One Way Out

Chapter 3

Paris rolls over in the soft satin sheets. The light from the window hits her face and she squints as her eyes flutter open. She grins to herself. But that grin quickly fades when her eyes adjust to the room and she realizes she's in Jeremiah's room, in his bed, with no clothes on. She sits up abruptly and frantically feels around the large bed for her bra and underwear. After about 5 minutes of looking, unable to find them, she scans the room. She drags the sheet with her as she gets out of the bed and looks around on the floor. Just as she starts to look under the bed, the door swings open and she jumps, bumping her head on the edge of the bed.

"Ahh.." Paris winces, rubbing her forehead. "Woah, hey. Sorry. You ok?" Jeremiah asks. He's standing in the doorway in grey sweatpants and a white wife-beater. Paris's eyes go from the scar on his shoulder, to his face, "Yea.. I'm fine."

"Finally up I see," he says with a smug grin on his face, stepping in and crossing his arms as he leans back on the door frame. Paris had stopped staring at his deep dimple and was refocused on finding her clothes and underwear, "Yea. Hey have you seen my-"

"Nope," he cuts. Paris furrows her eyebrows at him. He chuckles and smiles at her seriousness. After running his hand over his face, he nods his chin towards his black recliner, "Probably back there somewhere."

Paris walks over to the chair and leans over to look behind it. When she doesn't see anything, she turns back to him ready to ask another question, only to see him licking his lips as his eyes attempt to throw the sheets off of her. He lets out a light sigh through his nostrils and walks over to the chair.

"You know they're not even over here," Paris says, trying to sound more annoyed than she really is. "Yea I know," Jer says as he pushes the chair over to the side, "I just wanted to see you..." His voice trails off as he leans behind the chair. He reemerges dangling her black lace and beige underwear set in front of her. "...bend over," he grins at the end of his statement. Paris snatches her underwear from him, unsure whether he was being sarcastic or flirty.

Jeremiah plops down onto his recliner, throwing his arms behind his head and his feet up, ready for a show. Paris tilts her head at him, "Do you mind?" "Why yes," he says suavely, "yes I do."

Paris rolls her eyes and walks into his walk in closet, closing the door. "I was kidding you know," he calls to her, but finishes under his breath, "kind of.." "Yea sure you were," she calls back.

Jeremiah looks down, reflecting on the events that occurred last night. He didn't regret anything, yet.. He was at least proud that he stopped himself from going as far as he physically wanted to. "So how did you sleep?"

Paris opens the door to the closet and quickly spots her folded black pants and shirt on the back of his desk chair. She walks over to it and starts to put her clothes back on. "Good," she says nonchalantly.

"Just good?" He wasn't convinced. Then again, his ego was on the line. She sits on the bed across from him, folding her legs in Indian style. She nods, "Yea pretty good. You?"

He laughs a little, "Ok for a recliner." Paris frowns her face confused. He slept in the chair? "You didn't sleep..." her voice trails, "with.. me?" The question was awkward.

"How you mean?" he says, knowingly making it slightly more awkward now that she has to elaborate. She sighs, "Umm.. both ways?"

Jeremiah sits up, "Are you serious..? You don't remember anything? Like at all?" Paris shrugs concerned. Slightly panicked she says, "I mean, I remember some stuff but I fucking woke up with no clothes on. I don't remember us actually having sex. Did we have sex??"

He takes a long pause. Paris's heart starts to pound and she buries her face in her hands, "Oh God.." "Wait wait, no, don't start panicking," Jeremiah says, clearly alerted by her reaction, "We didn't."

She looks up at him, unsure if he's being honest, "So what did happen then?"

He declines the chair and leans forward, "We were both drunk. You more than me. I got you a Xan 'cause you asked for one. We got in like a little argument... then you climbed on top of me and basically begged me to fuck."

Paris shakes her head, "No I didn't."

"Paris yes you did. Why would I lie?"

"'Cause you a nigga and all niggas lie."

"Stop. I'm not. Look at me..."

Paris looks over at him, analyzing the details of his face. "After all we've been through Paris? You really think Ima lie to you? Especially about something simple like this? Never. And you know I'd never do that to you." He sits back, "I can't believe you even said that.."

Paris looks down at her twiddling thumbs in her lap, ashamed she said that herself. After a pause she says, "So what happened then?" He taps his heel on the ground three times, "You gave me a hand job and I gave you head until you pretty much fell asleep." Paris nods slightly, taking it in. Jer continues, "Yea I knew if we went any further than that, we'd both regret it so..."

Paris is quiet, which worries him, "You ok?" She nods, "Yea.. just kinda wish I could remember that part, that's all." Jeremiah smiles to himself.

They look at each other for a moment, but Paris breaks it, looking away and clearing her throat, "So, I'm kind of hungry." Jeremiah jumps up, "Oh yea, I started making some bacon downstairs." He walks out of the room and she follows him downstairs to the kitchen. She sits on one of the stools as he throws some strips in a hot pan on the stove.

"So how're your parents?" Paris asks, attempting to make light conversation. He turns from the stove and leans on the counter next to it. "Fine," he shrugs, "Dad just made this great stock move the other day. So we should be getting more..." He notices that shes not paying much attention, "Why ask if you don't care?". "I care about your parents, not your money," she lightly snaps back.

Jeremiah sighs and turns his attention back to the bacon, "They still hate you. If that's what your asking." Paris rolls her eyes and in a slightly raised voice says, "It wasn't my fault."

"Yea well they think it is."

"And you didn't tell them it wasn't??"

He doesn't answer as he gets a plate from the high cabinet and places the bacon on it. "You think it was my fault...?" Paris asks, afraid of what the answer might be, "How can you blame me when I was the one that saved you?!" Jeremiah continues over to the bread and tosses two pieces in the toaster, "You brought me there in the first place." He doesn't turn around to face her, so she gets up and walks around the island over to him. He didn't need to look at her because the circular scar on his shoulder was doing all the glaring for him. "That's bullshit and you know it," she says, "Jer it wasn't my fault!"

"I never said it was," he brushes past her to the refrigerator for the butter, clearly trying to keep his temper in check. Paris, trying to keep from sounding hurt says, "You don't act like-"

"How do you want me to act!? ...Paris," he booms. No matter how much her inner self wants to back down, she doesn't. Jer needs to know she far from weak and broken. "I want you to act like I'm acting! Move on!"

"Are you fucking joking?! That was the craziest shit that ever happened to me and you just want me to sit back like that shit ain't happen?! Like that couldn't have turned out way worse than it did?? Have you seen this shit on my arm Paris!!" he yells, gesturing to the scar on his shoulder. "Everyday," she replies, "But you need to MOVE. ON." Jeremiah angrily slides into her space, almost as if he's ready to hit her. Paris doesn't budge. She holds his eye contact. "Do it," she whispers provokingly, "Do it. I fucking dare you."

Jeremiah powerlessly glares back at her. She had him right where she liked: pissed and powerless. He steps around her and walks back over to the popped toaster, grabbing a butter knife on the way. Normally he butters it for her, but this time he just grabs the bread and tosses it onto the plate of bacon, which he then carelessly throws onto the island counter. He walks toward her and stops right before he passes by. She can see the anger and hurt in his eyes.

Disgusted, Jeremiah angrily says, "You're a bitch, you know that?" He bumps past her and leaves down the hall. Paris stands there for a moment, scoffs, then sits at the island and eats the breakfast he made for her.