Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Butterflies & The Net ❯ Chapter 4: Big Fat Liar ( Chapter 4 )

A/N: So, Solya had a relaxing evening, err, morning—night with the fellas. However, underlying issues arise in retrospect. Looks like its Dr. Busch and Jerrod to the rescue!

 

Theme Music for this Chapter:

My Happy People/Strawberry Chips play list, `Let Me Be with You', Daft Punk/Cure for Boredom play list, and Pre Birthday Club Music play lists on YT. Yes, I'm in Teeny Bopper Mode, today! Hey, I just celebrated my birthday last Friday! And, BOY did I ever get spoiled! Whoot!!

 

 

 

Chapter 4: Big Fat Liar

 

 

“So,” Dr. Busch asked for the 3rd time, “How's it been going, Solya?”

 

“It's…going…”

 

`She's stalling…again. Hmm.'

 

“Falling apart, little by little, Doc,” Solya chuckled with no humor, “Nah, I'm cool enough, I guess.”

 

“You…guess?”

 

“Yeah. Well, I, uh…I'm guess I'm just frustrated.”

 

“About?”

 

“The slowdown—the weight not coming off as it used to…as I'm used to. UGH!! I'm running myselfragged,” Solya confessed in a wavering tone, eyes watering to her horror.

 

“Do you think you may be trying a bit too hard, Solya?” Dr. Busch asked, noting the brightness of Solya's eyes. `Now we're getting somewhere. I knew she had something on her mind. C'mon, Solya. Let it out...'

 

Solya stared incredulously at her therapist for a few seconds, blinking back the moisture gathering in her eyes.“Come again?”

 

“What I've noticed from sessions past is you tend to want to give up when things get overwhelming…that or withdrawn. Pity, wouldn't it be, if you were the main cause of your own stress?”

 

“Well, I haven't had any nightmares, lately. So, I've been sleeping much better. I haven't had any Anxiety attacks since that time in our session, a few months back. I don't know how I could be stressing myself out.”

 

Dr. Busch heaved a goodhearted laugh. “You have a habit of taking things a bit literally, Ms. Amarante. I meant your tendency to want things to flow perfectly and effortlessly, with no room for error under penalty of self-degrading. Many times, you're rather `all or nothing' in your expectations of self, so when your plans fall short of what you'd hoped for, you either give up or try so hard to achieve what you deem as impossible that you drive yourself into an unnecessary tizzy.”

 

“Tizzy?” Solya giggled, “Haven't heard that word in a minute. Sorry, proceed.”

 

“Well, what I'm getting at is weight loss is tricky, Solya. I would imagine that your nutritionist gave you information about initial rapid weight loss and the eventual lessening of frequency in which your weight would come off—mostly due to the fact that it's more water weight in the beginning—now, you're burning mostly fat and you've gotta really, really work it, if you're hoping to get the same results. I have seen your charts and I believe your loss is acceptable, according to your BMI. At this point, 2 to 5 pounds a week are okay numbers. But, let me guess. You want more, huh?”

 

“Hell yeah. Oops. I mean, yes.”

 

“And these things, your desires to get the results you want, are frustrating you, I take it.”

 

“…yes…”

 

“Did you understand what your nutritionist said, in the beginning?”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

“Pretty much... Okay. So, you got the gist of it, I'd say. You seemed really excited up until today. Have you been holding back on me?”

 

“No. I haven't. I…just want this so bad, Doc. You don't know what it's like. You're…well, look at you! You're beautiful—and I'll never be—and you've got a good job you seem to love and a family and you seem really…really…”

 

“Happy?”

 

“Yeah…” Solya admitted, hanging her head, “Well,I want to be…happy…too.”

 

“Well, how do you suppose you'd go about doing this—this `quest for happiness'?”

 

“Well, I can… I mean I could try…um… I, uh, don't know. Wow. For once, I've got nothing to say. Huh.” Solya shrugged absently. “Well, no, I guess it's just… It's weird, Doc…kind of hard to say…”

 

“Well, I'm not looking for a thesis here. Just say the first thing that comes to your head.”

 

“I mean, I've given you at least 1/3 of my life story already—closer to half, actually—so, you get the whole depressing spiel of it; thing is, I don't want that to be my legacy—all I can be or ever be to anyone else. Can't I be happy? I mean, do I deserve it? Does anyone? Is that a basic right that all people have or is it only allotted to precious few with predetermined `perfect lives'? Is it…okay for…me? I hope so, Doc. I really do. `Cause, if not, then all that therapy was for naught.”

 

“What do you think, Solya?”

 

“I-I just don't wanna hurt anymore. So, to be happy in every way would make me feel like my life is worth living.”

 

“Do you feel like your life's not worth living now?”

 

“Sometimes, honestly, yes. It's like just being in Limbo; like I'm just existing to, well, exist and…and what…pay taxes?!”

 

“Hmmmm,” Dr. Busch sounded, scribbling notes and nodding for Solya to continue, knowing she wasn't finished the rant that was months in coming and not willing to interrupt.

 

“Like I told you before, I wanna be `okay'. That's all…” Solya sobbed, as the dam broke and her chest and throat started to constrict. She took a few deep swallows of air and continued. “I just don't want to live my life on pins and needles anymore, all scared of really living, scared of trying anything new, scared of standing on my own two feet and scared of depending on my own strength. You feel me, Doc?”

 

“I feel you, Solya. And, by the way, I think you are a beautiful person for many reasons. Please don't sell yourself short, Ms. Amarante.” Dr Busch replied, passing a few tissues to Solya, who took them in a self-loathing manner.

 

“Gawd, I'm crying…oh no…ah, hell…no…” Solya whispered hoarsely, trying not to choke on the sobs she held back, suddenly very ashamed and very uncomfortable. Eyes shifting to the door, hands gripping the armrests, feet tapping, she fought the urge to run and never come back. It was a response her therapist knew quite well and noticed instantly. “Oh, God, no! I can't fall apart again! Not again! Ow, my chest hurts!”

 

Mimicking the motions for the breathing exercises she taught her months ago, Dr. Busch urged Solya to implement the self-calming techniques. “It's okay, Solya. Just breathe. I can feel your tension from over here. You can do it well, I know. I've seen you do it before.”

 

“But, it hurts…I-I can't. I can't breathe.” Solya strained, voice cracking slightly, chest heaving.

 

`Uh oh…don't lose it, Solya…' Fumbling around in her drawer for single serve samples of anxiety meds, Dr. Busch debated passing her any medication in light of an obvious anxiety attack brewing. One that Solya was having a hard time deescalating. She decided to have faith in her patient's abilities. “Close your eyes and breathe, Solya. Concentrate on your breathing.”

 

Solya looked wild eyed and a bit panicked as she struggle to calm down. As she closed her eyes, a morbid assortment of hurtful memories came to the front of her mind. Another sob. `Stop! Go away!' These memories hurt and only worked to increase her tenseness. Admitting things about her self to others—personal things—had a tendency to make her very tense. The more she dwelt on the fact that people saw any sign of weakness in her, the more she wanted to run away and not face it. Her ghosts. Her hurts. Her past. Her present. The way she felt about herself that she hoped no one saw. She felt trapped and on display and just too damn vulnerable. All she wanted to do was leave, but for reasons of change, she stayed. Stiff, tense, jumpy, but not moving, she stayed.

 

The uneasy look in her eyes, though, gave her therapist pause. She wasn't sure that Solya would be willing to deal with what she'd disclosed and shown in this session. She placed her hand gently on Solya's and gave a gentle squeeze. “Solya, please…please don't go. Please try to calm down and…and talk to me.”

 

“Doc, I know you said not to run from things, but I hate this. I hate crying. I hate it! Why?!!! Why won't the tears ever go away?!! Why can't I stop dreaming of the bad things—only bad things? Why don't those hurtful words ever truly disappear? It's not like I want to dwell on them. I just can't make them stop and…and…” she trailed off, wiping her cheeks angrily.

 

“I don't want to stay like this,”' she proclaimed, sad and spent, finally letting the tears flow freely, “I feel so weak. I don't want to feel this way anymore. Help me.”

 

“With your help, I will do my best to do just that, Ms. Amarante. First, can you tell my why you seem to hate crying or expressing emotion so much?”

 

“Like I said, I feel weak. And I can't afford that. I've spent a lifetime being strong in the face of some really awful circumstances and I just can't…” she paused to blow her nose with the new tissues Dr. Busch passed her and took a few more calming breaths, feeling her chest tighten again. “I can't fight it, all the time, anymore.”

 

“Do you feel you have to fight it? That it has to go away?”

 

“What are you getting at, Dr. Busch?”

 

“Just trying to see what makes you tick—or, in this case, react. So, to the best of your knowledge, do you feel like you're in a constant fight, emotionally?”

 

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. But, It's weird, Doc. It's like I'm trapped in a adult's body, going through the motions of life, doing what's necessary to survive, but feeling like this weak, unprotected, unwanted child inside. And that child is broken and I can't fix her. I try to toughen her up, but, the past has a way of catching up to me. Crying makes me feel like a failure. But, that's not normal, is it, Doc?”

 

“Normal...hmmm…” Shifting in her seat once more, Dr. Busch sat up and leaned forward on her desk, chin cradled in her right hand, index finger tapping her nose thoughtfully, and began, “Your view of self…I wouldn't say abnormal, Solya. Just confused, self-protecting, fearful, and self-doubting. To cry, yes, it is a normal response of the body to stress, pain, or frustration. In a nutshell, it's a simple stress reliever and it's cleansing—if you'll let it be. I guess the point I'm trying to get at is, can you let it be?” Dr. Busch tried, reaching out to hold Solya's hand, then pulling back when she reconsidered Solya's vulnerable and reluctant state, at that moment. `At least she's finally really talking to me. I'd better give her the floor.'

 

Pulling on a loose string in her shirt, she pondered that question. Confusion and a lack of words gave way to a quick shrug.

 

“Nothing comes to mind?”

 

“I don't know how to expect, um, to expect, uh…” Solya frowned at her lack of vocabulary, frustrated that she couldn't articulate what she meant. Finally, she just blurted the first thing that came to mind. “No one that I really needed to care ever cared when I needed them to; and I'm scared to get the door slammed in my face if I open myself up to anyone else.”

 

“I see…”

 

“At the risk of sounding like a spoiled brat, I don't like the word `No'—hate it, actually. It spells instant rejection that I feel, Doc, right in the pit of my stomach. It's like baby nausea—you know you're not gonna `url, but the queasy feeling's there, anyway. Had enough rejection to last 5 lifetimes and, once again, I don't want to hurt anymore.”

 

“Have you tried to get these frustrations out? Things like journal writing or talking to a trusted peer?”

 

“Yeah, I'm still doing the journal—though, sometimes when I reread it, I just wanna toss it. And, when I try to vent, people always ask me if I'm just not trying hard enough…” Solya paused to wipe a tear in frustration, “But, ya see, Doctor B, I'm really trying here,” Solya vented, hands raking through her hair absently, “I've never been more into something in my life. Do you think I can do it?”

 

“Honestly, my opinions don't hold much value here. It's how you feel and what you believe you can accomplish.”

 

“Humor me, Doc? Please?” Solya pleaded in a tone her therapist never heard before—nervous, shaky, yet resolute.

 

“Anything, Ms Amarante.”

 

“Anything?”

 

“Anything you put your mind to…is possible.”

 

And the session timer went off. With an audible exhale, Solya nearly instantly relaxed. It had been hard on her, Dr. Busch knew, to release all of her tensions in the manner she'd gone about it.

 

`This session really took a lot out of her. I miss her smile, already. Let me see... No sugar free chocolate left…any gum, no—figures…and that promotional messenger bag had a slit up the side of it…hmmm…aha!' Taking the journal she'd bought on a whim and the pen and pencil set she'd had for months and never used, she figured they'd be as practical as well as professionally neutral a gift as she could possibly give her client.

 

“Solya, I want you to have this. I remember you saying your mother ripped your diary up when you were 10 and I feel this will help you. It's a Pen and pencil set and a journal and can be used as a daily log or an occasional place to air out your feelings. I recall your telling me you're creative in the arts and I believe if you put your feelings into words—whichever way you feel works for you—it can become beneficial in the long run.” With a quick jot, she left an encouraging message on the front page of the journal and handed it to Solya. “Many of my patients have found it easier to open up in poetry or songs—even short stories or drawings. Whatever comes to mind. And, if you're willing to share them, I'd love to take a look, sometime.”

 

Solya gulped—hard. Not prone to getting many gifts from others without a weird feeling of being unworthy, even from family—and, sometimes, even Jerrod—she took the offering with no small amount of awe and gratitude. “I'll take very good care of this, Doc. Uh, um, th-thanks.”

 

The smile Dr. Busch received earned Solya a bright one in return. It warmed her heart to see that look of happiness on her patient's face and decided to wrap up the session in the usual goofy banter that made parting oh so nice and comfy—just the way Solya preferred. “Coming next week, on `As the Brain Melts'! What scandals await of heroine in this special all new episode? The FCC won't let us tell you, but parents, set that V Chip, now…”

 

Listening to Solya roar with laughter, Dr. Busch smiled brighter and opened the door for her. Giving her a light pat on the back and confirming the same time next week was okay for the next visit, she said goodbye to one of her more exuberant clients. `You're going to be just fine, Ms. Amarante. I know it!'

 

 

 

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“¡¡Ai Dios mio!! Not that again…”

 

“What're you bellowing about, now, Sol?” Jerrod whined.

 

“My damn cable's out again! Shit!”

 

“Tsk tsk!” Jerrod chastised, “Well, that tends to happen when you don't pay the bill, yanno…”

 

“You know I pay all my bills 4 months in advance, when I get my taxes, Jer—so, hush you!”

 

“You should get Satellite. Clearer picture and more channels. I offered to pay for the first year for you birthday, but you said—”

 

“I said all the good channels I want don't come with that special past the first 3 months—read the small print, playa.”

 

“Hell no! You know I'm nearsighted! Besides, I could've gotten the hookup!”

 

“Illegal Satellite via Peacock—Hell-to-the-no, man! My credit ain't screwed up, yet, and I'm not trying to test the Fates.”

 

“Well, if the bill's paid, call the company and just be patient.”

 

“But you know, PB, patience is just not my strongest virtue—entertain me!” Solya demanded in a mockingly superior voice.

 

“How about the magic word?”

 

“Now?”

 

“How `bout….no?”

 

“Today?”

 

“Um….try again.”

 

“Hurry up before I sit on you?”

 

“As sweet as that request is, I think you can do better…” Jerrod drawled, mimicking Ben Stein's voice, earning a hearty laugh from his best friend. He chuckled, then straightened up and folded his arms, expression expectant.

 

“Alright, alright…Por Favor, Senor. You're sexier than Al B.Sure. And if you do this thing for me, I'll owe you big, eternally,” she muttered halfheartedly, rolling her eyes the entire time, “You know we made that up when we were 10—don't go trying to hold me to that, man.”

 

“So you say…I'll go get the cards and whip you real quick in Tunk.”

 

“Cocky bastard…”

 

“All day long…c'mon…”

 

“'Kay.”

 

 

 

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Three hours, 2 bags of Sun Chips, 3 Pepsi Ones and 5 games of cards later—1 game of Tunk, 2 of Pitty Pat and 2 of Spades—two friends had a healthy debate over who set who in the last hand.

 

“You's a cheatin' Mo Fo, Solya! I knew you were gonna pull that “But, the deuce of diamond is the third joker” crap on me. Just admit that you can't beat me.”

 

“You's, Jer? Oh…my. Anyway, I called it at the beginning of the second game—just admit that I set you and won. At least it's only a tie. Now, I can break it,” she defended smugly.

 

“You cheated…you can't change the rules in the middle of a game like that. I don't wanna play with you no more!” Jerrod pouted as he childishly stomped away to the couch and flopped down in a huff.

 

“Dude, you're not 5—suck it up and take your whipping like a man. I'll even make it easy for ya. Game's only going to 200, this time. C'mon, losing is humbling. And it doesn't exactly hurt my feelings either.”

 

“Nah, I'm through, Sol. I'm thirsty. Be right back. You haven't had lunch yet, have you? You want anything?” Jerrod asked, walking to the fridge.

 

“Yeah, a Shrimp Cheese steak Sub, Western Fries and a Vanilla milkshake—but, I'll settle for some honey grahams and milk for now.”

 

“Good choice—back in a flash.”

 

Suddenly bored, Solya decided to channel surf. Flipping through the mattress for about a minute was frustrating, so she opted to get up and manually work the TV. Scanning the stations for about 10 seconds, she ran across a cable channel. “Huzzah! It's back on! Whoot!”

 

“Huh? What was that, Sol?”

 

“Cable's back on. Want to watch anything in particular, PB?”

 

“Nah…oh, you're out of milk. Want anything else? How about Orange Juice?”

 

“That'll do.”

 

“'Kay, hold on. Try to find something decent to watch. Damn, we're out of OJ, too. I'll find you something.”

 

Solya just shrugged and resumed channel surfing. `Crap…crap…syndicated crap…what the hell is that? Crap…that's my movie—ah, man! It's about to go off! Shit! Crap…oh boy, mushy stuff.'

 

She'd just flipped to a women's-themed channel and, watching a scene from a cheesy soap opera where the actor and actress exchanged spit, she cringed.

 

`Man, is it really supposed to be that hot and heavy? What's up with that move—was that his tongue? Is that necessary or normal? Um, ewwww!'

 

Coming back into the room with a turkey sandwich, a small bag of Baked Lays and a two bottles of apple juice, Jerrod had to fight not to laugh aloud at the curious, slightly amused, and then horrified expressions flitting over Solya's face. He shook his head and sighed when he noticed the show she was watching. `Oh…my. Solya and soaps? Oh, this is priceless—gotto get her!' he thought with glee, loving moment like this.

 

“Never took you for a soap fanatic, Sol. Will wonders ever cease.” He teased, laughing until a tear welled in one of his eyes from seeing her jump about a foot and mash TV buttons furiously until she finally turned it off. “Wow. Can't say I've seen you blush like that since we were pre-teens. Did I miss anything good?”

 

“Hardy har, man.”

 

“But, c'mon. You gotta admit it's…hella funny seeing you watching…anything like that. I mean, homeboy…looked like he was devouring…her face. That…was just too much and…then the look on your face. Oh. Give me a minute. I can't breathe!” he struggled between laughs. Solya wasn't amused, but couldn't help laughing as she observed Jerrod in throws of laughter so intense he nearly dropped the plate he was carrying.

 

“You jerk!” she tried, laughter mixing in her words, “Quit it! Stop…laughing at…me!”

 

After about 4 minutes of helpless giggles and wiped tears, they wound down and had a seat on the couch.

 

“Okay, so it was a little funny,” Solya admitted aversely.

 

“A lot funny, you mean.”

 

“Whatever you say, Jer—nerd.”

 

“Hey, don't hate on the glorious grey matter—Steve Urkel was the shit!”

 

“No, Stephan Urkel was. Well, okay—couldn't have Stephan without Steve, I guess,” Solya agreed.

 

“Sho you right.”

 

“Um, Jer, the 70s are over.”

 

“But they live on in the minds and hearts of old heads like us.”

 

“I'm not an old head, man.”

 

“You know most of the words to `Float On', `Ai No Corrida' and `What a Fool Believes'—you're an old head.”

 

“Cancer. And my name is—”

 

“Oh, puh-lease don't start that song again! It took you almost a month, last time, to get it out of your head,” Jerrod pleaded.

 

“Alright, alright,” Solya snickered, “Let me pick your brain, then?”

 

“If you can find it, go for it.”

 

“Now, where'd I leave that microscope? Ah well…I'll just try my luck.”

 

“Funny…hilarious, even”

 

“Hey, you set yourself up for that one, Snaggle Puss.”

 

Smacking his head as he realized she was right. He smiled. “True, true. Okay, pick my brain, already.”

 

Looking decidedly nervous, suddenly, she pulled at the neckline of her jersey. Gnawing on her upper lip, she turned to look Jerrod in the eyes, soon giving up on that idea when she realized what she was about to ask. Turning back around to study the beads of condensation dripping down the apple juice bottles, she took a deep breath and decided to just jump right in and ask.

 

“”Hey, PB…”

 

“Yeah, Sol?”

 

“Have you? Have you ever? Well-of-course-you-have… Um, you've kissed before, I'd imagine.”

 

“Once or twice.”

 

“”Yeah…”

 

“Sol?”

 

“Oh, um, right… So, when you did this—kissed—what was the goal?”

 

“Say wha?”

 

Solya cocked her head to the side, lifted a brow and smiled. “Not like that, Miroku! I meant, well, was it like to kinda, oh, I dunno, connect with said female? Or, was it obligatory, like an after-date smooch? Or, were you just really, really curious, like you wanted to see her reaction?”

 

“Um…connect? Elaborate, Sol—please”, he droned.

 

“'Kay. Um, connect like…err…connect. You know, PB.”

 

“Um, that can be taken a few ways, Sol. Try again.”

 

“That's it! No more hanging with Crazy and Peacock for you, young man!” Solya gibed. At Jerrod's chortle, Solya continued. “Connect. Um, um, it's hard for me to put into words.”

 

“Try. I mean, you had to have had some general meaning when you said it, right? Just say the first thing that comes to mind—I'll letcha know if you need to try again,” Jerrod endeavored once more, light smile in his eyes.

 

“Okay, connect… Ah! Got it! Did you want to bond with her? Um, like, um, uh…”

 

“Ohhhh, you mean connect. Like, see where it leads—not sexually, but if this is the kind of woman I wouldn't mind kissing indefinitely—like a spark?”

 

“Yeah! That's it! I mean, do kisses have meaning or are they just really commonplace?”

 

“I love it when you use big words, baby,” Jerrod leered mockingly, wrapping his arms around her waist and whispering in her ear. The effect was a marked stiffening of her shoulders and a jab to the ribs via Solya right elbow.

 

“Ah, ah, ah—don't squeeze the Charmin, bro.”

 

“Just messin' with ya, Sol,” Jerrod defended with a hiss, “Damn, you hit hard. Remind me to stay on your good side.”

 

“Yeah, yeah—down, boy,” she giggled. Trying not to laugh any more as he rubbed the right side of his chest tenderly, glared at her and growled under his breath, was hard. After about 20 seconds, Solya, looking the epitome of innocence, continued. “By all means, Mr. Domingo…enlighten me.”

 

“You suck, you know,” Jerrod grumbled, still rubbing his side.

 

“I'll get over it…one of these years. Please proceed, my good man.”

 

“So, back to what you were saying, then—commonplace—I'm gonna use that word… Okay, now to answer all 3 original questions. First, obligatory, no—I only kiss after dates if I feel comfortable and if the lady I'm with gives of the right vibes. That and if she seems copasetic—open to meeting me halfway.”

 

“Okay, with you so far.”

 

“Good. Now, the next one—curious to see her reaction? Hmmm. Not since my first date. I was still young, dumb and full off cum back then. Don't get me wrong, I was a gentleman in general, but I was also greener than a rainforest. I thought she'd do one of those Hollywood-type swooning deals if I just rushed in and “gave her a good one”. She gave me a good one, alright. Sheesh, I'm surprised my lower row of teeth weren't misaligned after the left hook she clocked me with.” He paused to shudder, glowering at his now chortling friend.

 

“My bad...Jer, I'm sorry…that's not…funny. Okay, I'll…stop laughing now,” Solya tried convincing him between gales of laughter. Steeling her face in a strained, yet serious expression, she nodded for him to continue—then burst out laughing again right as he opened his mouth.

 

He stopped and gaped at her, disbelief in his eyes. “Does my pain really amuse you that much? It really can't be all that funny, is it?”

 

“No, it's not. I just couldn't stop that laugh. I'm good now. Go on,” Solya finally said when the laughter died down and she caught her breath. “Damn, my stomach burns. Man! I haven't laughed that hard in a hot minute.”

 

“Glad to be of service—butt munch!”

 

“Nerd!”

 

“Urkel!”

 

“Dumb ass!”

 

“Tons of fun!”

 

“Nimrod!”

 

“Doo Doo Head!”

 

“Doo Doo Head? Oh brother. That was sad, Jer. Try again—fart face!”

 

“We're getting off topic. I'll concede the win to you this time—only on principle, though.”

 

“Yeah, yeah. He knows I would of beat him,” Solya bragged to herself quietly.

 

“Yeah, and I heard that—you can't whisper worth jack, Sol. Anyway, where was I? Oh, right… Now a connection. Hmmm… I guess I never really thought about that till I got a little older. I don't know if I'd say that every date I go on is in hopes of finding true love—sometimes, it's just to go out and enjoy a pretty lady's company. But, I do believe that there's a special person for everyone. Someone you fell warm with all the time and someone who makes you feel really comfy and good about yourself. Someone who brings the best out of you and that you trust above all other, yanno? This person would complete me in a way no other person could and I guess I'd be all the better for knowing them. Like friends could leave me and family may betray me, but this one…she'd stay. Feel me?”

 

Solya balked inwardly at the definitions he gave. Without really trying, he hit on one of her biggest fears. The fear that one day Jerrod would find a woman worth everything good, secure, special and wonderful, and comforting that she saw in him…and currently was singularly privy to. Never let it be said that Solya Deja Amarante was interested in pursuing a relationship—she was much too frightened for that; but, she was also, deep down, terrified that one day he would find his dream girl and, on that day, realize that he didn't want to play best friend, protector and part-time babysitter to one as pathetic as she.

 

`I'm either really lucky or the object of extreme pity,' she sulked, `I mean, what's a guy as cool as Jerrod Antony Domingo doing hanging with a nobody like me for, anyway?' She chalked it up to an answered prayer from a sad, lonely and scared 8-year old who just wanted one good friend in life that would never disregard her, never hurt her and never leave her.

 

Remembering the day, seemingly a lifetime ago, when he'd pulled her out of that crowd of teasing boys who seemed primed for a 6-on-1 brawl; he was there, off to the left, watching. She was no slouch, mind you, but even she had to admit the odds where against her. Fear, pride and stubbornness warred inside her. Made her continue to stand her ground and ignore the words that made her want to cringes and flinch and cry for days on end. So, she stood there waiting for whatever would come, praying the tears working their way past the weakening dam that was her eyelids would stay. All the while wondering absently who that boy was to her left who seemed to be silently encouraging her while slowly easing her way. She recalled him taking her by the hand, soon after, and glaring daggers at the assembled tormentors as he pulled her to the safety of the bus stop and waited with her till the bus came, never letting go of her hand. And the hug he gave her right before the bus pulled up to the after school crowd. And the Post-It with the phone # and a small message on it:

 

`Hello,

 

Solya, right? Looks like you could use a friend. Folks call me Jer. KIT, ok?

 

-Jerrod

 

P.S. Call me tonight.'

 

She remembered the astonished and rather goofy grin she couldn't wipe off her face that evening, as she brushed her hair in her bedroom mirror and reread the message. And then there was that warm fuzzy feeling she couldn't repress for nearly a month later, every time she saw him at school or talked to him on the phone. But, mostly, she just felt really, really happy every time she thought of him—her reason to smile, now—she had a friend! Her thoughts came to a freeze as Jerrod grasped her shoulders and lightly shook.

 

 

“Aw, come on, man. It couldn't have been that boring, was it?” Jerrod pried, wondering where this line of questioning came from, where she was going with it and why she was suddenly so quiet and looking so introspective. “Sol, you okay?”

 

Solya gasped and shot up off the couch, and realizing she'd zoned out for a bit, set her eyes on Jerrod and answered. “Huh? No, I'm good. And, yeah, I feel you, PB. You want someone who'll be everything to the point that I guess you won't need anyone else.” `Like especially me'

 

He looked…shocked? Surprised? Hurt?

 

“Solya…” he breathed, taking her hand and leading her back to the couch, “No. No. Not like that. I'll always need everyone in my life. Everyone. It's just, as much as I love my family and all my friends—and as much as they're an intricate part of who I am—I know my life doesn't end there. I—well, maybe later in life, anyway—want kids. A family. A wife. And they'll adore their Auntie Sol, too. Know that no matter where I go in life or what I do or even who I end up spending my life with, you've got to come along with the package. You're my best friend, Sol and I'm never leaving you.”

 

“I…I-I didn't say anything about that, Jerrod,” she stammered, heart simultaneously stopping and beating a salsa rhythm at his words—whoo, but she was suddenly warm!

 

“You didn't have to, Sol. It's okay. I know you're scared of being alo—”

 

“No, I'm not, man! I'm not scared of anything,” she defended instantly—predictably.

 

“Yes, you are. Shhh,” he corrected, silencing her with 2 fingers.

 

“PB, I'm…”

 

“You are. But, it doesn't make you any less of a person to have a fear or two, you see. It's normal. It's proof that you're not an alien…at least on some level.”

 

At Solya's slight chuckle, Jerrod went on, relieved somewhat, “In a weird way, I feel it's proof that I'm supposed to be your friend—not for pity, but to be important. You make me feel important and as much as it's one hell of an ego boost, it's also pretty humbling and…special. I'll never feel for another woman the way I feel about you.”

 

Solya gulped hard. While not willing to let herself believe what he was saying had any romantic merit to it, being this close to him as he held her hand and looked in her eyes and stripped away her defenses in the mild tone of voice…well, shit! She was surely feeling something weird. It was as if she was slowly melting through the couch cushions and she had to snap herself out of it—soon!

 

`Uh, um, uh…Andre the Giant…Leonard's sweaty sneakers—and socks—ewwww…that crushing tackle in the last football game we both watched—ooh, that had too smart! Yeesh! Uh, um…dirty bath water—ah, shit his eyes…' Solya scrambled to find a distracting thought to counter the effects of his solemn gaze and the warmth of his hand on hers. Deciding to study a baby picture of him on the coffee table, she continued to rack her brain. `No! Come on, Sol! Think! Oh! I've got it, now! Trevor drunk as hell with his pants falling off his ass, trying to dance with me—still gotta kill him for that! Oh yeah, that did it! I'm good, now!'

 

Jerrod just sat patiently and let her get her bearings. He knew he pushed her up against the wall with the truth. He was surprised she was still sitting there. `Maybe the therapy is getting through to her better than I thought. This looks promising.'

 

Feeling permanently mortified, but hoping to cover it up, she shyly locked eyes with Jerrod again and decided to give him the last say, no matter how much she rued it, to end the conversation she was pissed to realize she started.

 

“Okay, thanks-for-answering-my-question, PB,” she ran off, slightly nervous, “Wanna-go-play-basketball?”

 

`Buddy-buddy tactic, huh? Poor thing. Looks like I embarrassed her again. Okay, basketball it is.'

 

With a smile and a nod, he let go of her hand and excused himself to go get changed.

 

“Ask questions, huh Doc B.? Maybe I'll hold off on those for a while,” Solya muttered as she double tied her sneakers and waited on Jerrod to head out with her.

 

“I'm not gonna drag this on, just…sorry for wherever it applies,” Jerrod announced as her walked out his room, clad in B-ball gear.

 

“S'all good, PB—I know you've got some Dr. Phil in you, man,” she teased, “From now on, it's only Yes or No questions for you, dude. Hey, are we calling any of the fellas or 1 on 1?”

 

“I'm thinking 1 on 1, today—don't wanna tear you down in front of everyone right now,” he decided cockily, jumping back to just miss an elbow to the gut, “So violent! C'mon, Sol! Let's go work off your frustrations.”

 

“Shut up, man! Your baller name ought to be `Nothing But Brick'! Best two out of three and losers buy dinner. That would be you and dinner would be at Red Lobster.”

 

“Such good taste. So whenI win, you'll be buying me Surf and Turf and Shrimp Scampi?” he goaded.

 

“We shall see, oh Duke of Delusions. Now, march!” Solya ordered, pushing him out the door.

 

 

 

<(^^<) <(^^)> (>^^)> (>^^<) <(^^<) <(^^)> (>^^)> (>^^<) <(^^<) <(^^)> (>^^)> (>^^<) <(^^<) <(^^)> (>^^)>

 

 

 

About two hours later, the sweaty duo made it back to Jerrod's house, spirited discussion already in progress…

 

“I whipped you, man!” Solya boasted.

 

“You, tripped me, you liar,” Jerrod retorted with a pout.

 

“Quit sticking your lip out like that and you're gonna trip on it—just like you did on your shoestrings at the hoops.”

 

“Funny how that string looked a lot like your foot—ah hell!” Jerrod grimaced noticing that his knee was still bleeding. “See what you did? My poor beautiful skin, blemished beyond repair—the horror!”

 

Solya rolled her eyes as she went to the bathroom for the first aid kit. Coming back, she stifled a laugh as she observed him tenderly feeling around the cut, looking almost teary eyed.

 

“Tell me you're not gonna bawl over that glorified paper cut, PB—please”

 

“Well, I can't help it if it stings, Sol. You were a man in your former life, weren't you? A big, burly, violent one, I'd say.”

 

“Yeah, whatever. Gimme that knee, sissy boy. This will sting. Thought I'd warn ya,” she chuckled.

 

“Get that alcohol away from me!” he shrieked.

 

“You sound like a girl. How about I tell you about my embarrassing session today, to get your mind off the pain…will that work?”

 

“No…just get it over with.”

 

Rolling her eyes, she tended to his `wound' and they decided on Chinese take out for dinner.

About an hour later, the two buds were full and lethargic.

 

“So, you staying over or rolling out?” Jerrod asked with a small yawn.

 

“I…can't move…at least for…an hour, anyway,” Solya gasped dramatically, receiving an intense eye roll from Jerrod.

 

“And the Academy Award goes to…” Jerrod drawled, “That stereotype is so old, Sol.”

 

“Well, in my case, so true. I think it was the Egg Drop Soup for me. I don't want to eat for another week.”

 

“Well, sleepover it is, then. Your shirts and shorts are in my sock drawer and you can use my slippers if you want.”

 

“Works for me, thanks. My whole body hurts. After a shower, I'm gonna be dead to the world.”

 

“Go on. Ladies first,” Jerrod offered with an over exaggerated bow.

 

Solya couldn't resist. “So, what're you waiting for?”

 

“Stifle it, Edith. And, please—I'm begging you—don't start singing that song again.”

 

“Stifle? You Meathead! And I love that song—it's a classic! You wouldn't deprive me of the arts, would you, PB?”

 

“And you wouldn't deprive me of my hearing, would you, Solya?”

 

“Touché.”

 

Solya went off to shower and change, followed by Jerrod. Soon after, they climbed into bed and drifted off to sleep—make that Jerrod drifted off to sleep. Solya only dozed on and off, her body tired but her mind restless. She couldn't stop replaying the events of her day.

 

`A week's worth of activity in less than 24 hours. No wonder I'm so uppity, yet tired. Oh well. What's that cliché? It's always darkest before dawn? No. Um…yeah…okay, I can't think straight. Sounds like sleepiness to me. Whoo hoo!'

 

To her benefit, a close succession of yawns quickly announced sleep was soon to come. She turned onto her side to get comfortable and wound up a few inches from the sleeping form beside her. Staring at Jerrod, she smiled. She reached down under his covers and found his hand, which she then grasped. Feeling safe, and secure, she closed her eyes and let the feeling sweep over her.

 

“I don't think this day could've ended so well without you, Jer. Thanks for always knowing what I need,” she whispered to him with a shy grin.

 

Opening her eyes, she let them travel down to his lips and linger. Feeling bolder than she ever thought she'd be, she leaned forward and kissed the air mere millimeters from his lips. She stayed there, listening to his even breathing and smelling the mouthwash he'd just used. A few minute later, she backed away with a bittersweet smile and pulled up the covers to her chin.

 

“Good night, PB. Thank you for being my friend,” she whispered once more. Within 10 minutes, she was asleep.

 

A/N: And, that my friends, my foes, ladies, gents, animals, minerals and “others”, is Chapter 4. Loved it? Could've lived without it? Can't wait till the next installment? Well, drop me a line and let me know whatcha dink. LOL! (Couldn't resist using that word: dink. Well, as my bio page said, I'm weird. Just ask my cousin, she'll let you know!) So, I'm off to brainstorm the next 2 chapters. Lata, fiction fans!