TWENTY NINE: PAINKILLERSo. AJ and I were in a restroom. Together. Alone. He had his arms around me. And he just confessed how much he cared. Don’t tell me you don’t know what’s going to happen next. And for those of you who do- You know I’d do anything not to let it happen. “This isn’t an invite” I reminded desperately cold; I could feel the tension melting away between us and I was desperate to recreate it. I couldn’t fall weak again- it just wasn’t an option. “AJ” I warned as he leaned in. God, he was close. Too close. “Get away from me” I managed to stutter, just as his lips came crushing down on mine. They were soft, sensual and all together, very alluring. Addictive, and paralyzing almost like painkillers, I felt immune to any defense. It wasn’t fair that he was so disarming. Damn. I felt him. And he knew it. I had to stop it. So I slapped him. Hard. Bringing AJ's stunned face close to mine, I uttered my response. "Fine, AJ, I fuckin’ feel you, okay? Happy now?" Then I left. I knew he wouldn’t follow me; there weren’t any censors to ‘bleep’ out potential obscenities that would fly (voluntarily, mind you) and he couldn’t afford to attract any more negative publicity, from the very crude bashing I had already given him. I know there isn’t a way I could forget the hurt and anger flaming in his eyes, digging into my soul like daggers to Macbeth’s guilt. The question is, now that I’ve admitted it- How far can I run? And for how long? |
|
©
sayamaru and 'Bittersweet Rhapsodies' 2001-02 No
part of this website may be reproduced in part or in whole without permission of
the author/webmistress. All ideas, graphics and layouts and backgrounds and stories are copyright of sayamaru and Bittersweet Rhapsodies. I am in no way affiliated with the Backstreet Boys, their management wives/girlfriends or the girls used in these stories. |