Hit Me, Again. [Evan Peters]

Chapter 6

Sorry I haven't updated lately! All of a sudden I was getting new reads, so I figured I should do something! I hope this doesn't dissapoint. I have a crazy ending planned already. This won't be a terribly long story. VOTE, COMMENT, AND FAN! Thanks guys! -Lauren

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"Up next we have," the man with a black beard and striped pants stood on the stage, looking down at a small yellow slip of paper, "Rosemary."

Everyone in the audience clapped and snapped. I don't understand why I came to these things really. Everyone hear was a bunch of wannabe hippies and underage hipsters with fake IDs. Walking onto the small stage, I saw the door open in the back and Evan walked in. I tried not to smile, but I could feel myself blushing. He waved and found a spot in the back where he sat down. Sitting on the stool by the mic, I began reading. 

Most of my work was about growing up. Not always having someone to fall back on. Not having somebody to take the thorns out of your feet when you went outside without shoes. Everyone gave me a positive reaction when I read, but I'm half the people here didn't understand the pain behind my words. It hurt to get up in front of an audience like this and spill my heart out. They didn't know if it was true or not. They just sat there and listened. I didn't write poetry for anyone, but myself. It was a very selfish career on my part. 

At the end I got a standing ovation from the crowd. It wasn't even that good. These people were crazy. Looking back at Evan in the back, my heart started to flutter like a hummingbird's wings. He sat there in the chair, casually drinking a cup of coffee and clapping for me. There was a genuine smile on his face. Being that I was the last speaker, everyone started to shuffle steadily out of the cafe. Evan pushed his way to me and met me by the edge of the stage. I walked down the thee small stairs and brought him into a hug.

"You did fantastic!"

"Thanks... I don't think it was my best."

"I think the crowd would have to say otherwise."

"The crowd doesn't know what real poetry is. They just listen so they can label themselves as hipster art freaks."

"You never know. They still appriciate what you do," he took my hand and we walked off to the parking lot.

"What was the last poem called?"

"Clocks."

"That was my favorite."

Clocks was one of th poems I had submittd for my college applications. It was a poem I'd written about being left alone during middle school. How I'd dread the minutes until everyone got home from work and school. One day, the ticking drove me insane and I smashed two clocks. When my parents found them, they were so angry. They sent me off the my room and didn't feed me for two days. It was one of my crueler memories.

"It's nice to know that hearing about me being abused as a child entertains you."

"Not like that! It just really showed you. I wouldn't have the guts to read something so personal out loud like that. It takes a lot courage."

It did, I guess. The first time I read for anybody was for a English assignment my sophomore year. Everyone thought I was a suicidal freak, which in their minds, meant they should talk about me behind my back and write about me in the bathroom stalls. Way to be original with the bullying, guys. 

Evan walked with me to my car.

"Do you want go grab something to eat with me?"

"It's midnight, Evan. I doubt anything is going to be open."

"I know a place around the corner from here. Come on!" Taking my hand, he pulled me down the street. There was a new restaurant next to a store my sister used to shop at. It was a cajun food place. Inside, there was one other couple sitting at a table. A tall black man met us at the door and led us to a table. Evan sat in the chair across from me and reached out to hold my hands. The waitor came back and took our orders before dissappearing back into the kitchen. The other couple that had been in here when we'd arrived had left already. We basically had the whole restaurant to ourselves. At least it smelled good. The man brought us our food and we sat there eating. Nobody else came inside, which was surprising because this street was super busy all of the time. 

"Are you all done?" The waitor appeared out of nowhere.

"Uhmm, yes?" I looked over at Evan, who wiped his mouth with a napkin and nodded. 

"That'll be $19.50." I pulled my wallet out and tried to give the man my cash. Evan's hand caught my arm and handed the man his own money.

"I would never make you pay for dinner! Especially after you just preformed so well."

Okay, I was blushing like an idiot. The last time I went on a date, the guy pretended like he'd left his wallet at home so he didn't have to pay for dinner. Later that night, I saw him on the corner paying for a stripper. It was nice being treated like a sensible woman. Looking down at my nails, I messed with the nial polish that was starting to crack at the tips. 

"It's been really nice seeing you today. Especially after I had to leave you this morning. I felt horrible."

The note. He'd left one in the kitchen saying 'something had come up,' I'd almost forgotten about it.

"Yeah, what's up with that? You wanted to have sex, but then you just left? I figured you were just gone for good."

"I wouldn't do that to you, Rosemary. I've never felt like this about another girl. You've showed me another side of me in these past three days."

We got up from the table and made our way outside. A bell rung as the door opened and swung shut. Evan's hands went to my waist. 

"Rosemary, you're so special. I'd die before I would ever try and hurt you."

His words pierced right through me. Who was this guy? Why did he want anything to do with me? I was a fool for letting somebody into my life this quickly. I'd been hurt before, and I didn't want to be hurt again.

My mouth opened in protest, but his met mine before a word could slide off my lips. It was a very passionate kiss and I was slightly uncomfortable doing this in public. Then again, it just added thrill to the experience. 

Nowadays, it felt like everything I did was just for the thrill of it.