Free Punk and Zen by JD Glass Page B

sad again,” she insisted. “Just come to me. Give yourself over to
me, make me your world, and I swear you will be mine.” The arm beneath my
shoulder pulled me closer, and the warmth, the feeling of genuine affection
that poured from her was wonderful. “I will love you and protect you.” She
punctuated each promise with a soft kiss and a caress. “You will never, ever,
need anything again. I promise you, Nina,” she swore, and kissed my cheek
gently.
    The warmth, the words, the emotions were tempting, and
I wanted to believe them, all of them. I wanted to believe her. I almost gave
in because in that moment she felt so like her, so like Samantha. I was going
to snuggle deeper into her, throw my arms around Trace and nuzzle against her
neck as I’d never done before, but as I shifted my legs, the bruise at their
apex throbbed, and instead of turning inward, toward her, I twisted further away,
almost onto my stomach, the blanket clutched firmly around me. Samantha would
have meant it, would have never hurt me first, would have said those things to
me face-to-face, not waited until I was bruised and ABC sleeping.
    “No,” I whispered, still only half awake, and safely
tucked away, I fell back into a deep sleep.
    Trace was gone when I finally woke up, on my stomach
and half off the sofa. I blinked a few times and rolled onto my back. Ouch. Bad
idea. I’d forgotten about that bruise there and the other one that nestled up
in my crotch. Both reminded me of their reality, and I remembered how I’d
gotten them.
    Geez. What the fuck was I going to do? No way would I
tell Jackie or Cap about it. I mean, Jackie and Cap were both friends with
Trace first. I wasn’t sure they’d believe me, and even if they did, somehow, I
was sort of sure that it was my fault, anyway, which meant that I’d been dumb.
    Besides, what was I going to say? It was no secret
that I felt strongly for Trace; Cap would probably tell me I was an idiot for
not going for it, and Jackie? She’d never, ever, believe it. She’d tell me I
misunderstood, that I didn’t understand Trace, that I was just too young, too
immature.
    I could just imagine Cap—his cocoa face, high and
tight military-style buzz cut, and wide, bright grin. “Two, in one night? And
one of them Trace? Not bad, kid, not bad,” and he’d slap my shoulder and laugh.
    And I could see Jackie’s face as well, auburn hair and
porcelain skin broken only by the firm line of her mouth. She probably wouldn’t
say a word. Hell, she probably wouldn’t talk to me for a few days, then, at the
end of that time, walk in one night after work and start yelling about the
spoon in the sink or something. We’d have a big talk, or rather, she would
talk, and I would listen, while she told me how and why exactly I was wrong.
    I sat up and swung my legs off the sofa, the blanket
half covering me, and bracing my hands on my knees, I stared at the floor. It
was starting to occur to me that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have the best
friends in the world—at least, not to live with.
    I stood up and stretched, letting the blanket fall to
the floor. Everything was a little sore, but that was no big deal. Glancing
down, I realized I’d slept in my bathrobe and I had terry-cloth textured skin.
I tied the ends of the belt together and crept to the shared bedroom.
    Opening the door slowly, I stuck my head in. Jackie
was out like a light, and I was surprised to see she had her arm thrown over
Trace, who was asleep on top of the blankets in a T-shirt, facing the wall.
    I didn’t want to wake either of them, so I slipped
very quietly to the closet where our clothes were and grabbed a T-shirt, a pair
of shorts, some pants, socks, underwear—you know, the usual. It didn’t matter
what it looked like; most of it was black, anyway.
    As I sneaked back to the door, Trace shifted.
    “Nina,” she called quietly. I froze in place. I
certainly wasn’t ready to talk with her. Trace moved again and resettled on