Of Nemeses and Best Friends

Or, Love in Two Parts

Story By StormDancer

Green eyes met brown and gulped, managing to speak through the withheld laughter- but only barely. “They have.”

“Shall we begin?” Coke bottles clinked in a toast- to fun, to friends, to sugar highs and midnight abandon.

“Let’s.”

“Holy **!” Were my first thoughts, although I quickly corrected myself, my catholic upbringing chiming in with mocking sincerity, sounding eerily like Ali, “No, Jess, ***’s not holy.” But by then the voice had been overwhelmed by my realization that, now recovered from the nail-polish fumes and secrets, I was chained to a freakin’ oak tree in the park, with the key, ever so conveniently, just out of reach, so Ali could unlock me when she got back.

My next series of thoughts were, in retrospect, probably the reason that everything else that night happened, because everyone knows that you should never, ever think that ‘well, this could be worse.’ I’m just lucky that I didn’t consider the fact that it wasn’t raining. It may have been one of the fryingly humid August nights that make summers sweaty and unattractive outside of AC or a pool, but rain would not have been comfortable on the maybe rash amount of skin I was showing.

On the other hand, nothing would have been very comfortable at that moment.

A crack of a stick in the distance. Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Suddenly, my overactive imagination was going crazy; perhaps this was punishment for thinking up these dares. Stupid creativity that made me do all this. Still, if it works for Ali… it’ll totally be worth it.

If I don’t get raped, or something. Okay, this was really starting to freak me out. Someone was totally out there, somewhere in the rich darkness, striped by streetlights that only deepened the shadows.

Another stick broke, the sound snapping the thick air. Okay, screw it. I began to grope for the key. Maybe if I stretched out a toe…

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” And there was both the person who had been lurking creepily around and the ‘something worse’ that the universe had conjured up just for me, in the form of the boy who had materialized in front of me, storm-grey eyes glinting with malicious laughter like lightning among the clouds. That’s not even mentioning the very audible laughter that coated his voice.

I groaned. Really, I bow to the Law of Murphy, but did it really have to be him? Anyone else, I beg of thee! Where was the horror movie rapist when you needed one?

“Creston,” I spat with a barely visible nod, trying to forget I was presently chained to a tree and thus in a very vulnerable position compared to him. Discretion was the better part of valor; maybe he wouldn’t notice if I didn’t admit it.

“Briattaca.” His long legs paced a circle around the tree, his white teeth flashing against the night. I turned with him as far as the chains would allow, refusing to give him my back. Unfortunately, they weren’t long enough to let me rotate 360 degrees, so, for a time- too long for the pace he had been walking when I could see him- he was out of view. I hate it when that happens; who knew what he could be planning? Last time, I had been hit by a spitball. “What happened to you?”

“I’ve been kidnapped,” I drawled in irritation, opting to stop my fruitless quest for the key- it was only making me look stupid- and sit back down, crossing my arms across my chest. Curse the tank top I had worn to bed! It wasn’t even that skimpy!

“And the key’s right there?” he stopped in front of me again. The light hit his golden hair and made it glow brightly as the moon, with just as much original luminosity. Still, it made him look vaguely angelic. Hah. Angelic. Yeah right. This the boy who has tormented me from day one of high school, taunting me from his position as smolderingly hot Bad Boy. “Pretty awful kidnappers, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, well, whatever.” I rolled my eyes. Stupid logic, when I don’t want it. “Want to toss me the key?” I would ask, no more. If he refused, I wouldn’t go any further. Even this was pressing my pride.

“Depends.” His grin, damnably charming, flashed again, this time all too aware of his advantageous position. “Are you going to beg for it?”

I surged to my feet, back straightening, fists going down to my hips. “No!” I snapped. The chains rattled ominously. “Not a chance in Hell.”

He laughed. How I despise that laugh, sardonic and cruel and awfully condescending. “Calm down, spitfire,” he advised. I glared. “It doesn’t make me happy when you yell…”

“That’s nice. I don’t care. Are you going to let me go or not? Because if I’m going to be stuck here, I don’t want to be annoyed by you and these goddamn chains.” Screw pride. I had to get in a parting shot. “And don’t use any of your damn pet names on me. You don’t have the right.”

“Well, then, why would I ever let you go?” He inquired, all evilly mock-solemn. He began to pace again, his black booted footsteps strong and firm against the crunchy grass. “I like you just where you are.” His glittering eyes swept up and down my body, settling on the sweeping neckline of my top.

I rolled my eyes. “Perv.” He shrugged unapologetically, his leer static.

Now, I know leers. I’m not a slut or anything, and I don’t try to attract attention-in the looks department, at least-but I can’t help that I inherited both my mother’s long legginess and my father’s smoky Mediterranean coloring, the combination of which apparently men find attractive. So I’m used to those sorts of looks. I’ve seen the appreciative, the gross, the undressing. I’ve seen most everything. But I have never seen any sort of look as… predatory as his. It was territorial and unabashed, fierce and challenging.

And if it had come from anyone but Rick Creston, scourge of my existence, it would have been freakin’ hot. Jumpable hot. But it was him, and so it was just… ew. Perv.

He took a step closer, and his eyes were blazing like the sun that was hidden behind the moon, hot and furious under his heavy, sculpted brows. “You don’t mind.”

Chains clinked as I back up. The bark of the tree was rough against my back. “Yes, I do. Now unlock me.”

He was so close to me now that I could almost feel his body heat, my head tilted so I could keep my eyes locked with his, refusing to break the eye contact, to give him the dominance. “You don’t want me to.”

“Yes I do.” Dammit, he looked good, as gorgeously fierce as a leopard in the nighttime jungle, proud and unstoppable, king of all he surveyed. He grabbed my arms, right below my shoulder, clamping my arms to my side, surprisingly, impressively strong.

“No, you really don’t.”

“yes!” I yanked out of his hold, because I wouldn’t be his prey, though the chains were still cool against my ankle, reminding me too well of how trapped I was. “Can’t you just be nice for once and let me go?”

He chuckled, and there was no malice in it, just amusement. “Sorry,” he seized me again, fiercer than ever, hard enough to bruise, “but I’m not nice, darling.”

And dammit, he was sexy, and his voice was the low growl of a hunting cat, and it vibrated through me and made me resonate to him, and who gave a damn about pride, really? I wrenched my arms out of his hold and grabbed his head, dragging his lips down to meet mine.

And it was fire and passion and wow he really is hot. There was none of the boredom, the monotony, the gentleness of the other boys I’ve kissed-he was just power and desire and searing strength that I could finally meet equally with my own. There was the fury of years of torment and teasing on both sides, the rage that had covered passion with little success, because we had both somehow, somewhere, known that this was where we would end up.

“So,” he asked as we broke apart, because we did have to breathe sometime, “Why are you tied up?’

“Me n’ Ali had a deal,” I explained, absent-mindedly twirling a strand of hair around my finger as he unlocked me. “I had to do this, she got something equally weird.”

“What’s she doing? It can’t be as bad as this.”

“Well, nothing could be as bad as meeting you here,” I agreed easily. He scowled. Good. Nothing would change. We would still attack each other, still snipe and fight and hiss- just now, with make outs tossed in. “But trust me- she’s tortured a hell of a lot right now…” My smirk turned evil.

“I really freakin’ hate Jess,” I swore under my breath, as I scrambled over the windowsill and nearly fell flat on my butt on the footstool Corey had oh so conveniently inserted beneath the window since the last time I had been in his room. “I mean, really, really, really…” Who on earth else would come up with such an awful dare? I hoped she was having fun tied up to a tree, with all the scary rapists and animals and omigod that was really unsafe why did I ever leave her there she better be okay oh well if I don’t go through with this she’ll make fun of me forever.

I don’t really have to be as quiet as I’m being- well, trying to be, ‘cause I know I’m not as good at being sneaky as I am at talking. Corey said he’d be out tonight, and his ‘rents sleep like the dead. We used to have pillow fights and they didn’t wake up. Or at least they didn’t admit to it- they might not have wanted to ruin our eight-year-old fun.

But, yeah, creeping is totally not my thing. It’s kinda sad. Why couldn’t Jess have done this? She’s so much better at being quiet, And sneaky. And, you know, un-klutzy.

Smash! Oops. There went everything on the bedside table. Crap. Hurriedly, I threw everything back on.

Oh, how cute. He has a picture of us next to his bed. Yay! Glad to know I’m not the only one. It’s not like it’s creepy or anything to keep a photo of your best friend since forever on your bedside table.

Especially if you’ve been in love with him for almost as long.

I continued to pick my way through the messy room of a teenaged boy, managing to bypass the bed, three stacks of textbooks, and seven random sheets of paper that, knowing me, I would have slipped on and fallen flat on my butt, before I reached my objective: the closet. Thank God. One more fall and I would have broken a- inevitably, that thought immediately preceded me tripping over the edge of his rug and skinning my hands on his floor. Shit, that hurt! How come Corey’s room is never this perilous in the light?

I picked myself up with a groan, wiping my hands off on the oversized T-shirt Jess had thrown me out of the house in (at least it’s really cute, a pretty pastelly pink with an anime puppy mid-bark in the center- Corey might have gotten in for me, actually. Okay, that’s a lie. I know he did. It was my eleventh birthday present, and he wrapped it in frog wrapping paper, and the Jess in me is telling me how pathetic I’m sounding) and finally opened his closet.

Luckily- or maybe not luckily, ‘cause otherwise Jess would have chosen something else for me to steal- it was too hot for him to be wearing his favorite sweatshirt. In the winter, that thing lived on him. Which I kinda hated, ‘cause its bagginess covered up those beautiful arms that I love to look at. So, maybe farther in the back… I began to dig, burrowing deeper into the mass of clothes that sound muffled, like when you’re under the blankets on a snowy night and you can’t hear anything and it’s really comfy-cozy except it’s so nice you can’t help feeling that you’re missing something and you know perfectly well what it is- two strong arms around you to shut out the world even more and keep you safe and-

The scant light was suddenly blocked. I spun, panicked and terrified.

“Ali?”

Shit. “Corey!” Crash. Bang. Ow. Black.

“Ali?” Shoot. Corey sounded worried. I wonder what happened. “Ali!”

I blinked. Corey’s face was huge in my view, his wonderfully expressive hazel eyes peering into mine with all the care he always shows me, guarding me from the world like the white knight he is. “Hey, Cor.” I blinked again. “What’s up?”

“You fell.” I tried to sit up, and immediately his arms were around me, gently propping me up, “did you hit your head? What day is it? Who’s the president? Follow my fingers…”

I obeyed, looking at his hands as he moved them in front of my face. “I don’t know if I hit my head, Obama is the president, and-I dunno what day is it? I lose track during the summer. I think it’s a Tuesday. And it’s August. Maybe. What time is it? ‘Cause that’s not fair if it’s past midnight-”

He was grinning now, reassured. “You’re Ali, all right.” He offered me a hand and pulled me to my feet. I swayed (okay, so I exaggerated a little); he caught me and ever-so-gently scooped me up so he was carrying me bridal style (oh my god oh my god this is so awesomely romantic I love him so much and his chest is really nice) and let me down on his bed. Dammit. As comfy as his bed was, and I had lain on it enough to know it was very comfortable, his arms were better.

His eyes swept over me, inspecting. I shivered happily. “Do I even want to ask what you’re doing in my room at 2:00 am? Or why you snuck in when you know where the key is?”

Shoot. What to do what to do. Jess would brazen it out. “Because I wanted to,” I announced boldly, trying out my best pseudo-sheepish you-don’t-really-want-to-be-mad-at-me half smile.

His lips clenched as he tried not to laugh. “Okay, then, would you mind telling me why you’re in my boxers?”

I was? I glanced down. Oh, right, I was. I had gotten so used to wearing them to bed that I hadn’t even noticed. But this question I totally knew the answer to. “’Cause they’re majorly comfy! And you must’ve left them at my house once, and they just ended up in my drawer, and so now they’re mine, and-”

“Then,” he cut me off, all interrogation style, “Why were you in my closet? Trying to steal more of my clothes?” He grinned his lopsided grin, teasing and friendly.

“I’m not obsessive, I’m just curious!” I protested weakly. Why couldn’t Jess have done this dare? She would totally have pulled this off. Of course, hell if I would let her alone in Corey’s room- she’d probably have jumped him by now, just for kicks, even though she’s given me her total blessing with him.

“Of course not,” he agreed sarcastically, though I could tell perfectly well he wasn’t really angry. If he had been mad, he would have been much more polite. “You just steal me stuff, when I would have given it to you if you had asked.”

“I don’t steal!’ I crossed my arms across my chest and pouted. “Don’t be paranoid.”

He threw his hands into the air. “Why does everyone think I’m paranoid? Do you discuss this behind my back? First Rick, now you- what is it about me?” He was getting angry now- no, not angry. Just mad, in the literal sense. This is why we’re bffs; we both rant far too long. “Just because I’m certain I see things. Like how Jess and Rick might argue, but they want each other. Or how I know you watch me when I’m not looking! I’m right, I swear!” he narrowed his eyes at me. “Not paranoid.”

Well, yeah. Duh. Of course I watch him. He’s nice to watch. It’s a fun pastime, Corey-watching. And anyone with half an eye could tell you that Jess and Rick fight way too much for there to be anything but UST between them.

He was still talking. “It’s not like I mind, but, come on. I see those things! I’m right! I mean, every time I glance over at you, you’re looking at me. I’m not crazy, I’m not-”

I stopped paying attention. He looked at me at random times? But- isn’t that the key sign for liking? That’s the best, most reliable way to tell- Jess agrees with me here, and she should know.

“Hey, Corey?” he cocked his head, confused, ‘cause I rarely interrupt him; it’s one of those unspoken agreements that come with years of friendship. When I rant, he listens, and vice versa.

“Yeah?”

“Just shut up. You’re not paranoid.” I surged up onto my knees and pressed my lips to his.

He froze, hen, as I insisted, he slowly melted, his strong hands slipping to the small of my back, supporting me like always.

Slowly, reluctantly, he pulled an inch away. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?”

My lips spread in a wide, joyful smile of the fulfillment so many years of hoping. “Positive.”

“Thank God!”

The door swings open almost as a thump at the window heralded an entrance that way.

A moment of silence as appearances were sized up, messy hair and swollen lips and smiles that couldn’t be hidden. Then they collapsed into giggles, hysterical and helpless and confessing.

An hour later, the stories have been told, and once more brown eyes meet green in laughing complicity. Coke bottles meet.

“To one hell of a night.”