Daphne Fic!
You think it had to be Brian who made him comfortable in his own skin. You are
fairly certain his upper-class, ultra-Republican, white-bred upbringing didn’t
make him a nudist, so it had to be his fuck-all-of-you, sex addicted boyfriend.
He walks around your apartment naked with some regularity, fresh out of the
shower, fresh out of bed, fresh out of clean clothes. You pretend you don’t
notice his flawless skin or his perky ass, but you do. And you still blush.
After a decade of friendship, after the first sex of your life, after picking
up the broken bits of his heart and gluing them together, after cleaning up
the crushed bits of his brain and helping him learn to function again…the fucker
can still make you blush.
You sheepishly bid him good morning. You try to remember when you began treading
lightly around him. You ponder the eggs he cracks on the edge of a pan that
was a hand-me-down from your mother as you walk across the room on eggshells.
Last night you told him the Pink Pussy shit had to stop and when he yelled that
you just didn’t get it you yelled back that you didn’t want to ‘get’ why he’d
turned into a gun-toting psycho. You cried face down on your bed after he slammed
out the front door, pistol in his pocket and anger on his breath. You hadn’t
been so scared or felt so bad since the night he nearly died.
He pours you coffee today and tells you he’s done with Cody and over the ‘vigilante
bullshit’ and it’s almost an apology. He hedges at other things and finally
gets around to telling you about a visit he paid to Chris Hobbes.
Your stomach is in your throat and your heart beats so loud you barely hear
gun, knees, piss, yell and apology. Your hand shakes and you knock your mug
onto the floor. The mocha colored mess spreads fast over white tile. It reminds
you of the way blood spills over cement.
He’s on his knees, bare ass in the air, cleaning it up before you can even begin
to react.
“You okay?” he puts a hand on your shoulder and then disappears. He emerges
moments later in sweatpants with a goofy grin on his face.
“I forget where I am sometimes.” He forces a little laugh and goes back to his
eggs.
“You’re with me,” you answer quietly.
He turns slowly, meets your eyes with a knowing stare, “I am.”
Feedback to throughthelens78@yahoo.com