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“I promise,” I said again softly, shutting the car door. “You’ll see.”
And internally, my heart pounded. Because it was true, things would be perfect … because they had to be.
9
Katy
Icouldn’t wait for the waiting period to be over, I was dying for my men. But what do you know, Jock McMahan called and asked me out right when we got back.
“Hey yo, you wanna see a movie?” he grunted into the phone.
My first instinct was to say no. This guy grossed me out and I didn’t care if he was a stud at school. I had my lovers and that was that. But a feeling of caution overtook me. After all, my set-up with Jason and Brent wasn’t exactly “normal.” I was a teen girl exploring a ménage with two men. What would happen if word got out? We’d be the talk of the town, people would surely think I was trash. So to preserve the illusion of normalcy a little longer, I agreed.
“Sure,” I said reluctantly. What the fuck was wrong with me? I had to sound excited, like a cooing, fawning girl. So I forced myself to man up. “Which movie did you want to see Jock?” I chirped then, trying to sound eager and willing.
And the dumb lunkhead was so clueless, so down on his ability to read other human beings that he grunted.
“How aboutInsidious 2?” he said. “I sawInsidious 1, it was fuckin’ amazing.”
I almost backed out then, unable to stomach the thought of Jock’s company and a horror movie combined together. Because I hate horror flicks, I hate worms crawling out of eyeballs, ghosts that come back from the dead, that stuff bores me. So my mind spun furiously, trying to think of something else.
“Mmm, how aboutStar Wars? The new one, have you seen that one?” I asked. I honestly couldn’t think of anything, and besides, hadn’t it gotten great reviews?
But Jock snorted.
“Naw, I’m not into intergalactic shit.Insidious 2it is,” he said with finality, overruling my suggestion. I gritted my teeth. This was going to be bad. I’d have to force myself to stay in my seat because it promised to be three hours of torture. But at least there’d be movie popcorn with heaps of butter. I could feast on that and make myself feel better.
When I showed up at the theater the next night, Jock looked terrible, his face slightly red, broken capillaries in his nose and cheeks. What the fuck?
“Hey,” he grunted. “Let’s get tickets.”
The answer was immediately clear because his breath reeked of booze. Holy shit, this sucked. I was going to suffer through three hours of some shitty movie with a steaming human pile next to me, a dude who stunk to high heaven through every pore. This was going to be bad, and I braced myself for the worst, really expecting things to go downhill before ending in a ball of fire.
As I expected, it didn’t get better. When we stepped into the darkened theater, I looked around quickly, hoping there were some fellow movie patrons. I’m not sure what I was thinking, that these folks could save me from a bad experience like strangers standing in the way of harm. But the place was empty except for one old dude sitting in the far right corner near the door, bent over and elderly. I huffed, exasperated. This movie was so bad that no one was coming to see it, it was probably a huge box office bomb and I’d been forced here because of myself. Shit, I only had myself to blame, and mentally cursed again.
Jock didn’t make the waiting easier. He was so dumb that steam started to pour from my ears dealing with him.
“You’re so pretty,” he grunted, shifting around in his seat and stuffing popcorn in his mouth.
“Thanks,” I managed while leaning away. Because the alcohol smell was killing me, Jock must have downed a forty before the movie, it was like sitting next to a rag soaked in Jim Bean. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spontaneously combusted, there was so much alcohol.
“Yeah, real pretty,” he grunted again. “I like it,” he said, seizing one of my brown curls in his fingers. I shuddered at what was happening, but at least he was touching my hair and not my body. I couldn’t actuallyfeelhis hands on me, thank god.
“Uh, thanks,” I said, none-too-graciously. “Would you mind letting go of my hair? It kinda hurts,” I said shortly, my neck twisted way over so that I could maintain as much distance between us as possible.
“Oh sure,” he grunted. “No prob.” And he let go, my curls bouncing back like springs. Thank god he hadn’t touched my body, I’d scream if he so much as laid a finger on me.
But fucking Jock just wouldn’t leave me alone. Because once the movie started, he began pawing me like a crazed animal.
“Come on, Katy,” he panted, his big hand on my thigh, squeezing. “Come on, give it up, I know you want it.”
I was incensed. When had I ever indicated that I wanted it, that I was attracted to this douche? So I twisted away, my torso contorted in an effort to maintain distance, skin crawling. But Jock was insistent and his fingers dug into my thigh, cold and clammy, making me wince.
“Stop,” I hissed, almost doubled in two trying to get away. But a particularly loud scream rang out from the movie and my words were reduced to a muffled “mwmwmwwm.” What the fuck? Had Jock chosen a horror flick because the screams on-screen would drown out my own? Holy shit, he was one messed up motherfucker. Moreover, the douche just wouldn’t give up.
“You want it,” he grunted. “I know you want it, I’ve seen you looking at me in class, you want it.”
I was angry now, really mad. Jock McMahon wasn’t my type at all with his bulging steroid build, the slick of oil on his forehead, and the small patch of acne on his neck. If I’d been looking at him it was because I was turned towards the blackboard and Jock just happened to be in my way, his hulking frame like a huge dog that refused to budge.
