on due dates.
"I finished my paper early," I tell Atasha.
"I'm going to finish it tonight."
"I'm ready for the holidays."
"I know, right. I'm spending it with my boyfriend. I call my parents and they're like, 'oh, we're going to the Bahamas'. I'm like okay, what about me?" she laughs.
"Parents are funny. It's like when you go to college, they forget you're their kids," I nod, in total relation to her story.
"I wish I were in the Bahamas right now."
"If my boss gives me some kind of bonus. You know where I'll be."
"Target closed down, so I've been out of a job for a while."
"Apply to H&M. They're hiring."
She nods.
Finally, the late prof comes and opens up the door, letting all the lazy students, such as myself, inside.
Then, someone taps on my left shoulder. I look to the left of me, yet no one stands there. Automatically, I look to my right and find J with a smug smile on his face. I nearly roll my eyes out of their sockets.
"What do you want?"
"Want to skip?" he asks.
I frown, "No. I'm right in front of my class."
"Come on," he says, walking backwards.
I walk in my class and drop my typed assignment on the prof's desk, then quickly sneak out, while everyone is still standing around and chatting vicariously. The old fart won't notice, because he's too busy setting up the projector.
In a minute, the halls fall empty and J is still walking backwards. He sees me coming and looks like he's ready to hear a funny joke. I just follow quietly.
"Can't believe you made me skip class," I scold, expressionlessly.
He shakes his head, "I didn't make you do anything."
Fair game.
"Where are we going?"
"A place for psychos, I guess."
Why must I like him so much? He's so dislikable. I stare at his cupid's bow. I smile quietly. His bright eyes are pronounced. I'm vulnerable and gullible under them. His jawline creates shadows that aren't even there. I want to pinch myself. I pinch myself, before he grabs my hand.
I can tell his jeans are new, as there are no holes set in them yet.
"Will we eat, at least?" I rub.
He nods, reassuringly, "Only heavenly food."
"Will there be champagne?"
"Compromise on wine."
I make an unimpressed face, which makes him snort after.
"Will the police find a dead body in the canal?"
J inhales a long breath, then replies, "Not easily."
For some reason, I like his answer. Once we reach out the building, it's pouring. The clouds cry and the rain violates me.
"How do you not have an umbrella, I mumble. We jog down the pathway.
"I've got something better," J says to me.
I find it odd that he pulls me to the lot instead of the campus. The cement finds the opportunity to trip me and grit against my sneakers. I drag my feet when he shows me a black car. The headlights flicker on when he presses the unlock button.
"Yours?" I ask.
"Got it yesterday," he answers.
"Nice," I say, drawing my finger on the wet window, "How'd you afford it?"
"I don't want to sound crude," he mentions. I open the door and hop in. He starts the engine. "But I'm one of those Jewish boys with a rich uncle."
I glance between the steering wheel and his face.
"You're Jewish?" I ask, unconvinced.
His answer is a shoulder shrug. I look at his face some more.
"Moroccan Jew."
"That sounds like a new Frappuccino from Starbucks," I play with the heating system.
He drives smoothly on the road to I don't know where.
"And what about you?"
"What about me?" I ask, raising a brow, "I'm half Jamaican, half Italian."
"Well then, you sound like a spicy pasta dish."
"At least I'm a full meal," I comment.
Talking about food makes my belly grumble. We laugh away.
"Since we're laying it all on the table," J puns, "What's your real name?"
"If I tell you, will you stalk me on Facebook?"
"Yes," he bluntly answers, with comedic smile.
I grin, "My name is Sisi."
"Jacob."
"I've heard things about you."
"Believe them."
"The thing is, Jacob," I say, letting his name grow on me. "I already have a 'one-night stand' at home. It's got two drawers and it holds my lamp quite well. It's also where I put my phone when it needs to charge. I dust it off here and there. I mean, it's got a few mug stains."
"You're hurting my feelings," he grins.
"Aren't you going to hurt mine, eventually?" I ask, pressing my lips in a tight line.
"I don't usually plan an itinerary when I take a girl out on a date."
I'm in shock and bordering comatose.
"This is a date?" I ask in hushed tones.
"No, this is not a date," he smirks.
Before, I wasn't really thinking well. Frogs jump up and down in my stomach. My head spins left and right. Oh my God. My face heats up, and I don't know what to do with myself. He can't be my boyfriend, even if he were perfect. I've never had a boyfriend, so I don't know how those things work.
"You're so lame," I try to act cool.
He grins quietly. I die slowly.
·•●⦁·