Between You and I

Chapter Twenty- Nine

September 2010: Two Years Before

Music blared from the speakers set up all over the house. Bodies were swaying, underage drinking was everywhere, and couples were making out like it was no one else's business. Everyone kept asking me why they've never seen me at any other parties, but the answer wasn't complicated to understand. I just never felt like I fit in at a party scene.

Reasons being that I never know what to do. Should I shake my body this way, or that? Or would shaking at all look retarded? All the PDA made me sick to the stomach (where should I look when every direction has at least one kissing couple?) because I didn't want to look like some pervert being turned on by it. How many cups of beer should I even drink?

I probably won't ever understand the laws of parties.

This one, however, was John Beckams' party. A skater dude who wasn't that popular, and someone who I didn't feel uncomfortable with. "Yeah, it's just a kickback, no worries dude." I laughed inwardly at his words as I dodged another thrown bra. Jesus, who even threw bras? Kickback my ass. It seemed like the whole tenth grade showed up. The stoners, the Goths, the jocks... even the people who landed in the middle were there.

I made my way through the house, pitifully- still- full cup of beer in hand, as I tried to find a space where I could have just stood peacefully. John's pool was full of people, including John himself. Actually, I believe there were more people in it than how many it could actually fit. Why was I alone? I was at my very first kick ass party, and I was standing in the kitchen, pretending to be enjoying the bitter beer all alone. So much for kick ass.

Well, I lost Charlie in the crowd seconds after we walked through the front door. Which was why I was alone. Plus, I didn't have a date. More dancing, more screwing around, everyone was either drunk, or almost drunk. So, screw it. I texted Charlie that I was ditching, poured my beer down the sink, and doged- about- a billion people to get out the front door.

That's when I saw Valentine sitting on the curb. It's one of those things where you know someone so well; you can recognize them from the back. Okay, Val was always a party girl. Some would come to think that it's in her genes or something, but then... why was she sitting out there? Alone, just like me?

I slowly took the steps towards her. Her frame was shaking a little from the light cold as I sat down by her side. She sniffed.

"Why're you out here?" Muttering, she played with her fingers, obviously avoiding eye contact with me.

"The party sucks, in my opinion. Way too much drinking," I gave her one of my famous sarcastic replies, and she scoffed.

"Tell me about it." Her hands clutched her bare arms. We haven't talked at all for weeks. Meaning, that was the first time in a while she'd said something in my direction. Call me crazy, but yes, even I couldn't think of why I kept trying anymore.

I shrugged off my jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. You know, only a pure no brainer would have no clue that she was having a crappy night.

"So, why aren't you inside?" She bit her lower lip as she tightened my jacket around her.

"Some shit happened," Her eyes flick up to mine, and she quickly added, "Don't worry about it." How can I not worry?

"Um, then, do you want me to walk you home?" Val lived in the same neighborhood as John did. We lived in a small town, so you could get anywhere on a bike, or if you're willing, on foot. Her lips pressed down together.

"Yeah, that'd be nice."

That's how I ended up walking Valentine Holmes home. Like any other day, she was in her sneakers, and they were deadly silent as we followed the sidewalk. She had slipped her arms through the sleeves, and on her, my jacket looked like a dress a couple sizes too big.

"When you say 'shit', is it shit 'shit' or shit 'shit'?" Conversations were always that awkward now. She'd pretend to be distracted by something, while I kept my hands in my pockets and stare forward. Back then, we'd used to bump shoulders, link arms, maybe even hold hands when she needed to know someone was there.

I really missed those times.

"Hum... shit 'shit'." Ah.

"What happened?"

"Well, someone doesn't like me because someone she liked likes me; insults that rhyme with bore and klut were thrown and they took my sweater and drenched it in beer," she rolled her eyes and gave a sarcastic laugh.

Damn.

"That's pretty shitty. It's not even your fault that the guy likes you," who couldn't like her?

"Huh, well, they didn't think that." Vile dripped from each word, but it was totally understandable. If some bitch gave me that much trouble, I'd probably give her a verbal beat up she'd never forget.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think you're what rhymes with bore and klut." That, managed to pull a genuine smile from her.

"Still hilarious, I see."

"Yep." She playfully bumped into me, and I playfully bumped into her back.

After a while, we arrived at her house, and she told me, "This is it."

"Hey, I haven't been over since forever, but I still remember where you live." A grin grew on her face.

"Stalker." She joked.

"Klut." I reply. Her eyes found mine, and we stopped walking as she stared, her smile disappearing from her face.

"You have to stop." What?

"I was kidding-"

"No, I'm not talking about the joke," She shrugged off my jacket, her eyes looking at things not including me.

"...Then what are you talking about?" Alright, I'm confused all over again. Did we not just have a good time? Did I not just make her feel better? She blew a puff of air out between her lips.

"This." She handed me my jacket, this time, staring me down.

However, it wasn't hatred like I thought it would be.

It was an emotion that I couldn't place. Her eyes were huge, and her mouth tugged down at the corners.

It looked like she was begging because I was hurting her. How am I hurting her? If anything, she was hurting me. I was always there for her. Every single time. Even after all the 'I'm not talking to you' shit, I still tried to help her.

And what did she do? She tore me down.

"What do you mean by 'this'?" There it was: the feeling of my throat closing up on itself. She grit her teeth, looked at me hard as she held out my jacket, and said, "Being my hero." Being my hero. My hands refused to move, and she just pushed the jacket against my chest.

"I need you to stop being my hero." It was just a choked mumble, but it processed through my head. I took my jacket, and the moment I did, she turned and walked as fast as she could back into her house.

Is that what I was trying to do? Was I trying to be the hero? Somewhere inside me, did I see Valentine as some sort of damsel in distress?

No, I didn't see her that way. I don't think that Val was some sort of princess trapped in a tower. More than anything, I believed that she could handle her own shit. She was an independent person who didn't like people meddling with her business. But even people who believed they don't need anybody needed someone.

I wasn't being her hero.

I was just trying to be her someone.