“But… I don’t get…”
“You said you loved me,” Aimee said. She had calmed down now, and was no longer shouting, but the tears were streaming down her face, which was red and puffy. “But you don’t! You’d say anything to get me to fuck you because they want you to.” She pointed at the crystals again. “They make you lie! They make you lie to get what they want!”
“Who said… who said I was lying?” Josh was utterly bewildered.
“You. Don’t. Fucking. Love. Me.” Aimee punctuated every word with another prod. “You said that to get me to fuck you.”
“And, if that was the case – which it isn’t – it’s not worked, has it?”
Aimee stopped, stunned. “What?”
“We’ve not fucked – not yet,” Josh said. “You fucked Robbie – twice, in fact. But not me. Not yet, anyway.”
“Well… no. I’ve not. But, regardless, you only said you loved me because they wanted you to fuck me,” she pointed, once more, at the crystals.
Of the three of them, only Robbie noticed that the crystals were now the horrible, deep, glowing red that they could turn when things were not going the way that they planned. He bit his lower lip, nervously, but said nothing.
“They. Made. You. Lie.” She prodded him again.
Without warning, Josh grabbed the hand that was doing a reasonable job of prodding a hole right through his sternum and held it. Then, he kissed it.
“I said I loved you because I did. And I do.”
“But…” Aimee wanted, so much, to believe him. But she knew the power of the crystals. How they would do anything to get their own way. “But,” she said again.
“I don’t know what the crystals have done to you. Or to Robbie. Or to that old guy, Will or Bill or whatever it was. I don’t know what they’ve done to me. But I do know that I have never, ever, felt like this about anyone before.” Josh kissed Aimee on the nose.
“I love you,” he said again. “And I don’t need some crystal to try and make me lie about it, because I’m not lying about it! If there were no crystals. No naked brother. No naked you. No naked me. No blowjob. Nothing. If there was just you and me, I would still say that I love you. Because I love you.” He kissed her hair.
Aimee burst into tears once more. “You don’t mean that,” she blubbered. She looked, in fact, ugly as all hell with her red, puffy eyes and her red cheeks, her hair a mess, tears streaming down her face, her mouth twisted in a weird half-snarl. She had never looked worse and Josh still loved her and that, if nothing else, truly convinced him. Now it was time to convince her.
“I do,” he said, simply. “And one day, maybe one day soon, I will say that in front of some vicar, or priest, or guru, or whatever religious shit you’re into, and make you all mine forever. Because I love you, baby. And I promise, I always will.” He leaned forward to kiss her hair again.
Fuck that, Aimee thought to herself. You wanna kiss me? Fucking kiss me! She turned her head and, instead of her hair, he kissed her mouth. That kiss – was that the moment he convinced her? Maybe. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She finally began to really believe him now, though. She threw her arms around him and he threw his arms around her and, for a few moments, there was just the two of them.
Slowly, they came apart.
“Thank you,” Aimee whispered.
“For what?”
“For being you,” she replied. “For telling me what I needed to hear. For…” she paused, “for loving me.”
“You’re welcome, I guess,” Josh grinned at her. “Thursday, was it?”
“Thursday was what?”
“The wedding,” Josh replied, still grinning. “That gives me a few days to introduce you to my mother and my sister. They’ll both need hats, of course,” Josh was grinning, inanely now. “And new dresses – that could take them both hours to come up with and they’re both likely to get half a dozen and take them all back to the shops and get something else. Those two could win an Olympic medal for shopping!” Aimee, despite herself, began to giggle.
“I’ve got a decent enough suit,” Josh continued, “but I need new shoes – the ones I have are a bit scuffed. I know a guy down the road who owns a Rolls – nice, purple, leather seats, very posh. And there’s a decent flower shop on High Street who can probably knock up a bouquet in time. We’d need to get you a dress, of course. White? Perhaps not, quite, eh? Ivory. Lots of lace, lots of pearls. Fake pearls, obviously, I’m not fucking made of money.”
Aimee was doubled over in laughter. “Stop! Stop, you fucking dork,” she said between guffaws.
“What,” Josh said, mock-seriously. “There’s a lot to arrange before Thursday!”
“We’re…” she giggled again. “We’re not getting married on fucking Thursday,” she laughed.
“Oh, but you said…” Josh grinned once more. She punched him, lightly, on the arm.
“Fuck you, dickhead,” she laughed at him.
“You keep promising that and not delivering,” Josh replied. “You’re like the world’s worst courier service.”
“UPS at your service,” Aimee laughed at him.
“Really? You’re going to deliver, this time,” he replied, mocking her a little.
“Oh, sir,” she replied in that mock-posh accent she really wasn’t very good at. “I think it is you who will be delivering. I’m sure you have a nice package you can post in my slot.”
He shook his head at her. “You’re fucking disgusting, you know that? If that’s your idea of flirting, you’ve got a long way to go!” He smiled at her again.
“I’m not flirting,” she pouted. “I’m being a croquette!”
Josh stared at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. “A what,” he asked, still laughing.
“A croquette,” Aimee replied, looking puzzled. “It means being cute and sexy.”
“Actually,” Josh said, recovering himself, “a croquette is something you make from potatoes and breadcrumbs. Or other stuff, I guess.”
“No,” Aimee said. “It means…”
“It doesn’t,” Josh insisted. “That’s a coquette!”
Aimee gaped at him. “Oh,” she said, a little downcast.
“Cute and sexy, huh,” Josh said after a moment. “Well, miss cute and sexy, the delivery guy has a package for you. I’m just not sure it’ll fit in your mailbox.”
“Oh, it’ll fit,” Aimee said and took his hand. “I’ll fucking make sure of it!” So saying, she practically hauled him up the stairs and into her room again.
Robbie, once again long forgotten, wiped a drip of whatever had been for dinner off his chin, licked it off his fingers, and followed them up the stairs.
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