Where'd You Go? (Track Twelve, III), chapter 11
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As they got into the car, Mike confided, "I keep wondering if my body's still in the truck and this isn't real." He reached over and gave Wren a jab in the ribs.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"I'm checking to see if you're awake."
"So what? If this is my dream, then maybe I don't really like you and then why would I dream it anyway? Pinch yourself!"
Mike shook his brown and blonde tinted head, earring swinging. "No," he held up his wrapped wrists. "I'm feeling a bit of pain. Besides, if this was my dream, there'd be a giant marshmallow somewhere. There are always giant marshmallows." Suspiciously, he looked around at the streets, eyes narrowed.
"You're such a dork," Wren chuckled as she playfully took a swipe at him.
He ducked and challenged, "Why don't you go fuck some undorky person?"
"I'm sure Billie Joe wouldn't mind acting his age long enough to do the deed." Mike's face fell, and Wren knew she'd hit a nerve.
Oh goody, I've managed to make him feel bad. Wow, we've already got touchy subjects and we've been together for...a few hours, counting the ones I slept through.
He tried to work a convincing grumble into his voice. "We're dating, but we gotta wait. You're not dating him, but you wouldn't wait."
Wren patted his knee, which was showing through the rip in his jeans. "Well, it'll not be very fun for you if you're crying over your wrists the next morning."
One of the many strange things I've learned from Tré is how to talk freely about carnal matters. I find myself quit comfortable with it. Yet, when you are being three quarters serious, it's actually gets hard to do again.
"So, if the wrists are what're bugging you, when will you consider me healed up?"
Wren said the first crazy thing that came to mind. "I'll call you healed when you beat Billie Joe at an arm wrestle." They stopped at a light, and Wren saw, out of the corner of her eye, a confident look on his face.
Yes, he was strong. Ha, look at those muscles. Shmexy. But what Billie Joe lacks in strength, he makes up for in sheer determination. I'll have to make sure that Mike doesn't get him to give up easy or something like that.
At the hospital parking lot, Wren undid her seat belt and leaned close. "How about one last time," she felt wildly giddy, "before we go into hiding?"
Mike flashed a boyish grin. "I don't know, it's a bit risky."
I can tell he is just playing a game of chicken, so he can bug me for being so...enthusiastic. Well, two can play this game.[i]
She removed the key from the ignition and pocketed it. "You're right," She put her hand on the door handle as if about to leave, "We better be careful." With a skill that would have made the best Shakespearian actor jealous, Wren managed not to smile at his dejection. She started to open the door.
He muttered under his breath, "Aw, fuck." Quickly, he leaned over and they indulged in a deep kiss.
The kissing was pulsing; they would separate and then reconnect. It was so absorbing, neither of them could stay in their seats. Instead, Wren was basically sitting on the stick shift and Mike was shoved so far back, he was almost in the backseat.
[i]Like I was going to miss out on a chance to do this! Though, if this is what he does when he thinks I'm going to take off, maybe I should tease him more often.
"You notice that before you kiss me it's like you always say fuck?" Wren commented as they paused to breathe.
A wicked grin flickered onto his angular features. "I guess it's on my mind."
There was one last, long, kiss before they returned to their normal seats. Now, it was time to be "friends" only.
"Fuck it all," Wren panted, "You're hot."
Alright, not in the kind of flashy sparkly way like Billie Joe, where you see him and go: Oh my God, he's hot. This is more like...I don't know! It's weird to explain. Point of case: I would not trade one Mike for a thousand Billie Joes.
Mike checked himself out in the mirror. "Damn, I am. You're too," he added as a plotted afterthought.
Wren shook her head and jumped out of the car. "Race you to Tré's room!" Before he could accept or decline, Wren was already running over the asphalt towards the hospital. Due to his long legs, they arrived at the sliding main entrance doors at the same time. He winked as he strode past, power-walking faster than she.
"No fair, you've got spider legs."
He stopped and propped his hands on his hips. "Spider legs are better than yours since I'm winning. But if you want it to be fair...."
Wren let out an involuntary shriek as he swept her up. Mike and the nurses shushed her simultaneously. Wren shoved at his chest half-heartedly while blushing like mad.
"Mike," she hissed, "C'mon, you dumb ass, put me down. You don't wanna delay your wrists healing up," she warned. He rolled his blue eyes and put her down. "What happened to secrecy?" she inquired as they entered the empty elevator.
"I thought I saw a marshmallow. I wasn't going to let it take you away."
Wren pushed the 2 button. The doors closed.
"Well, next time you see a marshmallow, tell it to not attack until we're somewhere where nobody can see." To prove a point, she discreetly let her hand find his. Due to the fact their mouths were somewhat preoccupied, they stood in silence for the last ten seconds of the ride. It was with great regret that Wren stepped back and reclaimed her fingers when the door opened. With her in the lead, and Mike following, they went to Tré's room. Billie Joe's voice was drifting into the hallway.
"The medication? You grabbed my ass on pur--" He stopped talking when Mike coughed to reveal their presence outside the door.
"Took you long enough," Tré chirped with a lopsided grin. Now under the harsh fluorescent lighting, Wren was astounded at his condition. His face was covered in scratches, and he had bruises on top of bruises. "Man, I'm so fucking sorry about the truck. I'll you know, pay you back."
Mike did not say anything for a bit.
Is he mad? Are we gonna have a blow up session?
After a tense (for Wren anyway) second or two, he finally nodded. "Insurance'll get me another, but I might need more. Your ass is mine."
"You can have it. I think I landed on it and broke every--do asses have bones?"
Billie shot back, "That explains a lot. You broke the end that does your thinking for you." Tré flipped him the bird.
"What's the verdict?" Wren asked.
"He can go right now. In fact, they want him to." Billie Joe crossed his arms, "Apparently, his charm leaves something to be desired because we're basically being kicked out."
"Yeah. They all desire to be fucked by me! I'm too sexy for this nightie, too sexy for this nightie." He plucked at his hospital gown.
How can you tell how lucid he really is? This is weird for an average person, but Tré's not exactly "average".
An orderly knocked on the doorframe before pushing a wheelchair into the room. "Here's the chair, all you gotta do is get him dressed and into it. When he's in the car, just take this back to the main entrance." He disappeared quickly.
Hmmm. Must not want to get dragged into dealing with Tré. Neither do I.
"This sounds like it's gonna get past PG13." Wren left the room.
Tré bellowed so that the whole hospital could hear, "It's gonna be S! For So-God-Damn-Sexy!"
As Mike shut the door, Wren gave him a sympathetic look. There was probably going to be some groping.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"I'm checking to see if you're awake."
"So what? If this is my dream, then maybe I don't really like you and then why would I dream it anyway? Pinch yourself!"
Mike shook his brown and blonde tinted head, earring swinging. "No," he held up his wrapped wrists. "I'm feeling a bit of pain. Besides, if this was my dream, there'd be a giant marshmallow somewhere. There are always giant marshmallows." Suspiciously, he looked around at the streets, eyes narrowed.
"You're such a dork," Wren chuckled as she playfully took a swipe at him.
He ducked and challenged, "Why don't you go fuck some undorky person?"
"I'm sure Billie Joe wouldn't mind acting his age long enough to do the deed." Mike's face fell, and Wren knew she'd hit a nerve.
Oh goody, I've managed to make him feel bad. Wow, we've already got touchy subjects and we've been together for...a few hours, counting the ones I slept through.
He tried to work a convincing grumble into his voice. "We're dating, but we gotta wait. You're not dating him, but you wouldn't wait."
Wren patted his knee, which was showing through the rip in his jeans. "Well, it'll not be very fun for you if you're crying over your wrists the next morning."
One of the many strange things I've learned from Tré is how to talk freely about carnal matters. I find myself quit comfortable with it. Yet, when you are being three quarters serious, it's actually gets hard to do again.
"So, if the wrists are what're bugging you, when will you consider me healed up?"
Wren said the first crazy thing that came to mind. "I'll call you healed when you beat Billie Joe at an arm wrestle." They stopped at a light, and Wren saw, out of the corner of her eye, a confident look on his face.
Yes, he was strong. Ha, look at those muscles. Shmexy. But what Billie Joe lacks in strength, he makes up for in sheer determination. I'll have to make sure that Mike doesn't get him to give up easy or something like that.
At the hospital parking lot, Wren undid her seat belt and leaned close. "How about one last time," she felt wildly giddy, "before we go into hiding?"
Mike flashed a boyish grin. "I don't know, it's a bit risky."
I can tell he is just playing a game of chicken, so he can bug me for being so...enthusiastic. Well, two can play this game.[i]
She removed the key from the ignition and pocketed it. "You're right," She put her hand on the door handle as if about to leave, "We better be careful." With a skill that would have made the best Shakespearian actor jealous, Wren managed not to smile at his dejection. She started to open the door.
He muttered under his breath, "Aw, fuck." Quickly, he leaned over and they indulged in a deep kiss.
The kissing was pulsing; they would separate and then reconnect. It was so absorbing, neither of them could stay in their seats. Instead, Wren was basically sitting on the stick shift and Mike was shoved so far back, he was almost in the backseat.
[i]Like I was going to miss out on a chance to do this! Though, if this is what he does when he thinks I'm going to take off, maybe I should tease him more often.
"You notice that before you kiss me it's like you always say fuck?" Wren commented as they paused to breathe.
A wicked grin flickered onto his angular features. "I guess it's on my mind."
There was one last, long, kiss before they returned to their normal seats. Now, it was time to be "friends" only.
"Fuck it all," Wren panted, "You're hot."
Alright, not in the kind of flashy sparkly way like Billie Joe, where you see him and go: Oh my God, he's hot. This is more like...I don't know! It's weird to explain. Point of case: I would not trade one Mike for a thousand Billie Joes.
Mike checked himself out in the mirror. "Damn, I am. You're too," he added as a plotted afterthought.
Wren shook her head and jumped out of the car. "Race you to Tré's room!" Before he could accept or decline, Wren was already running over the asphalt towards the hospital. Due to his long legs, they arrived at the sliding main entrance doors at the same time. He winked as he strode past, power-walking faster than she.
"No fair, you've got spider legs."
He stopped and propped his hands on his hips. "Spider legs are better than yours since I'm winning. But if you want it to be fair...."
Wren let out an involuntary shriek as he swept her up. Mike and the nurses shushed her simultaneously. Wren shoved at his chest half-heartedly while blushing like mad.
"Mike," she hissed, "C'mon, you dumb ass, put me down. You don't wanna delay your wrists healing up," she warned. He rolled his blue eyes and put her down. "What happened to secrecy?" she inquired as they entered the empty elevator.
"I thought I saw a marshmallow. I wasn't going to let it take you away."
Wren pushed the 2 button. The doors closed.
"Well, next time you see a marshmallow, tell it to not attack until we're somewhere where nobody can see." To prove a point, she discreetly let her hand find his. Due to the fact their mouths were somewhat preoccupied, they stood in silence for the last ten seconds of the ride. It was with great regret that Wren stepped back and reclaimed her fingers when the door opened. With her in the lead, and Mike following, they went to Tré's room. Billie Joe's voice was drifting into the hallway.
"The medication? You grabbed my ass on pur--" He stopped talking when Mike coughed to reveal their presence outside the door.
"Took you long enough," Tré chirped with a lopsided grin. Now under the harsh fluorescent lighting, Wren was astounded at his condition. His face was covered in scratches, and he had bruises on top of bruises. "Man, I'm so fucking sorry about the truck. I'll you know, pay you back."
Mike did not say anything for a bit.
Is he mad? Are we gonna have a blow up session?
After a tense (for Wren anyway) second or two, he finally nodded. "Insurance'll get me another, but I might need more. Your ass is mine."
"You can have it. I think I landed on it and broke every--do asses have bones?"
Billie shot back, "That explains a lot. You broke the end that does your thinking for you." Tré flipped him the bird.
"What's the verdict?" Wren asked.
"He can go right now. In fact, they want him to." Billie Joe crossed his arms, "Apparently, his charm leaves something to be desired because we're basically being kicked out."
"Yeah. They all desire to be fucked by me! I'm too sexy for this nightie, too sexy for this nightie." He plucked at his hospital gown.
How can you tell how lucid he really is? This is weird for an average person, but Tré's not exactly "average".
An orderly knocked on the doorframe before pushing a wheelchair into the room. "Here's the chair, all you gotta do is get him dressed and into it. When he's in the car, just take this back to the main entrance." He disappeared quickly.
Hmmm. Must not want to get dragged into dealing with Tré. Neither do I.
"This sounds like it's gonna get past PG13." Wren left the room.
Tré bellowed so that the whole hospital could hear, "It's gonna be S! For So-God-Damn-Sexy!"
As Mike shut the door, Wren gave him a sympathetic look. There was probably going to be some groping.
