Better Than Burroughs

The Following Morning

Callum

The first thing I notice is the pressure on my hip, the second is the intense pain in my sodding neck. How the fuck did I fall asleep? On the bloody roof? It wouldn’t be the first time. Upon opening my eyes I remember the night before and falling asleep on the couch. Lifting my head, I discover that the pressure on my hip is Marin’s head. She’s lying on the inside of the couch, her head using my hip as a cushion and I don’t remember falling asleep like this. She must have turned around. Was she awake when doing this? Does she know that her arm is wrapped around my hips? My left hand is flat against her skin, just below her neck. Even asleep I had the good sense to slide underneath the shirt.

Suddenly the pressure is very welcomed. Her long hair is tangled, bunched up beneath her head and I want to free it. I want to bury my fingers in it and pull her head up. I want to drag her body up mine and kiss her into consciousness. I flex my fingers and her skin is so god damn soft that I catch myself in a mid-moan. It’s just her fucking back. I only have a slight headache from the alcohol. I drank a little more than needed. Even so, I feel perfect. Like I just went through ten rounds of therapy with the playmate of the year. And she put out.

Laying my head back, I take a moment to bask in her weight. I love feeling a woman on top of me. It’s an addiction. Taking a few more seconds, I lift my head back up and decide how to wake her. I can’t stay like this, just waiting for her to wake up. It’ll kill my self control. I pinch her back. Not hard enough to really hurt, just enough to wake her up quickly and for good.

Her head flies up, coupled with a hoarse curse. She curses in the morning. Cute. Blinking, she looks at me. Probably confused. It takes her three seconds to sit up and glare at me, her hand rubbing where I pinched.

“What was that for?” She’s pouting. Bloody hell, she’s pouting. Not thinking, I reach forward and capture her lower lip between my fingers. She freezes and I let go, standing up and stretching my arms over my head. Suddenly I feel a breeze. My robe has come untied. Hell, it was probably already untied and I just didn’t notice. Looking over my shoulder, she’s not paying attention. Too bad on her part. Tying it tightly, I put the record away from the night before and replace it with some Gogol Bordello. Nothing like gypsy Russian punk in the morning. Turning it up to a decent wake-up volume, I ignore Marin and go into the kitchen. ‘Naked’ juice. God’s gift to mankind. I make two glasses up and walk over to hand her one. She doesn’t ask what it is and takes a sip. She’s impressed me with her eating habits. She hasn’t complained once over there not being any meat. Makes life easier on me. Just the fucking smell makes me sick. I was raised not eating it. No need to start now. Besides, I happen to rather like animals and the thought of eating their flesh appeals about as much as the thought of eating my own testicles. Which happens to remind me of Morrissey.

“Thanks,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

Looking at her, she has an odd look about her and I immediately wonder what I did last night to cause such a look. It takes me a second, but I remember what I did. I told her about my parents. How great. Now she’s being motherly. What all did I say? I don’t want to even think about it.

“I’m perfect. It’s not every day I wake up with a gorgeous girl on my hip.” My answer has the desired effect in changing the topic when she smiles and ducks her head. It’s a blushing smile without the actual color. I love it. It’s the truth. I haven’t woken up with a girl in a long time. Not after a night of sleeping anyway. I’ve passed out a few times. Pushing my hair back, I need a haircut. Perhaps I’ll do that today.

“I’m getting dressed,” I announce, taking my drink with me upstairs. She’s too tempting in the morning with her hair uncombed. Well she’s too tempting in general. Do I have any clean clothes? Fuck. So I need to do laundry, cut my hair, and work. Can’t bloody wait. What’s the date? I have to go see my surrogate parents for dinner I think. Do I take her with me? Wouldn’t that shock them? At least they’d lay off me for not being social. I have a fucking woman living with me. Isn’t that social enough? I fuck plenty of women. That’s not social? Of course I don’t share those details with them.

“What’s ‘tá tú go h-álainn’ mean?” she asks and I freeze. Where the sodding fuck did she hear that? Did I say that last night? I don’t remember saying that. I turn around and stare at her, she meets it unflinchingly.

“Where did you hear that?”

“What’s it mean?”

“Tell me where you heard it first.” I’ve just reverted to a six year old. Bloody brilliant.

“Tell me what it means and I’ll tell you where I heard it,” she insists, not wanting to give it up, which pretty much puts a lid on my saying it to her last night. Tell her it means ‘fuck off’.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, giving in and not seeing the point in lying to the girl. She is beautiful after all. I go upstairs instead of waiting for a reaction. Best to disappear and let her soak up my all mighty greatness.

---

“How’s that?” Ruby asks, spinning my chair around so I can see myself in the mirror. Leaning forward, I pull at my hair and frown, “Did you do anything?”

She smacks me on the shoulder with the comb and I laugh. It looks fine. I don’t know why she bothers asking anymore. I always get the same thing done. I never cut it too short. I have an odd shaped head underneath all the hair. There’s absolutely no need to draw any attention to in.

“Are you sure you don’t want a change? Maybe some gel? Right now those little Mohawks are really popular,” she says. I shake my head. That shits not for me. Fuck Mohawks and fuck all those little gits who sport them with their chains and torn jeans. Fucking wankers.

I tell her to do whatever she’d like, but no hawks. I don’t really care what my hair looks like. It grows back. Besides, I trust her. She won’t fuck it up just to get at me. Ruby is the only one I let cut my hair. A weird sense of attachment. The first hair cut I got in the states, the guy fucked it up. I ended up at Ruby’s to get it fixed. I’ve never gone anywhere else since. Ruby’s this sassy little petite bird who wants me real bad. She just can’t get enough. Too bad she’s married with kids and has a sense of maturity on the matter of infidelity.

“I got another Lucy Liu mention this morning,” she says, pulling the comb through my hair.

“Male or female?”

“Male. He insisted that I was her sister. I overcharged him for the cut.”

One thing that pisses her off, Lucy Liu mentions. I, personally, think she looks nothing like the actress. She’s not even fucking Chinese. She’s from Japan. Don’t make the mistake.

“Men are morons when faced with incredible beauty,” I quip. She laughs and turns me down gently. We have a quick argument over whether or not she wants me and I feel that I won. After she finishes, we talk some more about her family. Her daughter’s just started ballet. Cute little thing. We hug, I pay, and I leave.

Marina shouldn’t be home. She was leaving to fetch her car and meet up with her future employer. Random fucking job if you ask me but if it works for her, doesn’t matter what it is. I’m a tad relieved that she never asked for a job at the store. Sure, I’d give her one even though I don’t need help, but it would be torture on my part. Once home, I call up Charlie and Betty and set up a time to show up. I mention that I’m bringing someone and try not to elaborate. Clean clothes are a must I guess.

It’s almost four by the time I’m done with my clothes. I found my sweater in my sock drawer. I’ve been looking for the thing for a month now. Maybe only a week, but it felt like a month. I have no clue how it got in there. I must not pay enough attention to the socks. Poor things. Remembering that I still haven’t called Marin, I find the phone and dial her number. I don’t stop to wonder how I have her mobile number memorized.

“Hello?”

“Doing anything tonight?” She hesitates before answering and I think I’ve just made her think I’m about to ask her out on a date. Now I feel guilty.

“Not really, why? Should I be?”

I hear a mumbling in the background and wonder if she’s still with the old bird. I want to ask how it went but I can wait. Besides, if she is still there, she’s not about to go into detail about how it is going. “I’ve got to go to dinner at some friends’, care to join me?”

“Of course. I’ll be home in a bit.”

She says her goodbyes and I hang up.


Marina

Hanging up, I slide my phone back in my pocket and smile at Muriel, “I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s not a problem. I don’t mind,” she assures, waving her hand dismissively. I’ve been here for hours now and I don’t want to leave. She’s the sweetest and completely entertaining. At first we discussed what my job would actually involve, nothing surprising there, and afterwards we moved on to life in general. I love her house. Pigs are everywhere. Not real pigs, but figurines and pictures and hanging pigs with wings. She loves pigs. She probably has every single novelty pig item ever made. I’ve only been in the living room, but I can see pig pot holders hanging on the oven if I lean to the right a few inches and I’m sure that if I go to the bathroom she’ll have pig shaped soap on the sink.

“Well you should get moving. You have someone waiting for you,” she says with a smile that hints at more than what she’s actually saying. Picking up the piece of paper that she wrote her upcoming appointment times on, I stand up. She has poor blood circulation and her feet are swollen to a painful degree. Doctor’s visits are often. She told me about her husband’s death. His name was Marcus and he has a twin brother named Malcolm. How does she manage to look at Malcolm and not break down?

“So I will see you on Monday,” she says, reaching her hand out for a shake.

Smiling, I say, “Looking forward to it.”

She walks me out, which I told her wasn’t necessary but she insisted. Her little Doxen didn’t bother to get up and follow us. The thing is almost as old as Muriel. Her name is Penny and she has a tumor on her neck. It’s sort of painful to look at.

After waving goodbye, I pull away from the curb and I can’t help but smile. I’m having a good day. I think I’ll actually like this job. Not only that, I’m happy with my living situation. I love living with Callum. He’s the easiest going guy I’ve ever known. And now he’s invited me to dinner with friends of his. He’s actually bringing me into his life. I wonder why. All I want to do is talk to him forever. I want to know all about his childhood, how he lived after his parents. I guess I’m nosey and he told me I was beautiful.

It only takes me seven minutes or so to get home and I find Callum lying in the middle of the living room floor sans shirt, pad of paper on the floor above his head. It’s shut so I can’t see what he drew. Lifting his head, he smiles up at me and I feel loved. I notice his new hair cut and how he must have shaved this morning after I left. It looks good with the shorter hair. I wouldn’t have been able to cut his hair this well. A little more than an inch was left on top, the sides cut short. His body spread out before me, I suddenly get the urge to straddle his waist. Swallowing, I try to ignore the urge and smile back at him. His body is perfect. The worn jeans low on his hips, so low that I can see the crude X on his pelvis bone. It’s like a treasure hunt and I almost laugh. He stands up effortlessly and that’s always been a thing for me. Watching someone move with ease. It’s beautiful. Last night, it was like every movement was difficult for him. He was sloth-like. Tired. Today though, it’s obvious just by the way he stood up, he’s no longer tired and the headache is gone.

“How’d it go?” he asks, walking into the kitchen and washing his hands. I pick the pad of paper up and set it up on the desk, not wanting it to be left out on the floor. The urge to open it is overwhelming but I ignore it.

“Pretty good.”

Not only does he wash his hands, he washes all the way up his arms and his face. With his back to me, I see the state of his jeans. The right pocket is torn. When he’s done, he dries off with a dish towel and picks up a yellow argyle sweater from the couch. I’ve never seen it before and it’s adorable. He pulls it on and it fits him well. Pale yellow with white and black diamonds, the pattern that goes in hand with the elderly.

“Ready to go?” he asks, picking up a black suit jacket.

“Right now? It’s not even five.”

“I told Betty we’d be there by five. I’m never late.”

“Alright, give me ten minutes and don’t come in my bedroom,” I say, hurrying into my room. I don’t know who these people are so I must look nice. I don’t know why I feel such a need to make an impression on his friends, but I do. I quickly find my favorite red and black eyelet dress. The lady who sold it to me kept calling it a sweetheart dress, I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. According to her, it’s speaking of the neckline, but the neckline is pretty simple to warrant such a title. I love it none the less and it falls to just below the knee so it’s the perfect length for me. I’m not much for short skirts or dresses. I feel like any second the hem will blow up and I’ll be left flashing the world. The one thing that always bugs me is that I have to get someone else to zip it up. I always get the zipper caught on the material when I try and do it myself. Usually Felix would do it, now I have to ask Callum. Before I do, I grab my red coat and slide on some plain black Mary Jane’s. They aren’t my favorite, but they match.

I finish in under ten minutes and when I walk out, he already has the door open, “What sort of driver are you?”

“The kind that swerves to avoid frogs when it’s raining,” I answer, walking up to him and turning around. In seconds I feel his hands on my bare back. One hand slides down my spine and I tighten the muscles in my stomach involuntarily. He pulls the zipper up and removes his hands. I miss the warmth immediately. Will he say something about my dress? He should. I look pretty.

“Thank you,” I say, turning the light off as I walk out the door. He mutters something from behind me as we walk down the staircase. He mutters a lot. After he locks up the store, we get in my car. I watch him from the corner of my eye, touching everything, sliding his fingers across everything he can reach. I’m not sure what he’s doing and don’t comment on it. Turning the car on, Imogen Heap comes on softly through the speakers and I don’t ask if he likes her and he doesn’t say either way.

“Tell me where to go.”

“Take a right, wait for further instructions.”

Nodding, I turn onto the street and ask, “So who are these people?”

“Charlie and Betty Anderson.”

“Anderson? As in the art store?” I ask, picturing the store across from his. I can see him nod but he doesn’t say anything. I wonder how long he’s known them. I had no idea that he was close with the pair. How did he meet them? I want to ask but don’t. I can do that later if I remember and get up the nerve.

He gives directions very well and in eleven minutes I’m pulling up in a circular driveway. There are no other cars in it, but there is a garage. The house is a decent size. Lots of plants. Hanging plants, plants in barrels, planted in the ground, in window boxes. Flowers everywhere. I really want to see what the backyard looks like. It must be paradise. I turn the car off and he flings his seatbelt off, pivoting in his seat to face me.

“Some facts because I am sure they will be brought up. The two don’t exactly know the meaning of privacy.”

I smile at how he pronounces the word ‘privacy’ and he flicks me with his fingers, something which I am shocked about and can barely believe that it happened. He ignores my complaint and begins talking again.

“Book Store isn’t mine. It’s theirs. The whole building is. They were the first real people I met upon ending up here and they let me stay there. Everything ended up working out the way it did and it’s just bloody perfect for me. They, however, will no doubt badger on about my buying the place from them.”

“Why tell me this now?”

“Insurance. I don’t need Betty giving me any new looks tonight and she’s already got enough of them.”

“Why not buy the building from them if that’s what they want?” I ask, not understanding why it would be a big deal. Wouldn’t it be cheaper in the long run? I had assumed that he already owned it.

“I don’t bloody well want to own the pile of bricks,” he sighs, flinging the car door open and getting out. He slams it a little too hard and I think I may have pissed him off. Oh well. He doesn’t even bother to wait for me, instead heading right for the front door and knocking. What a bastard. I hurry to catch up to him before someone answers and I look late.

I manage to step up beside him just as the door opens and I feel like sticking my tongue out at the guy just to irk him. A tall slender woman answers the door. My first thought is that she’s utterly gorgeous. I hope I age that well. She must be in her seventies. She has perfect white hair, cut short and in soft curls that frame her face. Her skin is pale and looks like it would be crushed velvet to the touch. A welcoming smile spreads across her face and she pulls Callum in for a hug. She laughs when he picks her up off her feet, giving the hug back ten fold. I fear that he may break her back.

He sets her on her feet and she playfully swats at his arm, “It’s about time you came around.”

“I know. Ten thousand apologies,” he says with a wave of his arm. The woman glances over at me, a questioning smile on her face, and looks to Callum for an introduction.

“Betty, dear, this lovely lass is Marina,” he introduces and I temporarily get stuck on his introducing me as a lovely lass.

“It is so wonderful to meet a friend of Callum’s,” she says, stepping forward to give me a soft hug. She smells of roses. “Please, come in. Both of you.”

Callum’s hand somehow finds its way to the small of my back as he leads me into the house. The warmth spreading up my spine is incredible and he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to take that feeling away. Glancing up at him, I see no indication that he even thinks anything of touching me. I ignore the strange disappointment that creeps up.

A scraggly miniature schnauzer is sleeping in the middle of the hallway and Betty just steps over it. “Hey Max,” Callum greets, kneeling down beside the old dog, scratching behind his ears. The dog doesn’t give much of a response but maybe opening his eyes is a huge response for this dog.

Standing back up, he asks, “How have you been?”

Betty looks over her shoulder as she leads us into a sitting room with two plush couches facing each other with a table in the center. The house is very put together and the first thing I notice is all the art on the walls. Every wall has at least one large picture hanging, all photos of great paintings. I recognize most, but a few are beyond my knowledge.

“What has Charles been telling you? I’m perfectly fine.”

I can’t help but smile. That is the same sort of answer I would give. She tells us to make ourselves comfortable so I sit down on one of the couches. Callum doesn’t.

“Speaking of, where’s he hiding?”

“He was trying to find the instruction manual to that darn microwave. I told him that it was thrown away but he’s just insisting that he has it,” she says with a shake of her head and an amused smile. Turning to me, she asks if I would like a drink and I politely decline. I always decline. I have never taken the drink offer right away. I’ve always waited until the meal. Should I ask if she needs any help?

“That is just a beautiful dress, dear.” Her compliment has me feeling so confident and I don’t know how she did that. Nice of her to notice. Callum sure as hell didn’t.

“Thank you so much.”

“Isn’t it just stunning?” she asks, looking at Callum. He appears to not be paying any attention and Betty ends up nudging him with her elbow. Great. Now I feel like she’s forcing him to agree. This is great for ones confidence.

“Callum?” she asks, her elbow nudging.

Looking up, his gaze darts from her to me, “Yes, of course. She’s gorgeous.”

“I was solely referring to the dress,” Betty comments with a smirk and I feel like I’m missing something. I wonder what these people know about Callum. About his past.

“It pales,” he quips, his eyes trained on mine. I feel like he’s looking inside me. I’m afraid that I’m blushing and I have to look away. Thankfully, the moment is interrupted when a man strolls in the room from a different hallway than the one we came in through. With glasses perched on his nose, he holds up a pamphlet with a huge smile, “Look what I found!”

“Oh no,” Betty mutters and I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re early, boy,” the man says, tossing Callum the pamphlet and pulling him in for a tight hug. I assume that it’s Charlie. He reminds me of Bob Hoskins, short and stocky with the friendliest smile you could ever see. I mean, I know Hoskins has played bad guys, but even when he’s being bad, he’s still cute somehow. Charlie is Hoskins with more hair and an American accent.

He palms Callum’s cheek and gives it a light tap. “You even shaved. Cut your hair. Is this for us or for…” he trails off, looking over at me. I can’t do anything but smile back and stand up.

“Charlie, this is Marina,” Callum says, ignoring Charlie’s comment.

“Hi,” I say, complete with a little wave and I feel like an idiot. Charlie laughs and soon I’m wrapped in a bear hug. I love these people.


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AN: Thank you everyone for your thoughtful reviews. I may not have too many people reviewing, but those of you who do, leave me some pretty damn wonderful ones. This chapter is definitely shorter than the previous, but if I had made it longer, I wouldn’t have liked where I had to leave the next one. And just in case others were confused at the end of Chapter 8, Mozzer is just a nickname for Morrissey. Thank you everyone for reading. Some drama is coming up and than some irrational actions occur probably around chapter 12. I’m excited for it. I just love my drama. And I just wrote a scene between Callum and a stripper that I adore, I’m completely in love with it and I hope beyond hope that you all like it just as much. And don’t worry, it’s not a sexual type scene that one would think of when they think of Callum’s character. Or at least it’s not one of those right now. I’m babbling. Anyway, read and review. I’m in a fabulous mood and I love you all!

Also, I hate to have such long gaps between updates on this site. I tend to forget to add chapters. But to those of you who emailed me with questions about my FictionPress penname, thank you because it reminded me to update.