FOURTEEN: TRY ME

 I should have let her die. I really should have, she wanted it enough to be stepping so dangerously to edge.

"gerofme, gerofme" she screamed when I lunged forward and grabbed her by the waist, throwing her on top of me as my head hit the hard, cold concrete.

If it was anyone else, I would have gotten up and shown them that AJ Mc Lean was no weakling. But this was Minerva here, sarcasm queen with bitter ass attitude. I decided today would be pay-day.

"Stop faking, you're a boring drunk!" I heard Minna cry. I heard her laugh "AJ, I'm okay, see, I was the queen of the world"

If music is my wife, then acting is my mistress. My performance would have brought Gwyneth Paltrow's acceptance speech to shame.

"AJ, wake up, wake up, wake up" I heard her scream insistently. What are her ears made of? Lead? Her scream was piercing, shrilly and unlike her. I thought it was time I take her out of her misery.

"You friggin' sexpot, wake up!"

Nope. Guess not. Not till she's learnt the lesson of compassion.

Suddenly, I felt cool, icy liquid on my face. "Wake up, you goof" she laughed as she poured it on my face. I began to splutter and choke.

"Just friggin' wake up" she screamed; correction, holler would have been the operative word.

"AJ WAKE UP" she screamed in my ear.

"AJ wake up, wake up" she whined as she began shaking my body from side to side. I felt like one of those rag dolls, being torn in the middle by two little girls. Or two women. Eh, either will do.

Then I heard it. Short, deep-heaving breaths, constricted in her throat as she hiccupped.

She was crying.

"I've killed him" she cried dramatically, crushing my poor ribcage. (Believe me, any attacker stalking her dead in the night would be sorry if they chose her to be their victim. They would be the victim, not her.)

Good Lord, you haven't friggin' killed me I thought as I heard her rustle about me. I felt her hair tickle my nose as she clumsily climbed over me. She tried to slow her sobs by doing this breathing exercise that all women seem to do when they have PMS, are agitated or something.

Then, out of nowhere, her cold fingers pinch my nose, my head is tilted back and her mouth is placed squarely on mine.

Minerva Prescott was trying to save my life.


All I could think of was saving him. He didn't look any different from any other time, but his lips were turning blue and his hands were disgustingly purple.

I remember trying to revive him with CPR. I remember compressing on his chest. I don't remember inviting him to lip wrestle.

I flapped wildly as I was suddenly locked in with his hands around my waist, somewhere they shouldn't be.

I emerged, breathless and panting. I was going to reprimand him like all those other times. But then he glanced up at me, holding my eyes.

"Is that the best you can do?" I kidded

He drunkenly looked me up and down, sizing me up like I was his nemesis. "I can do it better. I'm just afraid you can't handle it."

"Try me"

 

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