Filed to story: Brace Face Betty Drama Story
“Of course you do. It’s the rule. You do the shot, and then you-“
“Betty?”
“-do the lime. We have to get ano-“
“Betty.”
She finally stops talking. Looks up at me, eyes a little bright from the tequila. “Yeah?”
I lean into her, brushing her hair back behind her ear. Only she can hear me when I whisper into the shell of her ear. “I’m in love with you. Did you know that?”
She stiffens, her breath catching in her throat. When she looks at me out of the corner of her eye, her smile is gone, and she…fuck, why does she look afraid?
“Yes.” Her voice cracks on the word. “I did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I stroke the back of my index finger over the smooth, porcelain of her cheek. Fuck, she’s so fucking beautiful, it makes me want to scream. To trash the entire bar and set the whole place ablaze. I can’t fucking take how perfect she is.
“It’s not my place to tell you your feelings, Marcus.” She’s putting on a brave face on it, laughing lightly, trying to be glib, but her hand, still holding her shot glass, is shaking. I take hold of it, closing my own around it, steadying her.
“I know plenty about lust. There’s very little anyone could tell me about want. There hasn’t been a day in my life when I haven’t needed something or someone. But love? Shit, I hardly know anything about love, Betty. I’m out of practice. You’re gonna need to help me out a lot with this one.”
“Who’s to say I know any more about it than you do,” she asks. The bar’s loud as hell, the band striking up another song, laughter and chatter all around us, but I hear her as clearly as if we’re standing in a silent room, quiet enough to hear a pin drop. “Who’s to say I’m not going to need just as much help?”
My chest feels like it’s splitting open. My heart’s a fucking ruin. “Why? What does that mean,
Argento?”
“It means…god, Marcus. Don’t you know that I love you, too? That I have no idea what the hell I’m doing either?” Her playful smile has disappeared. Her eyes are shining even worse than before, only now the burn from the tequila is gone, and it looks as though she’s about to burst into tears.
I cradle the side of her face, cupping her cheek in my hand, brushing my thumb against the line of her cheekbone. “Fuck,” I whisper. “Is it too much? Loving me? If the answer’s yes, then I’ll take you home right now. I’ll change schools. I’ll go, and you’ll never have to see me again. I don’t ever, ever wanna cause you pain.”
She catches hold of me by the wrist, turning toward me, a look of panic on her face. “No. Marcus, no. Don’t you dare let me go. Loving you is the only thing that makes any sense right now. It’s everything else around us that’s fucked up beyond belief.”
I’m suddenly aware of someone standing next to us, on the other side of the bar. Paul’s returned and he’s got a fresh bottle of tequila in his hand. The roar of the bar comes crashing back down around us, people pressing in on all sides. “Looked like the one shot wasn’t gonna cut it,” Paul says, smirking. “Thought you guys might appreciate some bottle service.” He gestures for our glasses. I give him mine, and Betty slides hers robotically toward him over the sticky countertop. Neither of us speaks as he tops us up and winks. “I know we just met,” he says, addressing Betty, “but I will tell you this. This guy has never brought a girl here. And I have never seen him look at anyone the way I just saw him looking at you. I had to run to the bathroom and throw up before I could bring this over. It was positively disgusting. That said, if he’s done something to upset you, I already like you enough to take him out back and tan his tattooed hide for you. Just say the word, and it’s as good as done.”
“Fuck you, asshole. You’re dreaming if you think you could,” I say, scowling at him halfheartedly.
Betty just smiles shyly. “It’s okay. He hasn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he did the opposite. He just made me really, really happy.”
* * *
BETTY
We drink, we dance, we talk, and then we dance some more. Once we’re sick of the noise in the bar, Marcus takes me to a flat, dry spot on the hill behind the Rock, and we lie there for a couple of hours, freezing, looking up at the stars, talking about Ben and Max. The fresh air works wonders, and by the time the Uber pulls up in front of the house to drop me off, I’m stone cold sober. The windows are all in darkness, apart from one: Dad’s office window. He told me to be home by midnight, so it was safe to assume he was going to wait up for me and make sure I abided by his curfew. A wishful part of me had been hoping he might have just said fuck it and gone to bed, though. I see the blinds twitch and curse between my teeth.
I get out of the ride and let myself into the house, bracing for the litany of questions that will be coming any second now. In three…two…one…
“Betty?” he calls from his office.
Damn. No sneaking up the stairs unnoticed then. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then walk down the hall and stand in the doorway. “Hey, Dad.”
He takes his glasses off and sets them on his desk. “Three minutes past twelve, kiddo.”
“Are you gonna cane the back of my hands?” I say, grinning at him.
“For three minutes? I should think only a light beating’s in order. How was your night?”
I sigh, hiking my backpack up on my shoulder. “Ahh, y’know. Drunken debauchery. Half a bottle of tequila. Running around naked, howling at the moon. The usual.” It’s a low blow, using the truth to throw him off guard. I don’t’ feel good about it, but it’s better than an outright lie.