Where We Begin

Chapter 30 - I Keep Thinking About The Movies

Sept 16th, 2002 - Taylor

"Oh my God, it just gets me every time!" I cried, dabbing at my eyes with sleeves of Busta's hoodie I was wearing.

"Hey, you're going to get makeup all over that!" Busta whined, as he popped Moulin Rouge! out of the DVD player. "Go get a tissue or something, you weirdo."

I got up and skipped over to his bathroom. I blew my nose on some toilet paper and got another piece to fix my smudged mascara. "Why am I a weirdo?" I called back to Busta.

"Because, you always want to watch the same movies and you always cry at them. You know what's going to happen." 

"It's a beautiful, tragic tale of romance with sweeping musical numbers. I'm not weird for being moved by that," I replied.

I could hear Busta snort or something. "You also cry at the end of Legally Blonde." 

I took a step out of the bathroom and put my hands on my hips. "Excuse me, I happen to relate a lot to that film. No one believed Elle was smart or capable just because she was pretty and had hella cute clothes. And seeing the chihuahua with it's little graduation cap on at the end just sends me over the edge." I walked past the open door to stairs leading down into the kitchen. 

"Quiet?" Busta asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

I nodded. "Mm-hmm."

Busta's mom let us hang out in his room as long as we don't close the door. She'll check in a couple times usually, until about 9pm when she was settles into her own room for the night, upstairs on the other side of the house. We hadn't done anything to break her trust yet. Excluding the first time I met her, of course. 

I got back on the bed, but slipped myself under the covers. One of Marie's rules is to be on top of the comforter at all times, in a vertical position. But our favorite part of the night was cuddling up underneath the sheets together. Nothing R-rated, just a solid PG-13. 

Busta was hanging off the bed, sifting through a pile of DVDs scattered around the TV stand. "OK, enough girly romance crap. It's my turn to pick the movie and I have a classic in mind."

"Like Casablanca?" I hoped. 

"I said no romance. This is a horror classic." He pulled himself upright and held out a DVD with a grotesque man on the front.

"The Texas Chainsaw Massacre?" I read. My face fell. "Is this going to be super scary? I don't like scary movies."

"Kind of, yeah, but I'll be right here," Busta said as he popped the disc in, before joining me under the covers. "I'll protect you. It's from the 70's anyway, so it's not like as graphic as movies are today."

"Yeah, I bet. I feel like this is some kind of plot to keep me all over you for the whole movie," I accused him, despite moving over to hug his torso like a koala.

"Yeah, because that wasn't going to happen anyway," he laughed as he laid his cheek on the top of my head and wrapped his arm around my shoulder. 

* * * * *

By the time the movie was over, the comforter was practically over my entire head. 

"You said it wouldn't be that scary!"

Busta shrugged. "I didn't think it was." 

I stared at him in disbelief. "The girl in the freezer? That whole dinner table scene? Ugh, I'm not going to be able to sleep for weeks."

"You're pretty cute when you're scared, you know." Busta leaned over to kiss me.

"I'm serious!" I wiggled away from him. "I can't drive home now. I'll end up crashing because I'm going to be looking over my shoulder for Leatherface the whole time."