THEFT - (A Chris Brown Fan Fiction Love Story)

Chapter 29

It’s now been seven hours since Stephanie left, six hours and forty five minutes since Simone left and three hours since Chris left. I should be asleep by now but I’m not - which is strange because usually the medication knocks me out by midnight. 

I love the way Chris stood up for me today and told Stephanie to leave. I thought he’d cough after her motor mouth had finished and look at her with his arms folded or something. But I’m glad he said what he did. Chris is so unpredictable and spontaneous - for example, he’d kissed me when the visitors’ slot was over and told me that he couldn’t wait for us to make love again, ha - and I love him for it. 

I wouldn’t change a single thing about Chris. I’m extremely grateful that he came into my life. EXTREMELY grateful. If you were wondering why I flipped when Stephanie said that her and Simone care about me, it’s because I know that Chris is the only one on this planet who truly cares about me. People who don’t even know my ‘surname’ don’t care about me. They can say they do but it’s bullshit. They don’t know shit about me. They don’t understand me. And they don’t understand Chris and I.

I text him:

‘Sorry if I’ve woken you up with this text. Just wanted to say that I love you. <3. xxxxxx.’

C: ‘I love you too <3. Thx for waking me up, lol ;-) xxxxxxx.’

F: ‘Sorry, I’m having a case of insomnia tonight. Go back to sleep. xxxxxxxxx.’

C: ‘I find it hard to go back to sleep once I’m awake xxxxxxxx.’

F: ‘I feel guilty now. ):. xxxxxxx.’

C: ‘Don’t feel guilty xxxxxxx. Try get some sleep. Night xxxxxx.’

F: ‘Night. xxxxxx. <3.’

C: ‘<3’

*FOUR MONTHS LATER*

Chris holds my fragile hand and squeezes it gently.

“You OK?” he smiles as we walk outside to the parking lot.

I nod.

“Stay here. The car’s miles away so I’ll bring it over here for you.”

I feel his touch leave me and instantly feel vulnerable. Maybe I’ve started to become too dependent on Chris. I expect him to always be there for me - which I shouldn’t. He has his own life. I’ve held him back from that over these last four + months. He was there every single day. And he would always stay as long as he could.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says as he puts his window down and slowly drives towards me.

He stops the car and I open the car door.

“I’m never putting myself back in this place again,” I promise him. “I can’t put you through anymore shit.”

Chris doesn’t say anything back, instead kissing me on the cheek and driving away.

It seems stupid but as I look out of the window, I am amazed at every little thing. Even the trees are more beautiful than the last time I drove down here. I haven’t seen the outside world for so long.

“Where do you want to go? I can drive you back to your house if you want,” Chris suggests.

“I don’t care. As long as I’m with you,” I reply, still keeping my eyes on the scenery.

“You don’t want your own space? I know I would if I was you.”

I rest my head on the window. “If you’ve got somewhere to be then you can go to wherever you have to be.”

“No, I’ll stay with you if you want me to. Of course I will.”

“I just don’t know how I’ll… react when I go back home for the first time.”

He takes one hand off the wheel and clutches one of mine. “I’ll be there with you. It’ll be fine.”

We drive to my house.

I feel my stomach eating itself when we get to the road and Chris says, “Here we are.”

Then I hear the gravel dig into the wheels as we slowly make it up the driveway.

My initial reaction is to tell Chris to stop the car and run the fuck away. Anywhere. But my conscience tells me to stay. So I stay. Reluctantly.

We walk up to the front door and I get my keys out.

“Want me to do anything?” Chris asks.

“No thanks,” I reply.

I really need to sort my nails out. They’re disgusting.

Anyway. I open the door and the first thing I see is one of James’ stupid fucking sculptures. What a welcome. I really, REALLY want to smash it right now.

Chris pulls me closer to him. “I love you.”

I feel his breath tickle my lips gently. It tastes like his usual mintiness but, this time, it’s even more infectious. I want him.

“I love you too,” I mutter in both a flirtatious and nervous way.

Chris’ hands rest on my waist and each of his frantic kisses remains imprinted on my lips. 

I am hesitant to respond.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he says in my ear.

I take a deep breath. I’ve been fantasying in the hospital about this for over four months. I’ve been waiting for it to just be us two for so long.

And now it’s just us.

Why am I holding back? I should be rapidly ripping my clothes off and throwing myself at him, wrapping both of my arms around his neck at a force which will knock Chris off his feet. We should be on the floor in a dirty, hot sweat.

Here I am, stood as still as that shitty sculpture, not daring to move. Why? I don’t have a fucking clue.

“I’ve got you,” Chris reiterates, quieter but sexier this time. I know he’s waiting for me to do something, anything. And he’s been so unbelievably patient with me ever since we met; I’ve left him waiting too many fucking times.

I’m not making him wait again.

I look deep into his anticipating eyes. “I know.”

Chris pries open my lips again and our thirsty tongues coincide in vigorous harmony. This doesn’t feel right. This feels completely right.

I’ve never felt like this with anyone before. James sure couldn’t turn me into this sure and certain jelly I am now. Comparing James and I’s relationship with Chris and I’s, in a materialistic sense, is like comparing a broken, filthy toilet seat with a Lamborghini. They’re in two opposing leagues which will never see eye to eye and which will never understand each other. Ever. They can argue until the cows come home about who is the better one and it won’t change anything.

Because everybody knows that Lamborghinis are better than broken, filthy toilet seats.

It’s just one of those blatantly obvious things.

“I love you,” Chris repeats in between kisses. His lips convince me that he’s trying to kiss away all my pain - both the emotional and physical sides.

I break away from him after a while. “Come with me.”

Chris visually surveys me up and down. His slight laugh softly plucks at my eardrums and his eyes suddenly drop down to the floor.

I reach out my hand. “Chris.”

He looks at my hand falteringly. Would he prefer for my nails to be manicured? Is he staring at them because they’re rancid, putrid… horrifyingly sickening? Maybe they’re a massive turn off for him. Uh-oh.

He’s not shallow, Faye. Of course he eventually takes my hand and of course we fall back onto the couch in each other’s arms. Duh.

I inhale his sweet cologne as he falls on top of me.

“Sorry,” he apologises, moving his weight off me.

I tell him not to worry about it.