you dare get out of the car, I'll meet you in the driveway."
"Don't keep me waiting," he replied before hanging up.
I sighed as I hung up the phone, slipping it into my purse and walking out of my bedroom to wait for him in the living room.
By the time he pulled in, I was in a miserable mood. I slid into the passenger seat of his car and he didn't bother greeting me, although I don't know why I thought he would. After all, it wasn't a social occasion, it wasn't a date, it was just a cheap tryst.
Thinking about that made me grumpy, so I glanced over at him, trying to muster some empathy.
I understood that he hated me because my mother had killed his mother, but I still didn't feel that it was fair. After all, I didn't hate him just because his father was the man who broke my mother's heart, or because his conception had been the reason his father broke my mother's heart, so why should he blame me for something my mother did? I still loved her, yes, but I wasn't saying what she did wasn't wrong. It was wrong, and I had spent years paying for it, but she was still my mother and from her journals I also understood how she felt.
Honestly, I was still curious. That main part of my mother's short life still fascinated me, but there was only so much information in her journals. Even though I had never known Derek before high school, I had known about him and his family my whole life.
I don't think I meant to say it, in fact I'm sure I didn't, but somehow one of my questions slipped right out of my mouth. "Do you remember your mother?"
I could tell that was the last thing he expected me to ask, and judging from the look on his face, it was exactly the question I should not have asked. "You have no right to ask me about her," he said carefully, his jaw locked so tight it looked like it might crack.
"I was just curious," I hurried to explain. "I wasn't going to say anything about her, I just wondered... I know I have memories of my mother, and I just thought—"
"Well, stop thinking," he said angrily, cutting me off.
Neither of us said another word until we got to McDonald's, and once we were there, he told me to stay in the car, as he didn't want anyone to see me with him, and he asked what I wanted.
I sat in the car sulking as he went in to get the food. He had no right to keep belittling me the way he did, and it was starting to piss me off. Did he think I was proud to be out with him? Not hardly. I didn’t like him either, I just had a little more sympathy for him, which was probably my mistake. Maybe he didn't deserve my sympathy, not even a little bit.
When he came back out he handed me the bag and I thanked him automatically, then bit my own tongue, cursing my good manners. He nodded and started eating his own double cheeseburger.
We ate in complete silence. I had no idea what he was thinking, although he appeared to still be mad at me. I alternated between thinking about our mothers and what might take place when we got done eating. Would it be the same without the alcohol? Even though I "didn't remember" anything (a trait I inherited from Alex, who could "forget" anything he did with any woman) I did remember at least enjoying myself. I did remember what it felt like to have my fingers tangled in his hair, his body pressing into mine... and even though I thought he was a jerk, thinking about it still warmed my body, made my fingers itch to delve into that soft head of hair once more.
I still hated him though.
It was purely a physical attraction, and definitely not a strong one.
It was definitely nothing to worry about, just a few unruly hormones.
After leaving McDonald's he headed back in the direction he had come from. I didn't think too much of it at first, I just listened to the radio and decided I didn't like his music taste at all.
It wasn't until he turned back into the trailer park that I realized he really did appear to be heading back to my place. When he pulled onto my road, I knew he was.
"Um... we can't go into my house," I said, refusing to let him invade the sanctuary of my room.
He didn't respond at all, just drove down the road and pulled into my driveway.
"Get out," he said simply, not even looking at me.
My eyes widened a little. "What?"
"Get out," he said slowly, enunciating each word.
"But..."
"What?" he asked, finally looking at me. "You're so overwhelmed with desire for me that you'll perish if I don't touch you tonight?"
I ignored his sarcastic question. "What about the video?"
He shook his head, looking away from me. "I'm not gonna show anyone, I just don't feel like dealing with you tonight. Maybe I'll pick you up tomorrow."
I could not get out of that car fast enough. He was letting me off the hook and not showing the tapes, so I didn't want to stay there long enough for him to change his mind.