"You're angry at me?" I asked almost in awe as I scooted up on my bed so I could get a better look at him.
"You're fucking right I'm angry at you. You act like some fucking martyr who holds the market on pain. How dare you make today about yourself." His voice shook with so much rage I could practically see it vibrating in the air between us. He threw my pillow with all his might. It crashed into my table, knocking over my lamp. He looked pleased with the impact. I reached over to my table without saying a word and picked up the vase of fake flowers Mom had given me to brighten up the room. I hated the vase and flowers with a passion but couldn't face disappointing her by getting rid of them. Brian did it for me by throwing the vase against the wall. Glass shattered down from the sky onto my floor like rain. We watched it with different levels of satisfaction.
I handed him an empty glass next, which also joined the broken vase. A bottle of Advil was next and then a Precious Moments statue someone gave me after the accident. I was actually sad I didn't get to smash that one. Eventually my table ran out of items. I could tell Brian was far from being done. I rose from my bed, searching for something else for him to throw.
Before I could leave my room, he captured me in his hands. His eyes burned into mine. "Today is not about you," he growled.
Startled, I looked down at my wrist, which was held fast by his hand. "Today is my day. Do you understand me, Kat?" he said, shaking me with enough force to make my head snap forward. "You're not allowed to be selfish today."
Two years of defensive training kicked in as my own anger surfaced. He could not dictate what days I hurt. He wasn't allowed to tell me I couldn't be selfish. Today of all days should have been a free pass. Without giving a warning, I twisted in his hands, freeing myself. Anger radiated through me. How could he not see what today was doing to me? I wanted to lash out at him. Make him hurt as much as I was. My fist shot out, catching him in the cheek. Satisfaction surged through me. I didn't need to throw things to express my anger. His face would work. He narrowed his eyes and made a move toward me, but I sidestepped it, bouncing on the balls of my feet. If he was looking for a fight, I'd give him one. I threw another punch, catching him in the jaw this time.
Brian's eyes glinted back at me. He threw his own punch, which was slow. It was obvious he wasn't used to sparring. He might be a stud on the football field, but this was my field. I deflected his punch easily before giving him a swift kick in the gut. I could hear his grunt of pain, and his next punch was much faster. It was deflected again, but this time he was ready. He swatted my fist aside, throwing me off balance.
I stumbled back. His hands shot out to stop me from falling backward, but my momentum was already helping gravity. I grasped for his hand and for a moment as his hand encircled mine I thought my backside would be safe from meeting the floor, but his legs somehow got tangled with mine as he took an unsteady step forward, trying to save me.
The impact of hitting the floor was jarring.
All air left my lungs with a whoosh. I grunted with pain as all Brian's weight landed on me. I was going to be a colorful array of bruises by tomorrow.
Gasping, I tried to catch my breath. I wedged my hands up between us, trying to give my lungs some hope for survival. "You're crushing me," I said when his weight continued to pin me. I pushed against his chest, which felt as hard as granite beneath my fingers. I could feel his heart thudding steadily against my palm, unsettling me. My eyes drifted up to meet his.
All traces of anger were gone as he shifted, giving my lungs a small measure of freedom. I expected him to get up. To jump to his feet and act like this hadn't happened. What I wasn't expecting was the sudden awareness in his eyes. The way he was looking at me didn't hold a trace of "just friends." A slow flush worked its way up my neck as my mind pieced together how close our bodies were. Embarrassed, I pushed harder on his chest, but he was as unrelenting as a boulder.
"Brian," I implored, wiggling beneath him, which I knew was a mistake. The parts of me that I thought had shriveled up and died along with Dan roared to life like a lion being provoked with a stick. This was insane. We were hardly friends. How could I possibly be thinking about how good he felt on top of me?
"Kat," he mocked, sliding a hand up to my face. The same hand I'd pictured touching my face just days before. It felt a million times better than the image my head had conjured up. His face was mere inches from mine and I couldn't help thinking about how strong his jaw looked or how full his lips were. They were crazy thoughts. I was only thinking them because this was the closest I'd been to another person in a very long time. My traitorous lungs malfunctioned again as he tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered on my lobe.
Time stood still.
All reason left me.
For a moment, the briefest of moments, I allowed myself to dwell on how good it felt to be surrounded so completely by another person again. The only problem was, Dan never felt like this. His frame had been smaller, slighter, almost feminine, though I'd never made the distinction. He'd felt so right pressed against me when we'd pushed the limits of our make-out sessions on his parents' couch. Our bodies had fit together like two pieces of a puzzle.
Brian's build was discerning. His body was like a shelter that hinted of an ability to curl around my body, shielding me from the outside world. He was a complete one-eighty from his brother. He was one hundred percent male. Every nerve in my body moved to high alert as I shifted again. Mistake. Sensations of awareness and heat shimmered just below the surface. I resisted repeating the movement. This was wrong. Terribly wrong. I was a horrible person for the thoughts that were running a campaign in my head. It was glaringly obvious I wanted him. I wanted Dan's brother. There was a special place in hell for people like me.
Twelve
"Get up," I choked out, pushing against him, trying to dislodge him from my body while I pretended I didn't notice how intimately we were touching.
"Are you sure you want me to get up?" he taunted, moving his lower half slightly.
A gasp left my lips before I could even think of holding it back. His eyes darkened at the sound. He moved closer as his thumb stroked my cheek.
I could smell whiskey on his breath. Understanding crept in. "You're drunk," I whispered. "This is wrong, Brian," I said, trying to be the responsible adult. What were we doing here? How had we gone from being friends to this? We'd somehow skipped a whole bunch of steps in the middle.
"Yes." His voice was husky as his thumb found my lips. He rubbed it lightly across my bottom lip. "But it feels so right, doesn't it?"
A delicious shivered moved up my spine at the gesture. "This is wrong," I croaked. I wasn't sure if I was trying to convince him or myself. What were we doing?
"Why?" His thumb slid across my bottom lip again, making me lose my train of thought.
"Because."
"Because why?" he taunted, barely rocking his body against mine. The movement was so slight I couldn't be sure if he actually moved or if my mind was playing tricks on me. Maybe I was the one who rocked beneath him.
The heat I'd been vainly trying to bank roared to life. His thumb stroked across my lips again and this time it was clear that my hips were the ones moving. Everything about this was wrong, but it felt so right. What about Dan? a silent voice mocked me. This was his brother, for God's sake.
"Because I love your brother," I finally whispered, trying to inject some sanity into the moment. I held my breath, waiting for him to leap off me. He respected his brother enough to know this was wrong.