"Hey, cut it out Clint..." Scott muttered, going to the kitchen table and taking a seat on his favorite chair.
Dave was already at the table munching on Coa Coa Puffs. "Whatcha got there Scott?" he asked through a mouthful.
"Pictures..." Scott muttered, distractedly.
As Dave had come to the bottom of his bowl, he got up and carried it to the sink, setting it in there then washing his hands.
Clint tossed the plastic bag down, going to the refrigerator.
"Can I see?" Dave asked, drying his hands off on his pants.
"There're more in the bag." Clint informed him.
"Cool." Dave smiled. He loved looking at pictures.
"I got the ones I want." Scott announced to his brothers, suddenly seeming excited. "We should have the girls and Ben over tonight, we can look at 'em."
"It's Wednesday Scott." Dave reminded his older brother, flipping through the pictures in his hands. "They're in school."
"Oh yeah..." Scott said absently, leaving the room.
Dave flipped through the photographs of the entire group of friends. There was one that Timber had taken of herself with her face stretched into a wide smile. There was another of Bob and Timber wrestling in the grass. Then there was a group photograph. The next one was of Scott and Angela kissing. He remembered that one. Timber and Bob had been getting camera happy and had taken it. Scott was pretty pissed off about that; he chased them across the Moffatt's front lawn and tackled Timber down, tickling her until she nearly wet her pants. Then he ran after Bob with the hose, though it was October and very cold outside.
There was a picture of just Angela next.
"Hey Clint?" Dave said over his shoulder.
Clint pulled his head out of the refrigerator. "Hmm?" he asked, munching on a breadstick.
"Do you mind if I have one of these?" he asked.
"Sure, just make sure there's a double for the album. We’re going to make an album.”
"We're making an album?" Dave asked.
"Well, yeah, I mean, pictures aren't just there for nothing." Clint pointed out, dipping his finger in a pan of leftover pasta. “Albums are cool.”
"Don't do that Clint." Dave scolded, though his back was turned to his brother.
"Do what?" Clint asked innocently.
The younger of the two merely rolled his eyes and laughed, tucking the photograph of Angela into his pocket. He left the others on the table and jogged off to his room.
* * *
"... it's a ten dollar admittance at the door." the P.A. system droned on.
Timber rapped her pen on the desktop nonchalantly. Her eyes had long since come to rest on Carmen who sat beside her. What was it that Carmen had that she did not? She was pretty. She had a nice body. Timber frowned.
"Earth to Timber... am I making contact?" Carmen asked, waving her hand in front of her friend's face.
"Hmm? What?" Timber stammered, diverting her eyes from her friend and trying to bare the momentary pain the shot through them.
"Dance! Next Friday!" Carmen exclaimed. "We have to go! And invite the guys!"
Timber frowned, tapping her pen restlessly on her desk top and looking as if she were deep in thought.
"Tim?" Carmen said, touching her arm gently.
"What?" Timber asked, yanking it away.
"Are you mad at me?" Carmen asked.
Timber shook her head, wishing Carmen would just leave her alone to think.
"Yes you are Timber." Carmen stated.
Timber hated when people assumed her feelings. She rolled her eyes. "No, I'm not Carmen." she said curtly.
Carmen turned in her desk, sitting up rigidly. Timber rolled her eyes. Now her friend thought she was mad, adding to her list of problems.
"Yeah, we can invite the guys." she said with a weak smile, trying to make peace.
Carmen rolled her eyes. 'Why are you being such a bitch lately?" she demanded rather loudly, evoking some looks from other nearby students.
"Pardon me?" Timber spat, growing angry.
"You’re being such a bitch to me!" Carmen exclaimed. "I mean, I thought we were friends, but had no clue you were so damned two-faced! If you're going to keep acting like this then leave me the hell alone! AND Bob! He's been noticing the excessive bitchiness lately too!"
The teacher looked up with a look of disdain. That was the last straw. Timber crammed her books into her backpack and got to her feet, storming from the classroom with the door banging loudly behind her.
* * *
Jeanine remembered this feeling from somewhere. French kissing. She had always enjoyed the experience of a good French kiss. Kissing was an art. Kissing was beautiful... she just never imagined kissing the person who she was kissing at that moment.
He had her sitting up on his desk, his hands slightly under the hem of her skirt, feeling her thighs. She could feel the scratchiness of his slight five o'clock shadow on her chin. She was a little girl in his manly arms. The feeling was good... it made her feel sexy.
Kissing him gave her a chance to think. She thought about the chase, the flirting, the fight she had put up to get to this position. It was so easy for her. She had gotten what she wanted. This was what she wanted... wasn't it? She had spent long hours at night, in bed, dreaming about the time she would be with him, Alan Richards. Now she was. Or was it just about the chase?
His hands crept higher on her tanned thighs, going up to where her panty-line was located. He started to slide her white cotton panties down; her eyes shot open. Was he planning to have sex with her?
To her relief, he took her underwear and stuffed them down in his pocket, his hands traveling to the slickened folds of between her legs. A shrill breath escaped her lips. His fingers on her warm inner walls were more than she could take. As his thick finger worked it's way in and out of her, she moaned slightly, allowing him to engulf her lips with his.
The way he kissed her... it was all too familiar. They had evolved from the kiss in the car to more kisses during her after school "tutoring sessions", then to full on make-out sessions such as this one. In all the times they had made out and kissed, he had never kissed her like that. But the kiss was so familiar. A wave of guilt knocked her conscience over as she realized where she had been kissed like that before: Dave.
* * *
Dave turned the photo over in his hands, putting it close to his face to get a better look. The slight roundness of her cheeks, her deep brown eyes, her ruby red lips... all things he noticed. She was beautiful, and no matter how much he tried to push it out of his mind, he loved her. Only Bob was capable of mastering the technique of pushing things out of his mind. Dave was afraid. He was afraid that he might go crazy because he loved her so much, he could barely contain his swelling heart. He loved her so much, but she loved someone else. She loved Scott.
There was no knock prior to an interloper entering his bedroom. Dave hastily stashed the picture away in his night stand drawer in fear that it might be Scott at the door.
"Hey Dave." Bob said, seemingly troubled as he slumped down onto the full-sized bed next to his triplet.
"Hey Bob..." Dave said carefully. "What's the matter?" he asked.
"Okay, I just have to tell someone before I go crazy. Can I pick your brain?" Bob asked. "I need some advice."
"Sure, go ahead." Dave said, laying on his stomach while Bob seized one of his pillows and tossed it up and down in his hands.
"Okay. You have to swear you won't tell anyone, especially Timber." he said firmly.
"Okay." Dave said with a nod, though he knew he wasn't very good with secrets.
"You see, me and Carmen have been going out for like a week and a half now." Bob stated, pausing for his brother's reaction.
"I know." Dave said, rolling his eyes.
"You know?" Bob exclaimed, catching the pillow and holding it for a moment.
"Yeah, I mean, she's over here all the time, and I'd assume you'd be going out if you're always making out on the couch." the younger triplet grinned.
"Whoa... have I really been that obvious?" Bob asked, more rhetorically than anything.
"Yes, you really have. I mean, seeing you guys making out all the time Bob? I think that's a slight hint." Dave said wryly.
"Don't tell Timber." Bob stated firmly.
"Why not? I thought she was your best friend." Dave said, obviously addled to why Bob wouldn't tell the one person he told everything to a particularly important detail to his life.
"I know Dave, and that's just it... she's my best friend. And Carmen is supposed to be in that too. But now that me and Carmen are an item, Timber might feel kinda... left out... ya know? She might be mad."
"I doubt it Bob." Dave snorted. "And how long do you intend to keep this a secret? I mean, a... well I wouldn't say wise, but a guy once told me: secrets are like H-bombs hovering over Hiroshima in the sky. They drop and... no, that wasn't it... they blow up on you... naw... wait. Okay, in my own words: something's going to go down and it's going to be big. And let me just say, the longer we wait, the worse it'll be, so when whatever's going to go down goes down, I don't want to be there to feel the explosion." he concluded, gesticulating thoroughly with his hands as he stared at the ceiling.
"See, the simile lost it's luster once you got your hands on it Dave. You screwed it up." Bob scolded, tossing the pillow at his brother. "And... we'll tell her when we're ready... I mean, now's just not a good time. Timber's going through some stuff. She's been kinda stressed lately."
Dave laughed shortly. "You just do what you haveta do Bob, don't bring me into this. When she kills one of us, it'll be you not me."
"Yeah, whatever Dave, but you know they always kill the messenger..." Bob trailed off with a grin, getting up and heading for the exit. "And does Scott know you have a picture of his girlfriend?"
* * *
Night had long since fallen, the temperature dropping slightly. A light sheen of snow covered the ground, sloshy and muddy on the curb lining the street. There was no chirping of cicadas in the trees or of crickets either; the night seemed virtually silent.
The drumming of her pen on the cover of her textbook. An aggravating sound, but seeming comforting in a world of chaos. She stared at the wall, the blank notebook page waiting to be written on, as there was an assignment to be done. Her thoughts were so jumbled, so she thought about nothing at all; the plain white of the wall seeming overly interesting. Only the doorbell could have jarred her from her thoughts... but it didn't.
"Hey." moments later a familiar male’s voice behind her tore her viciously from her reverie, startling her to the point where she nearly fell off her bed.
"Holy shit Scott!" she exclaimed, her hand shooting to her rapidly beating heart as if she could slow it with her hand through her skin. "How did you get in here?"
"Whoa, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Scott smiled, sitting down on her bed. "The door was unlocked. Can we go for a drive?" he asked, getting straight to the point.
"It's my turn to bring the tequila." she stated, getting up from her bed and heading for the closet to get a sweatshirt.
"No, no Tim." Scott said with a light chuckle. "You have school tomorrow babe. You need to lay off the heavy stuff. Plus you'll kill yourself; you have the body weight of a fetus."
"You mean I have to stay sober on possibly the worst night of my life?" she asked with a slight wine. "Today is the worst day of my fucking life Scott! Carmen and I got in a fight... I stormed out of bio... I'm so damned confused...." Looking back to the wall, she tried to not cry. She rarely ever cried, she didn't know why she would be crying twice in one month.
"Tim... Tim... Tim...." Scott cooed, wrapping her in his arms as she frowned. "Let's go for a drive. We need to talk."
She nodded weakly, knowing he was right.
* * *
It's just one of them days, when you don't wanna get up, everything is fucked, everybody sucks. You don't know why, but you wanna justify ripping someone's head off...
Timber turned the volume up to an inappropriate level, her face a permanent scowl. Scott glanced over at her but didn't bother to complain.
It's all about the he-said, she-said bullshit. I think you'd better quit lettin' shit slip, or you'll be leaving with a fat lip. It's all about the he-said she-said bullshit. I think you'd better quit talking that shit. So come and get it...
The song faded out as Scott pulled his father's vehicle into the vacancy of the clearing. As another song came on the radio, Timber reached over and flicked it off. Scott turned off the ignition.
"You love him." he stated bluntly.
She looked at Scott. "What?" she asked, though she knew exactly what he was talking about.
"You love him. You love Bob." Scott reiterated.
"That's ridiculous." she said, turning to look out the window. How the hell had he found out?
"I know that for a fact Timber." Scott continued smiling smugly. "When you were drunk, you kept talking about loving someone, and I thought you were delirious or in some vivid state of shock... hell, I was about to call an exorcist..."
"What made you change you mind?" she quipped.
"I found out who you were talking about." he stated. "...and it made perfect sense."
Timber had remembered most of what she had said, none consisting of loving Bob. "Oh really?" she challenged.
"Yeah." Scott nodded. "You know how I knew?" he asked.
"How?" she asked, still skeptical.
"I came back into Ben’s bedroom and you thought I was him." Scott stated plainly.
Timber's brown eyes met his blue coals. She was mortified.
Scott's lips continued to smile his cocky smirk as he continued. "You called me by his name." he stated, pausing for dramatic effect. "Then you told me that you loved me and could never live without me..."
"I'm sorry." she said quickly, trying to hide her face from his.
"For what?" he asked, seeing nothing wrong with her actions.
"For everything that I've caused." she whispered.
"Don't be."
"I have to be."
"Timber," he said, a hand on her arm. " If I were him, I'd never let you go. I would love you so much... you'd never doubt it." he continued vehemently, looking deep into her eyes. He paused for a moment before continuing. "A smart person once told me that everything's okay in the end... and if it's not okay, it's not the end."
* * *
The softness of her pink and white duvet greeted her as Trevor lay her back against her bed, his kisses never once coming to a stop. He kissed her aggressively, feverishly, as if each kiss would be his last and he was attempting to savor the taste. His tongue probed in and out of her mouth and she pulled back slightly as it crept dangerously close to the back of her throat. She couldn't help but notice the ravenousness of his advances, she had never been the type for rough and passionate kisses. She considered herself to be a more romantic and gentle person.
Then she felt his hands. Once situated on her thighs, suddenly creeping up her waistline to the hem of her shirt. What did he think he was doing?
Kelly wriggled uncomfortably, trying to direct his hands in another direction without manually guiding them away from her venter. Her actions were to no prevail; his hands only made their way higher, fully under her shirt. She pulled back completely.
"Trevor..." she said, struggling to get from underneath him. She sat up, taking a brief glance at her reflection in the mirror across from her bed. Her short, light brown hair was disheveled and her long sleeve shirt wrinkled in some places. They had to have been making out for a very long time, it was now dark outside. She scooted to the edge of the bed.
Trevor sat up with a indiscreet sigh. He was obviously mad about what had happened. Kelly felt a pang of guilt. They sat in silence for a moment, her taking in her surroundings, waiting for him to say something.
Her history assignment was discarded at the foot of the bed. His yellow backpack lay in a heap beside her door; he had thrown it there upon entering her bedroom and enveloped her in an embrace. Her own backpack had been stowed away in her closet as usual. She liked her room to be neat and clean at all times.
His arms slid swiftly over her shoulders. His lips pressed against her neck. She allowed him to pull her back to him, beginning another session of serious making out.
She knew what he wanted to do. As his hands made their way for the base of her shirt, though she didn't want him to, she allowed him to explore inside, in fear he might not take the rejection so well. His fingers resting on the front of her bra was a new sensation. She didn't like this sensation, it made her feel dirty and cheap. She had always been very conservative, and him touching her like this made her feel like she was worthless. But she let him touch her anyway.
As his hands continued to grope rather harshly at her breasts, his lips assaulted hers, tongue probing wildly. It wasn't long before he wanted more. His hands traveled back down her stomach. Kelly felt relief, assuming he was going to stop, but a new shock overtook her as his hands started at the waistband of her jeans.
"Trevor," she said almost immediately, not even processing her words in her mind first.
"What?" he nearly demanded, not bothering to mask his anger and annoyance.
"I don't want you to do that." she stated, her hazel eyes staring into his blue ones.
"Why not?" he asked her, taking on a soothing tone. His fingers toyed with her waistband. "It's not sex. I promise." he vowed, his sincerity too easy to come by. "I just want to make you feel good..." he trailed off. "It'll feel good, I promise."
Kelly mentally begged him not to, she wasn't ready for this. She just didn't want to do it. But as his fingers undid the first button, she knew she had no choice. His hand slid into her underwear as his lips found hers again. She cringed in disgust, feeling his grubby fingers touching her warmth between her legs. His index finger entered her, an uncomfortable feeling for a girl who never had had anything in her before.
He slid in her deeply, squirming his finger around as her body responded in ways that her mind did not want to. She allowed him to pleasure her, though it really wasn't pleasure at all. It was pain, both emotional and physical. She felt cheap.
"Trevor..." she said, for the third time that evening. "My parents will be home soon." she lied.
He slid his finger out of her and put it in his mouth, tasting her juice. "Okay." he said, as if it were nothing. "I'll get going." he said, planting a kiss on her lips and climbing off the bed. He sashayed to the door where his backpack was kept. "See you tomorrow." he added with a salacious grin, leaving.
Kelly lay on her bed in a frozen position until she heard the front door slam. She promptly got to her feet and headed for the bathroom to shower.
* * *
Jeanine slinked up the stairs to her bedroom, hoping to be unnoticed by all. No such luck.
"Jeanie!" Mrs. Alba called from the parlor.
She winced at the sound of her mothers slurred voice. She was in the parlor and she was drinking again.
"Jeanie! Baby!" he mothered screeched, attempting to stand, but only stumbling. "Come in here!" she snapped.
Jeanine's shoulder's sunk as she sauntered into the parlor to see her mother in her silk, designer, night-dress drinking a martini.
"What're you doing home so late?" she demanded. "It's almost nine fucking o'clock!"
"I had to go to... work on a project... with Timber." Jeanine thought fast, making up a story quick enough so it sounded believable.
"You lie." Tatianna Alba snapped, gesticulating wildly with the half full glass in her hands and having some spill over the side and over her fingers. "You fucking lie!" she shouted, her words running into each other.
Jeanine rolled her eyes. "Shut up Mom." she muttered, retreating back to the hallway where she aimed to go up to her bedroom.
"You slut!" her mother shouted. "You're just like Christine! You slutty whore! You dirty girl! You filthy, filthy girl!"
Jen stopped dead in her tracks. She slowly turned back to face her mother.
Tatianna looked at her daughter with stony cold brown eyes. She looked very much sober at that moment. "You whore." she snapped, glaring at the child who stood in the doorway.
Jeanine's heart throbbed, knowing her mother was right in her accusations.
"You fucked him... DIDN'T YOU?!?!" Mrs. Alba screamed, attempting to rise from the sofa, but falling back down onto it's cushions.
"Mom... no! I..." Jeanine stammered, feeling as if her mother knew the entire truth.
"I can smell him on you..." Tatianna hissed. "No boy will ever want you because you are cheap and easy! You slut!" she screamed, more of her martini splashing over the rim onto her fingers.
Jeanine felt tears prick in her eyes. She could only think of Dave at that moment and all they had been through in the past.
"WHORE!" her mother called after her fleeing form.
Jeanine ran up the stairs, her footsteps pounding on each step. Her bedroom was the first in the hallway. The tears were fresh on her smoldering cheeks as she bypassed it to the bathroom.
* * *
"Hey." Bob said, opening the front door.
Her grasped Carmen by the wrist and pulled her inside. Once the front door was safely shut, he kissed her gingerly on the lips.
"I can't stay long." she begrudged. "I have homework and my sister's going to call tonight."
Bob pouted, holding her hands in his. "You have a sister?" he asked.
She nodded with a wry smile. "You knew that." she reminded him. "She's going to move here by next summer. She's like, twenty eight."
Bob nodded. "Oh yeah! The sister with the same name as you!" he chuckled, leading his girlfriend up the steps.
Carmen laughed. "She doesn't have the same name as me!"
"Yeah she does!" Bob argued, opening the door to his bedroom and dragging her inside. "You're Carmen and she's Carmen. That's what you told me." he insisted, closing the door behind them.
Carmen sat down on the bed. "I'm Carmen and she's Cameron." she corrected. "They sound different Bob!" she giggled.
"Oh... well they sound the same to me." he snickered, fiddling with the stereo.
"Bob! That's just like saying Bob and Clint sound the same!" she exclaimed.
"But they don't." Bob stated, obviously confused.
"I know!"
Bob studied her for a moment. "I... I don't get it." he finally gave up, obviously trying to decipher the confusing riddle she had just presented him with.
"Just forget it... airhead." she teased.
Bob didn't acknowledge her words. "Oh!" he finally exclaimed. "Yeah, but Carmen and Cameron do sound alike!" he said adamantly. "Bob and Clint are two completely different names! I bet Carmen is short for Cameron of something."
"No! Bob, Cammie, and Cam are short for Cameron. Carmen is an entirely different name!"
"Well, it's not my fault your parents named you such similar names." Bob frowned, shaking his head. "They sound a lot alike!"
Carmen nodded, pulling him to her by his hands. "Okay honey, okay." she said with a nod. "You're right."
"I know." Bob giggled bashfully.
Carmen stood up to meet his lips with hers. They engaged in a French kiss that lasted a few moments before separating and sitting down side by side on the bed. His brown eyes gazed into her hazel eyes for a moment before she spoke.
"Timber and I got into a huge fight today." she said with a sigh.
"Really?" Bob asked. "I don't know what her issue is lately. I mean, she's acting really weird. She's like... all anxious around me."
"I know." Carmen nodded.
"We used to be so much closer. Now she's drifting. And I don't want to loose her."
"You won't. It's probably stress. Sometimes girls go through times where they are just mad at the world." Carmen coaxed.
"Yeah, but I thought those only lasted for three to seven days!" Bob whined.
Carmen laughed despite the serious mien of her boyfriend. "Maybe she's depressed or something. Everyone has those periods when they think the world hates them... and Timber has reason to!"
"That was mean." Bob pouted.
"No! I didn't mean it like the world actually hates her... I meant as in she kinda has a lot on her plate... you know what I mean?" Carmen asked. "Her parents are rarely home, she's alone like all the time, except for when she's with friends... that tough. I mean, don't forget that she's only thirteen and she's a sophomore. That probably really sucks."
Bob nodded. "I suppose." he sighed. "But she used to talk to me about that, and it didn't bother her at all. She was so happy. And she still seems happy now, I mean, she and Clint were having a ball yesterday while watching television. And she was with Dave the other night... I mean, I think it's me. I think she's mad at me because we haven't spent a lot of time together. I think she hates me."
"What if she knows?" Carmen asked, suddenly worried.
"I doubt it." Bob shook his head. "I mean, she would have said something... right?"
Carmen shrugged. "I don't know."
There was an abeyance in conversation while the two went off into their own mental realms to think.
"So what did you fight with her about?" Bob asked finally, breaking the silence.
Carmen sighed, wincing at the memory. "It was big." she said. "We were talking, and she had this attitude. So I decided to ignore her. Then she starts being nice... so I simply told her that I wasn't going to have her being so... two-faced. She got all pissed, I told her that I was sick of it... then she stormed out of the classroom."
"In the middle of class?" Bob asked in disbelief.
"Yeah, and everyone was looking at us." she added. "I think it was the part where I called her a bitch."
"You called her a bitch?!" Bob exclaimed. "Holy mother of fuck, she must have been pissed!"
"Yeah, I know!" Carmen whined, plopping her forehead in her hands. "And we were bitching each other out right in front of class! Everyone was looking... she was probably so embarrassed... I'm so sorry now!"
"She be over it." Bob said, trying to comfort his girlfriend. "She usually doesn't hold grudges for more than five minutes. It's a given." he grinned.
"She'd better be over it!" Carmen whimpered. "She and I were so close, I hope this doesn't come between us."
"I won't." Bob assured her. "Timber doesn't carry grudges, I promise. She's too forgiving."
"I hope you're right." Carmen said with a sigh.
"I'm always right." Bob smirked, giving her a love tap on the lips.
Carmen deepened the kiss by pulling him back to her and opening her mouth against his. Another round of tonsil hockey.
* * * ~From the journal of Jeanine Alba~
Boy and Man
I like boys.
I like kisses.
I like touch.
I like love.
I like men.
I like kisses.
I like groping.
I like lust.
I want a boy.
I want his kisses.
I want his touch.
I want his love.
I wanted a man.
I wanted his kisses.
I wanted his groping.
I wanted his lust.
I still want this boy.
I still want his kisses.
I still want his touch.
I still want his love.
I have this man.
I have his kisses.
I have his groping.
I have his lust.
I am dirty.
I am slutty.
I am wrong.
I am sorry.
I am empty.
I am hallow.
I am confused.
I am crying.
I don't want this man anymore.
I don't want his kisses anymore.
I don't want his groping anymore.
I don't want his lust anymore.
I just want this boy.
Even if he's just a boy.
This boy knows the truth.
This boy smells it on me.
This boy doesn't want me.
This boy doesn't need me.
This boy doesn't love me.
This boy knows the true me.
This boy is my oxygen.
This boy is my love.
This boy is my wish.
This boy is my everything.
This man is my esteem.
This man is my survival.
This man is my forgetting.
This man is my surrogate boy.
I am lost.
I am insatiable.
I am so dirty.
I am nothing.
* * *