Knickers

Spotty Descriptions

I am not and have never been very lovey-dovey. I generally embody an overly stoic stereotype, sometimes to a fault, almost all the time at my own expense. I have no idea how to change that.
There was no issue on the drive to the station. Dom and I laughed and sang along to the radio and poked fun at one another like old friends. When we pulled into the lot and got out of the car Maya attacked me with hugs and kisses and weepy questions. I was fine then, too.
It was only when Dom filled in my spotty descriptions to a waiting cop with a notepad did I begin to cry. Maya and Dom both held my hands and didn't mention the tears, even after we left.
Now we sit on the hood of Maya's car in silence, cross legged and frowning. Both Dom's hands remain cupped over mine, warming them despite the early August heat, tracing my cuticles with his nails. I can feel his breath down my arm, the tickle of his leg hair against my knee. It would be the most gratifying thing in the world to crawl into his hoodie and squish us together.
"Dom, your knuckles," I say softly, grazing my thumb over the visible bruises. Why hadn't I noticed these before?
"I think they look kind of sick," he says with an easy shrug.
"They do," Maya agrees. "They really do."
More silence follows. Dom lifts my hand to his lips and kisses my palm, offering what I have come to know as a smile of deep empathy.
"I think you should get some proper rest," he says, his voice soft and slow. "Are we on for Friday?"
"Of course," I agree. "One milkshake in exchange for my life."
"Sounds fair," he says, sliding down off the hood and turning toward Maya. "Good to see you again."
"Wait," she says, hopping down after him. She flings both arms around him and squeezes a cough out of him, clinging for several seconds too long. "You have no idea how grateful I am."
Dom steals a glance at me from over Maya's shoulder, his eyes bulging from her iron grip. "I think I'm starting to understand."
Maya releases him, squeezing his forearms as they separate. He nods at her reassuringly, a gesture which she mirrors automatically.
"Drive safe," he says to her. "Bye, Marley."
"Thanks again, Dom," I say, and it's almost offensive how my words don't seem to do his deed justice. He leaves a kiss on my cheek before he goes, a touch that tingles on my skin for several minutes after.
We both watch his car pull out of the station's driveway. Maya joins me on the hood after his absence settles. I wonder if I'm about to be lectured in Maya's mom voice and pummeled with questions.
When she finally speaks, her tone stuns me.
"Why, Marley?" she asks me softly. "It's so unlike you to do what you did last night."
"I know."
"You've been acting weird since the party," she continues. "Is it something I've done?"
"I think I should have gone to therapy after Ben," I say. "He must have fucked me up more than I thought."
"What do you mean?"
"He was the last guy I actually cared about. Romantically, intimately, whatever." I clear my throat, secretly wanting to be interrupted, but Maya's interjection never comes. "Until Dom."
"You're, like, crushing?"
"Hard."
"That's so bizarre," she mutters, scraping along her bottom lip with her pinky nail. "I've never seen you crush on anyone."
"That's because Ben was the last real crush I had," I say. "You and I became friends when you dumped his ass for cheating."
"And you made me realize I was gay," she says, trying to wipe away her smirk. "Why freak out over a crush, though, Marley?"
"I guess it just triggered all the memories from my last one," I say, chewing uncomfortably on the end of my hair. "What do I do, Maya?"
"What you always do?" she says with a puzzled quirk of the eyebrow. "Just make a move."
"You don't get it. This can't be just a hookup this time. I have to be careful or someone will get hurt. Probably me, because I'm an idiot."
Maya scoots closer to me on the hood and lays a compassionate hand on my knee. "Well, if it's so important, why not tell him? He seems nice enough."
"Do you think we would be friends if you and I had dated?" I ask her.
"Not even for a second. But neither of us are very nice. Not nearly as nice as Blud boy."
"Dominic," I correct her. His name rolls off the tongue nicely. "Dominic."
"God, you're like a lovesick puppy," she says, pushing me off the hood and directing me toward the passenger's side door. "I'll take you home so you can yearn in peace."