Just Friends?

Chapter Two
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Shawn pushed his body away from the warmth of Jeanne's afterwards, feeling divested of something immediately. He snagged a large gray towel from the rack, shoving one almost harshly into Jeanne's, not looking into her probing gaze.

"Shawn..?" she asked in a low whisper, unable to move from her position against the wall. Her hair hung around her like a dark curtain, framing her face in a way that left it vulnerable, especially without her glasses to shield her doe-like eyes. Shawn forced himself to face her, almost falling apart when he saw her confused, doubtful expression. He knew he would hate himself afterwards, but he let a smirk knife through his face.

His blue eyes were like ice as he grazed his eyes over her perfunctorily, and spoke casually. "Get dressed. I'll lend you some dry clothes." Swiftly, he slid open the door to step out of the bathroom, leaving her alone in the bathroom.

A migraine was starting to build up, and so was the need to drink. Shawn had slipped into a fresh pair of Brooks Brothers boxers and was dragging himself into a pair of jeans when the door slid open with a hard bang. He looked up, and saw Jeanne wrapped up in the huge gray towel, her face glowing with anger. The air seemed to thicken with the tension, when she suddenly slapped him against the face. Hard.

The loud crack resounded in his head, and left a burning sensation against his right cheek, but the pain was nothing compared to the dull ache that he felt in his chest. "How can you be like this?" Jeanne said, her voice low and fierce. "How can you act as if... as if nothing happened at all?"

"What are you talking about? It was sex, nothing more, nothing less," Shawn replied, putting on his jeans, trying to ignore the tears that glimmered in Jeanne's eyes.

"Shawn..." she tried to speak, but her throat closed up. She had thought there had been something special between them... that something special had happened today. But he was acting so cold, so distant, in a way he had never shown her.

"Please. This scene is getting old. If you're quite done here, I would appreciate it if you just left."

The tears slid down her cheeks, unheedingly. I thought I loved you. Jeanne silently accepted a loose black-and-white striped shirt and gym shorts, numbly. She left, without another word, letting the elevator doors shut him out.

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The first drink didn't help. Neither did the second. Or the third. Shawn was working on his fourth Glenlivet when the pain started to fully set in. Why had he done that? He had deliberately hurt someone he cared about... deliberately caused the tears to fall from her eyes, and her heart to ache. He had no idea why.

But he did know he was bad for Jeanne. They were extremely different, and when people were as different as the two of them were, they didn't have any possibility of having a future together. Anyway, Shawn was into short-term relationships with benefits, and that wasn't what Jeanne wanted. He didn't want to get involved in the whole dating game anymore. Not after Renee.

Renee. As much as he wanted to forget her, Shawn couldn't completely erase her from his memory. Sometimes he wondered if he even wanted to. She was the kind of girl most guys wanted; with her acid smile, seductive body, and emerald green eyes. Best of all, she hated commitment. If a hook-up had been what he wanted, Shawn still had her number and Renee was always willing.

It had been so different with Jeanne. She had tasted of innocence, of his own latent dreams and hopes, so sweetly intoxicating. He lifted the glass bottle once more, pouring the rest of it into the glass, and picking it up with his fingers. When Shawn had first kissed her, the sheer power of his emotions had sent him reeling. He'd almost wanted to give up this freedom. He'd wanted to risk it all again, leave his heart bare to someone who could take it in her little hands and pry it apart. And it would have been all the worse with Jeanne. Jeanne, with her fleeting smile like a beam of sunshine, and her consuming love of books. Jeanne... with her quirkiness and beautiful heart. She would have torn him apart with just one goodbye. And he couldn't let that happen.

He lifted the empty bottle of alcohol, wishing there was more of that bitter medicine left. It might have drowned out the ache that he couldn't seem to quiet.

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Author's Note: Thank you, Sam, for the helpful comment- I really took it into consideration, and it was extremely helpful. I think I'm going to use most of the ideas you gave. If anyone else has ideas, please submit it. Criticism is appreciated. If you wish to contact me, my email is listed, and I will enter it here: Floraphiliac@yahoo.com