I haven't heard from you, she typed with her long acrylics. The same tapping was audible as she repeatedly hit the "Delete" button and got rid of the message. With a hearty sigh, she threw her phone into her lap and put her head in her hands.
She knew she'd overstepped. From the times she invited herself into his studio, made him an accomplice to her skipping, and also made him an accomplice to her running away from home, this took the cake.
Lawrence had explicitly said, "We're friends." Dalia didn't know what in her brain warped that into "Kiss me."
She couldn't keep looking at him, not knowing how he smelled up close. How he tasted up close.
Her lips crashed against his with startling confidence. She hadn't done it before, and both of them knew, but anybody else would be confused. Well, there was Cole, but he didn't really count where it mattered. The only thing that gave her away was her arms standing still at her sides.
His hands came out of his pockets and snaked under her shirt. Her back was still wet from her hair.
She quivered and grabbed onto his arms in search of stability; if he hadn't grabbed her the way he did, her knees might have given out. Her arms moved with his as they tickled the skin under her panty waistband.
He pulled away first, snapping her back to reality.
"This feels wrong," she said, out breath. It was much too late for her to be realizing that. He was still holding her, and their bodies were still pressed together.
She took a step back and looked up at him, shyly. "Sorry." Her hair hid her face for her.
Lawrence reached up a hand to do something, but blinked and dropped it back down to his side.
To make a long story short, he didn't get his camera back.
"This was like two weeks ago. I know that I'm bad at break-ups, but you just might be worse than me," Wendy spun around in a Writer's Cave rolling chair.
Dean was there that time, which was new.
"So you mean to tell me, you just kissed the dude?" he asked.
"Yes, that's clear, Dean!" Dalia retorted.
"And he had a problem with that?" he snorted.
Wendy hit him in his gut. "I'm your girlfriend."
"Yes, Wendy, we know," he slid his hand around her neck and into her bra. "But if we're being completely objective here, that makes no logical sense."
"I was disrespectful," Dalia admitted. What she couldn't understand was how he reacted so quickly and fervently, only to pull away and give her the daunting look he did. "I just want him to know how sorry I am, for everything."
Julia spoke. "If he won't meet you in the center, maybe you should go right field."
On the bus, Dalia realized that was a baseball reference.
It wasn't her intention to confront Lawrence; that would hammer the nail in further than it needed to go. He hadn't responded to her messages since that day-- he clearly didn't want to talk.
She had his camera in her lap, along with a bouquet of roses. She didn't know if he liked those or not; they sure reminded her of him, though.
The time she'd spent with Lawrence's camera was not spent in vain. Lawrence's hand was powerful, so she convinced herself that her's was too. If he could make her feel beautiful, she could take something and learn from him.
In a folder in her lap, there was a folder with ten pictures of herself in it. She took them all herself, and as she did, she realized that she'd been on the wrong side of the camera the whole time.
Her lips were on the verge of cracking open from all the biting she was doing to them. Never had she ever been so nervous going on her route.
She fiddled with the items in her lap, trying to get her Blistex out of her pocket. To nobody's surprise, they dropped out onto the floor and made a mess. At least she saved the roses. She refused to sit her things in the empty seat next to her.
The old lady sitting in a seat diagonal from Dalia turned around at the commotion. When she saw the roses, she asked, "Special lady?"
Dalia blushed. "No, it's a boy."
"Well he's lucky that you bought him flowers. I hope he got you some too."
She turned around in her seat and minded her business again. Dalia wanted to cry.
She aggressively smushed the Blistex into her lips and faced her head towards the sky. "It's going to be alright, Lia."
Dalia knew by then that Lawrence never worked Tuesdays. He saw them as the "Weekend Weekday," and treated them as such. How coincidental that it was, indeed, a Tuesday.
Jules did her routine peek over the secretary's desk when Dalia came in.
"Odd seeing you here. It's been a while," she gave a suspicious look.
"Hi Jules. Yes, I know."
Jules gave her a look. "The boy's not here."
"Yes, I know," Dalia repeated as she picked up the roses and hauled them to the back room. It hurt her to see the space so empty. She and Lawrence had just been on the floor, doing whatever. Now he wanted nothing to do with her.
"That's for thinking you could get the boy," she muttered as she set the roses down on his desk.
She looked at a picture of her giving a rare, toothy smile in the camera. She'd used a fish eye lens for that one. In sudden impulse, she picked up one of his pens from his desk and sat down on the floor. She sat down right where she'd asked him why Karielle was worthy, and why she wasn't.
Hey Law and Order
I'm sorry if this seems stalkerish. We both know I'm the first to admit when I'm stalking someone, but that's not what I'm trying to do. I'm just so sorry, and I can't keep on with my life without you understanding that.
And I know that our relationship has been weird. I'm super flaky and inconsistent and discombobulated; thank you for re-accepting me every time I would transform. Thank you for letting me use your car and driver's license. I really enjoyed seeing those cows fuck.
Thank you for the adventures, and the willingness to go along with my childish ass impulses. Thank you for liking my platforms and Mary Janes. Thank you for never commenting on how they almost made me taller than you. I know we were both thinking it. Thank you for helping me fix shit after you helped me break it. Thank you for taking pictures of my Wendy. Most importantly, thank you for taking pictures of me.
Despite how much or little we saw each other, you always made sure I felt seen. You made me the spectacle; I was the main character whenever I was with you. And even though you're the cool kid photographer dude, you always made me feel like I was the dope one.
She ran out of space on the back of that picture. She was even rambling on paper. There was another picture she could use.
She held up an "L" with her finger next to her face and stuck her tongue out in that one. It was perfect.
You never made it a point to misunderstand me. Even if you thought I was being absurd, you'd laugh and poke me in the side. You'd stop the tears before they fell.
I don't know. I've never experienced that kind of wholesomeness before. My heart started fluttering around you, and my breath started hitching when I'd smell your cologne. I didn't want it to, and I know it's not fair to you. And I'm so sorry.
You gave me nicknames, looked me in my eyes and let me steal your shit. You the man, Lawrence Jake.
P.S. Sorry for kissing you I told you I'm working on my narcissism.
Her mind went blank, and she took that as her cue to stop. She'd said enough. This was probably her setting herself up for embarrassment, considering Lawrence hadn't returned a text or call in the two weeks post-kiss.
That was alright, though. She had, and would, embarrass herself plenty more times after that.
-
Sade: Is It A Crime
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