Chapter 5: Background Music

Over-expressed emotions can get on my nerves. People are always writing dark, dangerous stories about emotional wrecks. Frankly, this story is a half-assed attempt at a dark, dangerous story about an emotional wreck. It's just because people love to read about those who are different. If the main character is normal, what's the fun in reading about them? But taking it too far is taking it too far. When the emotions become the script and fact becomes background music, you know that your opera has gone desperately wrong. So you can just go back and fix it, right? Unless, of course, that ruined opera is your life.

And the rest of the day flew by, like wind through your hair when you're riding in a convertible with its top down. That was a very, very bad simile, but I thought I might try to spice this up a little. I guess it didn't work. Anyway, let's continue. So the rest of the day flew by. Not because it was more interesting than any other day, but simply because I can't be bothered to explain all the little, useless, unimportant things that happened to me. So we're going to say that the day flew by, and leave it at that.

10:00PM found me sitting on my bed, reading a book. Yes, I was reading a book. My social life is seriously lacking, and I've always loved snuggling up to a good book. I was just about to read the most exciting, climactic part yet, when there was a knock on my door. "God damn it, why am I always interrupted at the best parts?" I mumbled, dog-earing the book page, throwing it on the bed, walking over, and opening the door. That was a long sequence of events, wasn't it?

"I knew it," I mumbled, pulling the door open a little wider to let Chase in. I'm sure you knew that it would be Chase; if I knew, then you knew.

"Of course you did. Who else would be at your door at this hour?" Chase asked, brushing past me as politely as you can brush past a person, and launching himself onto my couch.

"A lot more people than you would think," I muttered, shutting the door behind him. I walked over to the couch and sat down next to Chase, but on the other side of the couch. It was like one of those awful teen-love flicks, where the girl and guy slowly inch closer and closer to each other while watching a movie/TV show/other program of interest. Eventually, his arm is around her shoulders, and her head is on his shoulder, or they're kissing, or something like that. I felt so silly. Fortunately, Chase thought the arrangement was silly as well; he immediately scooted over and placed his arm around me.

Well, I thought, at least we skipped the anxious inching-towards-each-other thing. There was still an element of anxiety about this situation, for me at least. Chase seemed to be completely composed. Then again, Chase is always completely composed, so no surprise there.

"So is there any particular reason why you're here?" I asked, trying to sound like I wasn't shaking inside. Okay, so maybe I wasn't that uncomfortable, but when you're randomly kissed by a guy you barely know, there's got to be some awkwardness involved when you see them later that day.

"Oh, so now I have to have a reason to come to your house?" Chase asked, mock-hurt.

"Chase my dear, we've only known each other for a few days. Even my oldest friends have to have some reason to barge in during the middle of the night!" I responded, pulling away from his a little so I could see his face. He was smiling of course; typical Chase. Then he began to pout, mockingly of course.

"But Stell, I'm special, aren't I?" he whimpered, leaning his face closer to mine and winking. I shrugged, put my hands on his shoulders, and pushed him back to where he had been before. "Stella my dear, I think I'm going to cry. Your rejection was just so cruel," Chase responded, still wearing that unbearable pout.

"Rejection from what? What were you going to do, kiss me?" That was the wrong thing to say, at least for how I had wanted to conversation to continue. There was going to be no soft-spoken admission of interest, no swoon-inducing kisses, and certainly nothing cliché and romantic about the situation. But I mucked it up, as usual, and everything that wasn't going to happen did.

First, there was the soft-spoken admission of interest. "Why Stella," Chase whispered, bringing his face back to where it had been moments before, "That's exactly what I was going to do." Then there was the swoon-inducing kiss. Well, it would have been a swoon-inducing kiss if I hadn't jumped up and run across the room. For some reason I had a serious craving for a cigarette right about then, and it also gave me an excuse to get out of this, for me, very uncomfortable situation. So I ran across the room, completely blowing Chase off, grabbed a cig from the pack on the counter, and stuck it in my mouth. I sighed; my craving was slightly relieved. I bent over, opened the closet underneath the counter, and pulled out a box of matches.

Must I really resort to {b{this? And what would have been so wrong about me kissing him anyway? I asked myself as I lit my cigarette. Puff… Well, that should have made me feel better, but it didn't. Puff… what the hell is wrong with me today? Usually a few good puffs on a cig will make me feel much better. But there was something different about this situation. It's not every day that some hot guy tries to kiss you. Frankly, no hot guy has ever tried to kiss you, my subconscious mind informed me rudely. I brushed it off; I wasn't going to let myself be insulted by… well, by myself.

"Brushed off again. Should I be offended?" Chase whispered in my ear. I screamed and jumped five feet into the air.

"Jesus Christ Chase, how did you get over here?" I asked, turning to face him and taking another puff of my cigarette.

"Well, first I got up from the couch, then I thought for a second about how I should get over to where you were, and then I remembered how to walk. So I began moving my legs, one at a time, bending one knee and then the other, until…"

"I get the picture," I muttered, cutting him off mid-monologue. I was a little too uncomfortable for sarcasm. But something was bugging me; why wasn't Chase angry? In all of the many, many romance novels and movies that I had read and seen, when the girl brushes the guy off the guy gets angry because of his absurd masculine pride, and proceeds to scream at the girl. Then said girl tells him some dumb-ass story about being hurt in her past or saving her kiss for that special someone or not wanting their relationship to go to that next step. Then he verbally slaps her in the face, very nicely of course, and kisses her anyway. So what was Chase doing not being angry?

"So, should I be offended?" Chase asked, smiling at me. But the smile didn't quite reach his eyes, as it usually did. From that I knew that Chase wasn't completely unaffected, but what was he going to do about it? Wasn't he going to try to kiss me again? Did I want him to try to kiss me again? Why was my brain turning into a complete ball of mush from just looking at him?

"Not particularly, no. I've turned down hundreds of men much nicer looking than you," I replied nonchalantly, taking another puff of my cigarette. I was going to play it cool, and make it seem like the little "incident" meant nothing to me. I was going to turn this whole situation back to what it had been in the beginning, a bout of playful teasing.

"Oh really? And what might the names of these gorgeous men be? Or do they not exist at all? Somehow you just don't strike me as the type."

"So I'm not pretty enough to be attractive to gorgeous men, is that what you're saying?" I asked, still trying to be nonchalant. Puff… okay, that was supposed to help. Why didn't it help? And why did that comment about me not being the type get to me so much? Did I really care that much about Chase's opinion? And what was with all of these questions that were running through my brain?

Chase's face went blank, all traces of his smile gone. "Of course not Stella. You're beautiful," Chase whispered, sounding incredibly serious. He was sounding a lot more serious than I had wanted this little game to go. But, then again, it was kind of my fault for taking his comment so seriously.

"That's alright Chase, you don't have to tell me lies. I know I'm not pretty; I wasn't offended. I was just joking," I replied, smiling a fake smile. So what if I was lying through my teeth? Chase didn't know me well enough to be able to tell the difference.

"I wasn't lying," Chase said, inching closer towards me. I shivered and inched back, which was a very bad idea. But we'll get to that later. At about this moment in time, I was beginning to lose my semi-good humor and got angry.

"Jesus Chase, it's okay to admit that I'm not pretty. I don't need you to validate it for me. And you're not making me feel any better about myself by lying to me," I remarked nastily, glaring at Chase as hard as I could. And, if I do say so myself, I can glare pretty damn hard when I'm angry. But then, Chase was getting angry now too. He wasn't losing control, slapping me, yelling at me, or anything quite as expressive as that. His eyes hardened though; I could see the anger in them. He wasn't glaring though; I can't really explain what was going on. It was like there was a fire in his eyes, but there was a film over the fire that kept me from really seeing it. Let's just say (too late for that now I guess) that any normal person would have been glaring if they were in the mood Chase was in at that moment.

"You really think I'm lying to you Stella? You really, really think I'm lying to you?" he asked. I had assumed it was a rhetorical question, so it was a few moments before I realized that he wanted a reply. I took a last puff of my cigarette, snuffed it out on the table (feeling rather sad about the wasted cig), and gave him a response.

"Of course. I know I'm not pretty; I think I above all others would know that. I have to be myself; I have to look at myself in the mirror every day," I said.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to prove to you how beautiful you really are," Chase replied, and kissed me. Now here is where the spine-tingling, swoon-inducing kiss occurs. I'll spare you the details; let's just say that it was very, very nice. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer, which made it even nicer. We were slowly backing up, until my hip hit the counter. Hard.

"Ouch!" I shrieked, pulling away from the kiss abruptly. I fell to the floor in a mixture of shock and pain. It was more shock than pain, but still a lot of pain. Chase immediately took action, bending over to help me to my feet. I got to my feet, but as soon as I was there my hip started to burn. I grabbed at it, as if my touch would heal it. Frankly, it did the opposite. I moaned a little and leaned up against the counter, on my good hip of course.

"That went well," I muttered, lightly rubbing the injured hip.

"Here, let my help you with that," Chase said, reaching over and picking me up. I screamed, but very softly; this time it was surprise and not pain.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked, trying to wiggle out of his grasp. That only succeeded in causing me to turn in a fashion that rubbed my bad hip against his arms. I immediately stopped squirming and lay still. Was there really anything wrong with him carrying me to my room?

He lay me down on the bed, tucked me under the covers, and even gave me a kiss (on the lips, but it was more of a peck) before taking his leave. Before he left, I called out to him. He turned around, and I said, "I'm still not convinced." He smiled and walked out the door. I never did find out what he had come to see me for.

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