TANK

5 (angst)

I'm laying with my back pressed along the length of Tank, head tucked just under his chin. Our breathing evens out and my head begins to clear. My anxieties make themselves known, cutting through my bliss. Tank's hand idly strokes my abdomen, his other resting near my head.
What did I just do.

It felt... amazing to be with Tank, and I felt the safest I had with someone, probably ever, like nothing could get through him to hurt me. Like he, would never hurt me. But, I still barely knew him. He might not like who I am in the light of day. He might have just liked me for the quick fuck, and be done with me. The emotion bottoms in my belly as I'm swarmed with feelings that call me undesirable.

I get out of the bed, and stand with my back facing Tank. "Do you have any pants I could wear?" I ask. I can't bring myself to face him, whether out of embarrassment, or fear that he will suddenly reject me, I don't know. "Huh?" he responds, drowsiness heavy in his voice. He must be extremely exhausted from yesterday, and still be dozing off. "D'you have some pants I could use?" I ask again, eyes locked forward at his closet. "Oh, yeah," he responds, waking up. The creak of his mattress telling of his movement as he gets out of the bed.

He approaches me from behind, crowding in close and places his hand on my waist. Heat rises in my cheeks, what is seeming to become my response to everything he does. He then reaches into a part of the closet at the top I couldn't even see, with ease, producing a pair of drawstring shorts. "These are from high school, they'll still be big on you," he says, "But, you can probably just tie the drawstring really tight so they don't fall off," he pauses, "Not... ideal. But, it'll have to work." Before I can grab the clothing, thank him, and change, he drops to his heels, fingers wrapping around one of my ankles and beginning to guide it. "Wh-" I stutter, stumbling back. I finally look at him, just long enough to see the surprise on his face, likely mirrored in my own. "I can put it on myself?" I remark, holding an outstretched hand for him to surrender the garment.
How is this guy real? I wonder.

"Oh sorry," He replies, "here, of course." He places the shorts in my hand and I retreat to the bathroom, without a response, unable to look back at him, closing the door. I pull the shorts on, double tying the drawstring around my waist, and roll them at the waist so that the hem of the leg isn't so atrociously low. I stand in front of his mirror and stare back at myself. My lips are puffy and swollen, my hair tangled in a mess, and my eyes are still red from the tear gas and hours I spent crying, I look like a mess.

I run my hand along the bruises sucked into my neck, embarrassment and desire coloring my cheeks. I comb through my hair using my fingers, trying to fix it as well as I can. Standing in Tank's bathroom staring at an image of myself I'm not happy with, emotions threaten to well in my throat again, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

A knock on the bathroom door startles me out of my trance. "Everything okay in there?" Tank asks muffled behind the door. "Yeah!" I call out a reply quickly, "Just a minute." I turn the water on cold and splash my face, shocking myself and disguising the wetness of my eyes. I pat my face dry with the towel I used yesterday and step out of the bathroom before I can work myself up again.

Stepping out of the bathroom I walk right into Tank. He smiles and reaches for my waist, pulling me in and kissing me softly. I relax for a moment, melting under his attention, but quickly collect myself and pull back, palms pressed to his chest, pushing to distance him from me. "I," I begin, faltering, "I'm ready to go home now, if you'd be okay taking me home?" Tank releases me, taking a step back, brow furrowed.

"Yeah," his mouth sets in a hard line, "I can do that." He looks me over with another searching glance that I can't meet. "Let me just get some clothes on, then we can head out. You can grab your stuff and wait for me at the door." I nod, with the permission to leave, leaving him in the hallway. I feel his eyes on me the whole way.

I slip into my shoes and grab my bag of tear gassed clothes and stand next to his door, arms crossed protectively around myself. A moment passes and Tank pads out into the room with me. He's wearing the same threadbare grey shirt as me, but on him it fits nicely, tapering with his natural waist. He's also wearing black joggers and a leather jacket. He's quieter than before, and has stopped his searching stares. He puts on the same boots from last night and, to my surprise, also grabs his helmet. He exits first, holding the door open for me to exit.

I step out of his apartment, a feeling that my fate was sealed to never see him again settling in my stomach. He flips through his keys, locking the door then spins them on his finger, jogging down his stairs. I follow him closely, though less confident in my step, rushing to keep up. As we step outside into the light of day, Tank reaches up and pops his helmet on, and the gears in my mind fall into place. Fuck.

Confirming my suspicion Tank heads right toward a silver motorbike, swinging his leg over it with confidence, quickly churning the engine to life. I had hoped to escape this situation with a minimal amount of time spent close to him, to keep from hurting myself more than I already was. But, here we are. He looks at me, expectantly, and pats his seat behind himself. Atleast, I assume he does, but its hard to tell with his helmet on.

I swallow, hard, and move to mount the bike with him, settling into it, with little more grace than a newborn fawn. I find myself pressed against the solid line of his back, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. His voice pulls me from my thoughts, "So, where to?" He questions. "Uh..." my fingers nervously pick at his jacket. "I parked at the ramp on 1st ave by downtown."

"Okay," he responds, "hold on tight, we'll get there in 10." He revs the engine one more time, and I clamp to him as tight as I can before he takes off. On the bike, the wind whips my hair, and makes his shirt, loose on me, billow behind us. The excitement and fear of being on a bike makes the journey skip by, and we're sitting outside the parking ramp before it feels like I can even blink.

"Is this it?" He asks as I unpeel myself from his back, hop off the bike, and adjust myself. The feeling low in my stomach tells me he isn't just asking about the parking ramp. "Yeah," I start, suddenly thankful I don't have to see his face behind his helmet, "this seems right." I see his gloved hand grip his bike handle, like he's about to snap the handle off. "Thank you again, for helping me last night." I say, looking at him. "It's no problem," he grits out, "Well, I guess I'll maybe see you around." He seems to hesitate, but shakes it off. "Yeah," I respond, "See you." I turn before I can stop myself and start walking through the ramp to my car. I can hear his bike engine rev as he leaves. Spiking the sinking feeling in my gut.

I make it to my car and sit in the front seat. I just stare ahead, not bothering to turn the car on, sitting in the early summer heat. I don't let myself react beyond this, because it feels like it was my fault, that I doomed it before "it" even had a chance. I eventually turn the keys to my car and drive to my apartment in silence.