Author's Notes: Well well well . . . I originally thought that I was going to abandon this story, but I friend of mine, whom I adore dearly, suggested that I get my mojo back in order and start this up again. Thanks to them, this story actually has a purpose and plot, and let me just say, this one is going to throw you for a ride!
Still very Marty/Melodi-centric, but I assure you, slash fans, you will not be disappointed come the end of it all. :D
Review are welcome. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. So without further ado....!
III
I've never been the type of girl that was superstitious. Black cats that crossed my path were eventually household pets. My palm itching usually meant my skin was dry, not that I was coming into money, but the one about not talking to strangers should have probably been taken more seriously in retrospect. The phone rang loudly off my apartment walls at 4:30 P.M. I was startled while sitting at my laptop. I had been so entranced in researching material for my show tomorrow morning. I picked up the phone, not bothering to look at the caller I. D. My boss, Elliot, was panicking on the other end. The night time KWXO.2 radio show host, Claire, called out because her water broke and she was on the way to the hospital and he needed someone to come in and do an interview with the lead singer of some new up and coming band. To be honest, I could have cared less. I did the main morning show jazz Monday thru Friday, and I was fine with that. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. I had a mountain of paperwork and show fillers to do for the next week, but with the economy in a spiralling decline, I assured him I would come in. Elliot thanked me graciously and hung up. I clicked my cell off and tossed it onto my ever-growing pile that was my life. I leaned back in my office chair and swiveled it around to face my closet. Really, I had no desire to put real clothes on, and was more than content to stay in my blue cheerleader shorts and white tank top. After only a moment staring deeply into the abyss of my clothes I decided on a cut-up black and white striped t-shirt, a lacy black camisole, dark blue skinny jeans, and tan pirate boots. I threw on a black pearl necklace and a gold beret before I grabbed my keys and headed for the front door. As my hand wrapped around the metal contraption the e-mail alert on my laptop chimed. Exasperated, I crossed the length to my small wooden desk in four long strides and clicked the message open. A Smile spread over me as I read it. "Melodi, I've been thinking a lot about you lately. How are you? It's been too long. Every time I hear our song on the radio I can't help but smile, no matter how bad of a day I'm having. I miss my best friend. Love, Marty." It really had been too long since I had seen or talked to Marty. I made a mental note to call him when I got home before I attempted to leave. Successful this time, I locked my door and headed down to the parking garage. The radio station wasn't far from the complex. Before I could finish the entirety of the first track of my mix C.D. I was turning the ignition of my 2010 blue Chevy Malibu off and heading through the double glass doors that were the source of my income. I was greeted by Elliot instantly, gabbing about my upcoming interview. "Just don't make us look bad," he said to me at the end of his speil. "I'll do my best," I assured him. He stopped walking with me as I entered the studio and put my 'game face' on. "You must be Melodi." A dark haired, lanky looking man greeted me as I set my things on top of a nearby filing cabinet. I turned to him and stuck out my hand. "Indeed, and you are Justyn I presume?" he took my hand in his firmly and placed it to his lips. I forced the blush that quickly rose to my cheeks back down into my regular blood stream. "The one and only. So how about we get this things rolling?" The interview went smooth, and it certainly helped that Justyn was a very sweet talker. Suave and debonair, he talked to me about how his band had formed in a small one-horse town in Mississippi and the trials and tribulations of getting such a huge gig in L.A. He was so passionate about what he did for a living, and I was slightly reminded of Marty and his love for hockey. Justyn also never let his charm slip away. He always added a beautiful smile at the end of each statement. That smile is how I ended up in a bar with him, Elliot, and the rest of his band. I slammed another shot of cheap tequila down my throat then back down to the bar top, letting the harsh fire drip into my organs and fill my viens. I snickered as Justyn poked fun at my drunken state before asking the bartender for another round. Justyn called after the bartender, Nick, I think his name was, "Make it special!" Nick smirked in return that Justyn returned devillishly. He turned to me then, brushing a hand over my cheek. "You look simply stunning, Melodi. It's hard to believe an angel like you hasn't been swept away by another." I couldn't tell if the blush was induced by the man made of fine porcelain in front of me, or the fourth shot of alcohol, but it didn't really matter when it crept up my ears and down my neck as he sighed heavily against my lobes and brushed his my cheek with his lips. I said nothing as he pulled away. "Here ya are ladies," Nick addressed us as he sat the fifth round on the counter. Justyn protested, "Oi! I'm not a chick!" Nick laughed. "With hair like that, it's a wonder anyone cold tell." Justyn, put out by the statement, tousled his shaggy brown locks and pouted. At this I outright laughed, taking my shot glass from the counter and slugging back the liquid gold. Maybe if I hadn't been drunk I would have realized the tiny white flecks floating at the top of my tequila. My head was so fuzzy that talking had become a chore and walking was damn near impossible. I felt like I was swimming in what could only be described as a black lake fighting of the coils of darkness that began consuming me. There were people in my head asking if I was alright, and if I was okay to drive home. Distantly, someone, I was pretty sure it was Justyn, offered to take me home safely. My body moved of it's own accord, like I was floating, or maybe I was dead and had become the angel I had previously be accused of being. I drifted far, or maybe it wasn't that far at all, but when I stopped I became itchy. My skin crawled with the sensation of calloused and chilled hands, not thinking that the brisk air could have been due to the midnight February air. I shivered as the icy wave washed up under my shirt. A cruel sort of heat encompassed my breasts and lingered for a bit, caressing and forcing a flush over my body. Then it moved lower, under my belt and straight to my panties. But the screaming wasn't heard, because I couldn't find my voice. The more I tried to move my body, the more force I was met with, but that might have been because I didn't even know which way was up. I was powerless....
III
It was dark when I sat up in a queen sized bed with tears in my eyes and sweat dripping from my face with a startled leap. The glowing clock to my right read 3:34 A.M. in blur florescent numbers. To my left was Marty curled up against me with an arm draped over my waist protectively. He was snoring slightly in his sleep, unaware of my nightmare. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes ad sighed. There was no chance I would fall back into slumber tonight.
Silently, I took Marty's arm and removed it from my person, placing it back next to him gently. I slithered out from the black and white confinement of sheets and patted barefoot across the hardwood flooring that was signature to his home as I could recall.
even in the dark I was able to find my way around the mismatched green ottoman at the foot of the bed and into the rather generic master bathroom. I clicked the dimmer light on low, staring into the girl that stood on the other side of the mirror. Tears had stained her cheeks and her eyes were painted red with sadness and lack of sleep. Her face looked sunken in and malnourished, though I was sure it was just a case of post-traumatic stress syndrome. I ran the sink tap cool, splashing away her sorry sight and replacing it with a fake smile of confidence before refamiliarizing myself with what was to be my new home.
I shut the bedroom door softly and realized instantly that little had changed. Gay though he was, Marty lived very simply. Bare white walls that sent shills down my spine glared at me, hardly inviting. The stairs were to my immediate left, wooden and barren. To the right was the office and an empty guest room identical to the one that was just across the hall. Opting for the left path, I creaked down the stairs. Each step echoed loudly in the dead house and I cringed, praying Marty wouldn't be spooked and wake up.
Hardwood and rustic, the living room was by far the most welcoming room of his home. Walls of which had the same wood paneling as the floor stood naked, while a chocolate colored leather couch and armchair were donned with tan and red accents. The couch faced the large HDTV that hung to my right, and in between them was a quaint coffee table.
Just beyond was the kitchen and coffee, my ultimate destination. I hunted for the coffee mugs, which I found in the dishwasher waiting to be put away, and poured some instant brew into it with tap water. Within seconds I had a nice cup of java with some Irish cream.
I looked at my surroundings as I leaned my elbows on the bar. Directly ahead of me was a sit in dining room, but you wouldn't be able to tell. Where a nice table and chairs set would normally sit was Marty's hockey gear. Where an elegant china cabinet might be was a series of photos, mostly of Marty as a child from what I could tell. Interested, I avoided the pile in the center of the floor and got a closer look. There were thirteen pictures in all, one in the center of a ring of twelve others. Upon examining them all individually they were all taken around the end of May, save for the last one, which had been taken in April, and they were all of two kids, a boy and a girl growing up together through the years. I knew who they were instantly.
I plucked the first one from its place on the wall and searched for the memory linked to the still frame. The Kindergarten teacher had asked us to paint a picture of their best friend. There were splatters of color everywhere, and the children's clothes were no exception, but through the messy rainbow of paints splotches you could see two stick figures. The children had drawn each other, and the proudly held up their work of art as they beamed into the camera with their arms around each other's shoulders.
"I've always found orange a very appealing color on you."
