Leather Kisses

Leather Kisses. 25

And so, the court date countdown began. We worked harder, we worked longer, we worked until we could work no more.

When the holiday season rolled around, we gratefully took the break. All three of us knew that when we regrouped in January, there wouldn't be a second to waste. We were going to have to go above and beyond if we wanted to win. We needed more research, more background information, more evidence . . . anything that would help our case.

When school started back up again, Dean and I fell into a natural routine: meet in the morning, survive the school day, go to my house and work with my father until the night was over, and repeat.

Dean and I became so consumed by this lawsuit that our grades fell to the wayside. It was a hard price to pay, but worth it. My father had difficulty focusing on his other clients, but did his best to balance all of his cases as long as he could.

It was just days before the court date that Dean unexpectantly broke our daily cycle. It was Thursday of that monumental week that I had to take the bus and walked to Chemisty by myself. I wondered about his whereabouts with rage. Dean better come up with some damn good excuse. He knew that we were going to be in the court room on Saturday. He knew how crucial these last few days were.

On the bright side, this gave me a chance to approach Lucy for the first time in weeks. Along with my grades, my friendship with her had suffered because of this.

"Hey Lucy," I called out to her, as our class shuffled out of the room. "Wait up!"

But she didn't wait, didn't stop, didn't even bear to slow down. I huffed, then picked up my pace, and pushed through the crowd until I was by her side.

"Lucy. Hey," I caught my breath, waiting for her response. "How are you?"

She sneered, and avoided my eyes. "Oh, so now you talk to me?" In an attempt to get away from me, she took longer, faster strides. "Now that your boyfriend isn't here, you're lonely and come running back?"

"Are you mad?" I inquired, confused. "I thought you'd understand."

"Yeah, my best friend has ditched and snubbed me for her new boyfriend," she spat. Then said sarcastically, "I totally understand." She gritted her teeth, and turned sharply down the corner of the hall. I struggled to keep up with her. "You know, even when you were Blake, even when he tried to take up all your time, you still made an effort for me. Now, it's like you don't even care."

She was jealous . . . and hurt. I probably would have been too, but she had it all wrong.

I sighed. "I know Lucy, I've been really busy and I know that's not an excuse but I've had a lot going on," I tried to explain.

"I don't know anything about what's going on, Riley, because you haven't told me," she snapped loudly, stopping in the dead middle of the hall. "The only person you speak to these days is Dean. I mean, seriously! What's the point of having a best friend if you're always going to pick your boyfriend. What's the point of having both if you can't manage to balance the two . . ." she started to step away from me. "Think about that, and give me a call when you're ready to actually be my best friend again, and not a ghost."

I didn't bother to try and follow her. I let her go, just as I had let my most important friendship go. She was right. Every word she said was true. But how could I juggle all of this? A lawsuit, a mysterious boyfriend, a dysfunctional family, a needy best friend, an abusive ex, and on top of that, school. It was too much for seventeen-year-old to manage. I couldn't do it all. I could only focus and succeed on the most important factors in my life right now. Atleast until some of them were resolved.

I sat alone at the lunch table that day. It was the first time in weeks that I had actually done something alone. I had no stepping stone, no person to depend on. Just me, myself, and I. And as I ate my macaroni salad by myself, I came to realize that I was too dependent on everybody else. In breaking out of my relationship with Blake, I had hoped to gain some independence. I told myself I would take baby steps. I had done just the opposite. Instead, I had leeched onto and survived off of somebody else. Three somebody elses to be exact. And now at school, with no father, no boyfriend, no best friend, I had to fend for my own. And that's exactly what I learned to do that day in the lunch room.

For the first time in months, I survived an intervention with Blake on my own. A brief intervention, but an intervention none the less.

He sat down at my empty table, and waited for me to say something like "What do you want Blake?" or "Leave me alone." But I stared down at my food, and ate in silence. Eventually, he gave in.

"What, no security guards today?"

I dabbed my mouth with my napkin and looked up at him. "What, no motley crew today?"

"You know," he bent over, cranking his head closer to mine. "When it comes down to it, in the end, it's just you and me."

I smirked at his sorry attempt to intimidate me. "You and me and the devil makes three," I smartly replied, with an eyebrow raise.

He peered at me, with those harsh, piercing ocean eyes. "You think you're clever, don't you?"

"I know I am," I shrugged, shoving a forkful of food into my mouth.

He crossed his arms. "I hope you're bringing your A-game on Saturday. You don't want to seem entirely pathetic when you lose. Then you can at least say you put up a fair fight."

"You know, I'm going to laugh when I see that shocked expression on your face when the jury proves you guilty," I cocked my head at him, and stared him dead in the face.

"We'll see who's laughing in the end," he spat, as he got up from the table. He took a few steps away, then turned back around. "Oh, and tell your little Ponyboy I'll see him later tonight."

He left me baffled by his words. What did he mean by that, and what was going on? Dean has some serious explaining to do.

After a long, lonesome day at school, I finally made it home. I crawled up to my father's office, threw my backpack on the floor, and slumped in one of his chairs. My father was diligently working, scribbling on some documents.

"Where's Dean?" He asked, putting down his fountain pen.

"Don't know . . . he didn't show up today," I muttered.

My father looked disheartened and disappointed, but suppressed his emotions as lawyers always do. They work with their heads, not their hearts.

"No worries, we can work without him," my father replied, handing me a stack of papers.

So we got cracking away. Obviously, three pairs of hands is better than two, so we weren't at our usual pace. Nonetheless, we worked well and got some good one-on-one bonding time. Without Dean as a buffer, we were able to chat about father-daughter stuff.

Around 5:30, the door bell rang. My mother, who had just gotten home answered it, then called for me.

"Riley, your juvenile delinquent wants to see you," she snarled, as she fetched me from my father's study. She obviously was still not used to the idea of having Dean around regularly. When he was over helping us, she tried her best to avoid him with bare minimal interaction.

I approached the door, and made sure I had a fowl expression on my face. "Dean . . ." I got one good look at him, and dropped my mouth. He looked terrible. His eyes were red and tired, his clothes were wrinkled, and his hair was out of control. "What's going on? Where were you today? Blake mentioned something about you too."

"Blake?" He raised his eyebrows. "Look, Riley, I'm sorry, I can explain, but we don't have much time." He took my hand and started pulling me towards his motorcycle.

"Dean, wait," I broke loose. "What do you mean we don't have time? Where are we going?"

"Riley, we have to go," Dean sounded panicked and desperate. "I need to show you, I need to explain before it's too late. Just please, come with me."

I sighed. I couldn't ignore a desperate cry for help. So I strapped onto the back of his bike, and we took off.