Hey Girl (Turn it Up #9)

Chapter 6

6

REBECCA

I t takes me a second to identify the sound of my front doorbell chimes. When next to no one pushes it, you tend do forget what it sounds like.

When I realize that someone is here, at my house, my safe haven, I start to panic.

My heart is in my throat and blood is racing through my veins.

Statistically speaking, whoever is on the side of that door means me no harm, but the fact remains if I open it, I have to talk.

As I ponder whether I want to subject myself to this and if so, how quickly I could get rid of whoever it is, a reminder dings on my phone, and I pull it out of my back pocket.

DAILY CHALLENGE, it boldly reminds me that I haven’t done anything to step out of my comfort zone today.

Shit-sticks.

Whoever is at my front door reminds me that they’re still there waiting on me by this time giving a gentle tap on the door.

Fine, fine…

I’ll answer the fucking door.

I pad cautiously to the front door and while I unclick the lock, I leave the chain on and open the door the six inches it allows.

“Since you keep shooting me down and won’t be my girlfriend, you’ve forced me to bring out the big guns,” Chris huffs and rolls his eyes before stepping closer. “So Rebecca, I’ve brought someone to meet you,” he finishes pleasantly.

Don’t shit your pants! I coach myself.

“Wh - who?” My traitorous voice box trembles as my eyes dart side to side through the narrow gap of the door.

“My mother,” he says plainly.

WHAT?!

Is she imaginary? Oh God is he one of those poor kids that lost his mom but pretends she’s still around?

“Where -?”

“She’s hiding in the bushes,” he supplies. “I told her I wanted to see how you felt about it before I introduced you and she wholeheartedly agreed.”

Oh my god.

“Why?”

“Because if anyone can vouch for me, it’s her. But I respect your boundaries, and if I had your phone number I would’ve called first. So if you’re not ready for this, just tell me to fuck off,” he finishes, folding his hands in front of him.

This is a lot.

Oh my God, I’m being Punk’d.

I need to close this door and go hide in my room and meditate or call my therapist- no!

“Okay.”

What the fuck?!

“Sweet! Come on up, Mom!”

I didn’t mean to say that! I meant to briefly discuss it further so I could make a comfortable decision and oh sweet mother of shit biscuits, here she is, coming up my steps.

In front of me, I find a free-spirited looking woman dressed in long and loose flowing blues and purples. Her long hair is wavy and blonde with some streaks of silver glinting in the afternoon sun. She wears a beautiful barrette on one side that seems to be made cleverly from some blue glass beading and her smile is radiant and kind of infectious. Too bad it doesn’t make it any easier for me to speak.

“Hi?” I weakly greet her, still mostly hidden behind my trusty thick door.

“Hello Rebecca,” her warm melodious voice is like melted chocolate- but wait…she knows my name! “Chris has told me so much about you, Sweetheart,” she tenderly explains.

Despite being a little overwhelming, Chris has been nice to me, and while I’m not thrilled he’s dropped by unannounced with his mother, she seems very sweet, and I can’t just slam the door in their faces or stand here with the chain-link on as if they’re lepers.

With fumbling hands, I undo the chain and slink back to open the door wider.

“Oh Chris,” the woman beams between me and her son. “You’re right, she’s absolutely precious!”

Without another word, she glides through the doorway and takes my hand in hers, placing something smooth and warm in it.

“I’m Kimberlee, and it’s such a pleasure to meet you. Hold this honey,” she refers to the object that’s about the size of an egg in my hand. “it’s an amethyst, and it will ground you and keep you calm while we have a little visit.” With that, she breezes past me and into my home.

I can’t even get my mouth to make sounds, let alone words to stop her.

Chris comes to stand in front of me, hands in his pockets and looking very pleased with himself.

“Vv-v-v-v…visit?” I repeat his mother’s word to him, and he casually shrugs as his mother makes exclamations from my living room.

“Oh my gosh, I love it! It’s so cozy and kitschy!”

“Don’t worry,” he assures me. “I wouldn’t bring just anybody over here. But if there’s anyone that can put you at ease and get you to give me a chance, it’s her.” He juts his chin in his mother’s direction.

“Rebecca honey, you’re not sensitive to any scents are you?” Kimberlee calls and I look over my shoulder to see her saging my living room.

“Um…what are-?”

“I’m just creating a calm, safe, and balanced energy, not to worry,” she responds.

I think I like her, but this is…too much maybe? I don’t even know what to make of what’s going on right now and that scares the bejeezus out of me.

I step timidly into my own house and watch curiously as Kimberlee finishes cleansing bad juju from the room, or whatever.

“Now!” She claps her hands together with a joyous smile. “How about some tea?”

“Oh, uh, okay,” I hesitantly agree as I go to step towards my kitchen.

“Oh no, no, dear, I’ve brought my own that I think you’ll love! And please, let me!” she skips towards the kitchen and when I raise my free hand to protest, adds “Don’t you worry, I know my way around a kitchen!”

“Um…what the hell have you got in here?” Chris questions from the far corner where the cat tree stands.

“What?” I ask, turning to him.

He points at the hidey hole. “Why is there a naked alien in your house?”

“It’s a cat.”

“Impossible. He has no hair and he looks like E.T.” Chris sticks his finger into the hole. “Phone home,” he says in a creepy alien voice. “Ow! What the shit?” he pulls his hand back and examines his finger. “Your naked alien has claws!”

“Here we go,” Kimberlee announces her reappearance serenely carrying in a tray with three cups full of steaming tea. Apparently, she does know her way around any kitchen. “Now, I’ve added a special herb from my, and I always find it very calming when I'm a bit keyed up, so how about it?" She asks.

Natural but calming? That sounds amazing… I mean, I don’t know if it can help a hyper-anxious case like me but it sure couldn’t hurt any. It’s not like it’s peyote or anything.

“S-sure,” I respond, nervously adjusting my glasses. “That sounds good.”

“Wonderful! Let’s sit down and get to know each other. How is the amethyst doing for you honey?”

“Oh,” I look down at the pretty purple stone I’m still holding. “It’s…n-nice?”

“Good! Now, Chris tells me you have a difficult time with new people, so I won’t make you talk any more than you want to, but if you could just spare me half an hour to just listen to what I have to say about him and sip your tea, you’d be doing me a wonderful generosity.” She puts a hand to her chest as if she means what she’s saying with all her heart.

A half hour. I can do that for this woman who, although she caught me severely off guard, is being very kind and sensitive.

“Awwww…who’s this little guy?” Chris coos over by Howie’s cage. “Who’s a cute little hedgehog? Huh? Who’s an adorable little hedgehog? Wanna be besties? Come here and be cuddled, you cute little—OW!”

I turn in Chris and Howie’s direction before Kimberlee stops me.

“Dah, dah, no…let it be. Just let him exist in your environment. That’s step one in getting used to someone. Simply allow yourself to be in their presence without feeling the need to interact and entertain and you’ll find you’ll acclimate so much more naturally,” she advises. “And in return, allow him to explore your space and learn about you by getting acquainted with the things that you love.”

Half an hour. I can do this.

I take a cautious sip of the hot tea and am pleasantly surprised. It has a bold taste but a calming smell. Even when I’m not sipping it, I hold it close to me because I’m enjoying the smell. It’s like chamomile but with vanilla and something else.

I sit and listen as Kimberlee regales me of the wonder that is Chris.

“He’s always been pretty hyperactive, which was overwhelming for even his father and me,” she gestures at herself. “We’re pretty mellow people so it was a surprise to produce such an energetic young kiddo. We took him outside quite a bit so that he could stimulate and burn it all off. And when he did things like cannonball into the mud or soak wads of toilet paper and throw them at the wall to see if they would stick, we just shrugged it off as him expressing himself. It was when it came time for mainstream schooling that it came to our attention that something was a little off. He was in the principal’s office more than he was in class and all the teachers expressed concern, so we took him to a therapist who had a few ideas.”

I feel myself oddly relax into the couch, still clutching the amethyst and the tea mug mind you and let her tell me stories about the energetic drummer I’ve been intrigued with who both confuses my senses and warms my heart…like this tea…it’s giving me the warm fuzzies.

“When he was eight, his Uncle Tommy did us the major disservice of buying him a drum kit.”

I feel a small smile tug at my mouth at the visual of young, crazy, chaotic Chris going to town on a set of drums.

“No one slept for about seven months, but it gave him an outlet to channel his energy and emotions,” Kimberlee goes on to explain. “The six hours a day he was on the drums, we simply resorted to earplugs, and during the time he wasn’t, well, he wasn’t completely calm, I don’t think that’s possible for him, but he was definitely more relatable. Oh!” she seems to remember something. “And we had a code word that we used when he would get a little out of hand that you can feel free to borrow, darling.”

“Mom, we’ve been here for forty-six minutes!” Chris complains as he paces behind the couch I’m sitting on. “When are you going to get to my good qualities, so she knows it’s okay to date me, for crying out loud?”

“Chris-”

“I’m getting impatient! I’ve looked at all her magazines so many times that I’m certain I can make a flourless white chocolate torte fit for the holidays, a centerpiece that will make Martha Stewart weep, and how to make a glitch-free camping trip - whoa, we should go camping! That’ll relax Rebecca and we could make our own-,”

“Kumquat!” Kimberlee barks.

Chris stops talking and draws in a deep breath through his nose and slowly lets it out.

Huh. I think I will take her up on using that nifty nugget.

Kummmmm-quaaaat…I like that word. It’s dirty, somehow. And I like Chris…a whole bunch of bananas I like him. When he calms down and takes a seat next to me, I’m drawn into his greeny-greens that sparkle like the ocean at sunset…and his golden hair that looks like rays of the sun flickering over the sand. And his scruffy jaw…I want to touch it.

I reach out and start stroking his stubble. It’s pokier than Iggy but softer than Howie. I liiiike it.

I feel goooood. I’m so relaaaaxed. I want Kimberlee to stay forevvvverrrrr.

Chris

“Mom, what the hell did you give her?” I ask, trying not to panic as I look into Rebecca’s dilated pupils behind her lenses.

“She gave me an am-a th-th-thi….an am-a th - she gave me a rock!” Rebecca triumphantly holds the purple crystal aloft, answering for my creepy hippy witch mother that’s clearly drugged her.

“Relax, relax…” my mom waves her hands in a downward motion. “The tea just has an herb from my garden that’s very calming…”

“You knoooow…” Rebecca draws out from her relaxed position, still clutching both the hippy crystal and her mug. “I just remembered I once had a weeeird reaction to St. John’s Wort. It’s ama-z-z-ing how you can remember things when you’re sooooo relax-x-xed.”

“Mom,” I snap my head back over to her. “Was there St. Witches Wort, or John’s Worth, or whatever in your tea?”

“Well…yes,” she hesitantly responds as she regards Rebecca with a quizzical look. “and also some valerian root from my garden. Maybe the combination gives Rebecca a… different reaction?”

“Is it squishy in here, or is it me?” Rebecca asks, looking thoughtful. “I feel super squishy.”

“Mom, what did you do?” I ask, as I gingerly take the mug from Rebecca’s hands to place on the coffee table. No more of that shit for her.

“Nothing!” My creepy mother defends. “I was just trying to help her relax.”

“Allergies are a thing, you frickin’ loon,” I scold her. “What if you’ve poisoned her? What if she goes into angioplastic shock or whatever?!”

“Anaphylactic,” Mom corrects me.

“Anaphuck this.” I slap my forehead. “Thanks a bunch, Pablo Escobar.”

“Look how squishy I am!” Rebecca’s voice is somewhat strained as she presses two throw pillows to her face, squeezing her adorable munchkin cheeks together.

Christ.

“See? She’s happy,” my mom argues, waving a hand at Rebecca. “She’s completely let loose.”

“Loose as a goose,” Rebecca tacks onto the end, her eyes rolling around in her head.

Fuck. Her battery is running low. I need to get my mom out of here.

“Alright, time to go, you freaking drug dealer,” I stand and gesture for my mom to do the same.

“Do you have to be so intense?” She rolls her eyes as she rises from the chair. “I didn’t drug her for Goddess’s sake, it was just some tea! It’s made her a bit more chill than I was expecting, but there’s no way it can hurt her any more than parsley or sage could.”

“Rosemary and thyyyyyyyyme,” Rebecca sings back, entirely out of key. Oof, baby girl couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

“It’s witches brew!” I amend her statement as I start punching at the Uber app on my screen. Thank BLAST there’s a car four blocks away. “I got you a ride home. Now kindly go wait on the porch.” I bid the woman who gave me life adieu.

“Just let her sleep it off and when she wakes up, let her have just half a cup of coffee and lots of water.” My mother waves an instructing finger over her shoulder as she glides to the door. “She’ll be fine,” she adds, blowing a kiss before seeing herself out and closing the door behind her.

I turn to find Rebecca barely visible on the couch. She’s squashed herself into the corner of the sectional, shimmied and squished herself as deep down in the cushions as far as she can go and piled the remaining pillows on top of her so that only her eyes and nose are in view. If she could relax -not quite this much- more often, I can’t help but wonder if she could be my weird soul mate. But now, how to approach her in this state…

“Hey there, you adorable little mouse freak.” I slowly step towards her. “Watcha doin’?”

“Trying to see how small I can get,” she responds, her eyes starting to look droopy.

“Oh that’s neat,” I encouragingly praise like one would to a toddler that just finished a lego tower. “You certainly look tiny. But you know what’s even better? Seeing how big you can get… by stretching out, letting those muscles-,”

“Zzzzzz…zzzz…”

Rebecca’s eyes are now closed and heavy snoozing sounds are coming from inside the pillows. Welp, Mom said to let her sleep. But being cramped and scrunched in that position can’t be comfortable or good for circulation.

“Okay, Mouse,” I quietly murmur to myself more than to Rebecca as I inch closer and start to remove all the cushions. “What do we say we get you to your room where you can be more com-,”

“SNORT!”

I startle. “-comfy,” I finish.

After getting rid of the pillows, I have to dig her out of the couch cushions before scooping her up, feeling more like a Disney Prince than ever and carry her towards her bedroom, her head cocked back and her mouth hanging open in a snore.

I stroll back into the living room and locate her TV remote. I’m flipping channels and trying not to get antsy when I feel something against my foot.

I look down at the weird, naked creature mewing down by my feet and an idea hits me. What better way to prove to Rebecca she can trust me than showing her I can care for her animals while she’s passed out?

“Okay… Iggy,” I address the hairless alien as I gingerly squat down to pick him up. God he feels weird. I gather him up and surprisingly, he lets me. “Alright listen. Man to man. Your mom is out of commission for the time being due to consumption,” I annunciate like he’s a human toddler. “But never fear, I’m here to take care of you and it’s gonna be cool. No worries, we’re just gonna chill alright? Hakuna Matata.” He doesn’t seem to give a shit as he looks at me with squinty eyes.

I look around for a place to get comfortable before strolling over to the couch holding the bare-ass naked cat. It feels so fucked up, but I sit.

“I gotta level with you, Iggy. I’m holding you while you’re naked and it’s creeping me out, man.”

Again, a deadpan expression is his response.

The video chat notification starts buzzing my phone and I scoop it up from the coffee table and look at the contact picture to see a Jason Momoa-looking mother fucker. Ah, Leo. I swipe the accept icon and am greeted by my friend’s smiling face.

“S’up man?” I greet as I sit back on the couch, totally content with the purr-ball on my lap.

“Chris! How the fuck are y - what the ever-loving fuck is that?” Leo squints at the screen incredulously.

“What?” I blink casually back at him.

“Mate! What have you been snorting?”

“You know I don’t do drugs.”

“Then explain to me why in the bloody fuck you’re cradling a raw chicken?”

“It’s not a raw chicken, it’s a cat. A sphinx to be exact,” I inform him in an all-knowing tone of disdain.

“That is a raw chicken,” he insists. “Go baste it in garlic butter and then we’ll get back to - ”

“It’s a fucking cat, dude. Or have you been wankin’ so much that your eyes have gone daft?” I love fucking around with his accent. I hold Iggy closer to the camera. “See? Kittycat.”

“A hairless fucking cat,” he deadpans. “Again, what the fuck are you doing with it?”

“He’s Rebecca’s. I’m showing her how responsible I can be by taking care of him while she’s passed out.” I shrug like it’s no big thing.

“The girl you’ve been emotionally perishing over? She’s passed out? Is she alright?” he shoots off the questions with rapid fire and his bushy eyebrows pulled together in concern.

“She’s okay. She just had a reaction to my hippy witch mother’s herbal tea..”

“Well props for looking after her raw chicken while she’s under the weather,” he raises his scarred eyebrow sarcastically.

“For the last time, shithead, he’s not a chicken!” I defend my new buddy. “He’s a very good boy! We’ve been bro-ing down hard, haven’t we?” I look down at Iggy, purring in my lap like we really are bros.

“Unbelievable. You’ve hit a real low point, Keith Moon. Do you know what an asshole you look like, cradling uncooked meat like it’s your firstborn? Not to mention you seem to have no problem telling it how you feel like you should be doing with your lady friend,” he chides.

Oh. It’s on.

“Speaking of…” I gear up to toss a heat-seeking missile of truth at him. “What does a certain redhead think of your feelings for her, hypocritical asshat?”

“Hey. Watch yourself mate,” he snarks, giving me his no-nonsense look that’s supposed to be so intimidating. He’s forgetting that after that music festival we were at a while back that ended up with me waking up the next morning in one of those inflatable dinosaur costumes and him in a sumo suit and both of us pelted with paintball splatters, so I’m not afraid of him.

“Oh wait! She’s still fucking clueless as ever because you’re too much of a pansy ass chickenshit motherfucker whose dick is probably going to get the courage to let her know before he does!”

He snorts. “Fuck you, meat botherer.”

“Blow me.”

“You wish.” One side of his mouth lifts in a grin. “Gotta run, take care.”

“See ya.”

Rebecca

One eyelid reluctantly peels open, and then the other.

I feel like I’ve been asleep for a century and my mouth feels like the Mojave desert.

Other than that, I feel pretty damn refreshed.

I’m given an unexpected adrenaline boost, however, when I sit up and realize I can’t remember how in the hell I ended up in my bedroom.

I whip my head around in every direction as if the walls will tell me how I got in here because the last thing I remember is waving an amethyst - that I’m oddly still clutching in my hand - in Chris’s beautiful face and ohhh…

He brought me in here. That’s the only explanation.

God in Heaven! I was in a man’s arms! A hot one! That plays drums in a rock band! And I wasn’t even awake for it!

My skittish little inexperienced virgin ass got held against a Greek God’s chiselled body for the first time and I missed it!

He held me against his powerful chest and princess carried me - at least I hope, if it was a fireman carry that would be okay too though - and I don’t even get the pleasure of remembering it! And oh! Oh!! He saw my bedroom! Where I sleep and dream about naughty shit!

And what if I talked?! I don’t know if I’m a sleep talker, or if I snore! What if I did both while he carried me?! Or farted!?

Well there goes that prospect, not that I was considering it or anything. He probably laid me down like a gentleman and when I snored, farted, and called him Daddy in my sleep, took off out of here like his ass was on fire.

And oh, how long have I been out? Iggy could have singed himself in the sun.

Hastily setting the pretty rock down on my side table, I shoot out of the doorway and down to the hall and skitter to a stop when I find the aforementioned rock lord sitting on my couch with Iggy swaddled in my afghan and cradled in one of his bulging tatted biceps while Impractical Jokers babbles on the TV.

“Oh hey, you’re awake.” He grins at me and I feel every muscle and bone in my body lock up.

My heart beats faster and harder and I feel a warm tingling in my face, which is usually a sign I’m going to pass out, which, dear God, please not again, as he clicks the TV off with the remote and sets down the bundle of Iggy.

“Wh-wh-wh-wh-,” I stammer out, trying to lock my lips around the words. When I’m caught off guard, my control over my stutter goes out the window.

“I-I-I… wh-wh-...how-wh-wh-whuuuhhh…”

Oh God, he’s standing. One dark, impeccably sharp eyebrow is slanted over his narrowed eyes as he comes closer.

I continue to panic, and before I can blink, warm, capable hands are encapsulating my face and a set of warm, soft lips are engulfing mine.

“Mmmmph…” Is all I can manage this time as I take in the feel of someone’s mouth on mine.

It’s freaky and scary, it’s unexpected, it’s invasive and unfamiliar and… I fucking love it. Oh my lord, I love the hell out of this.

Chris’s lips move in a beautiful rhythm that I’m sure only a musician could master - though I have no basis for comparison. Every molecule in my skin comes to life in a way that both scares the shit out of and thrills me simultaneously. I think I like the combination along with the warmth and the intimate contact.

I feel a tender flutter in my lady parts as they pulse to life, and just a hint of wetness against my lips as Chris’s tongue slips out a little before he hesitantly pulls away and looks at me, his hands still holding my face and his thumb gliding soothingly across my jawbone.

All the breath leaves my lungs from between my lips, like a demon leaving my body.

“What the hell was that?” I ask up at him.

And why the hell did that question not come out in a choppy stutter?

“Your mouth looked like it was out of control, so I gave it something to do,” he explains, tilting his head sideways with an arched eyebrow.

I draw in a couple of small, sharp breaths, trying to replenish my air supply without hyperventilating.

Chris Richards of Turn it Up is in my home, and he just kissed me. He sat on my cream-colored couch with my cat, watching TV.

“Y-y-,” I stop and take a second so I can speak properly. Looks like that kiss only temporarily exorcised my speech impediment. “You’re still here,” I state, still slightly out of breath.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to make sure you were okay after my mom’s freaky drug tea,” he responds, finally releasing me and resting his hands on his hips. I can’t help but note that I miss the warmth they were giving my face. “I didn’t know she was going to do that, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay.”

Now, kiss me again, and never fucking stop.

Great, I have an addiction.

“So, I know you’ve knocked out enough daily, out-of-your-comfort-zone challenges to last you until next month at least,” he begins on a heavy breath. “But I’m going to ask you again, since I’d say we also blasted through a few barriers… will you be my girlfriend?”

I tighten my diaphragm to push my answer out without a hitch. “No.”

“Why not?” He furrows his brow. “I’ll hold open doors and remember our anniversary and shit. Well. I’ll try to remember our anniversary, anyway. I’ll set up an alarm on my cell, and it’ll remind me a month before, and then a week before, and then two days before, and…”

Swoon… no!

“I… can’t.”

I can’t be someone’s girlfriend. I don’t know how to be.

“Why, because of your speech issues and your fear of being around other humans?”

I nod.

“Well, I admit that’s something of a hurdle, but I’m up for it!” He rubs his hands together, grinning. “What do you say, bae?”

I feel my shoulders drop with my exasperation. This is all too much. Too much pressure, too much interaction, too much awesome, hot, cute, funny rockstar goodness standing in my living room asking me to be his.

My issues go so far beyond what I thought.

“Why?” I implore him.

“Oh,” he straightens up and his eyes dart upwards and to the side as he does that cute face scrunch thing again. “Fair point, I suppose. Because you’re not like any of the usual girls that want to be with me. You don’t throw yourself at me, and I like that you’re kind of quiet. I never realized how nice it could be. I’m loud and crazy enough for myself as it is. You blew me away with those album covers; you’re creative and talented as fuck. When you’re emailing me, you’re seriously sharp-witted and funny. And you’re cute,” he finishes.

Wow.

I’ve never had anyone completely dismiss my shortcomings and list off other attributes about me that they like.

I feel my limbs go weak, and his words settle over me like melted butter on my poor overactive brain. I’m completely disarmed.

“Now, I know that isn’t much.” He starts pacing. “But the way I see it, you haven’t allowed me the time to find out more, but from what I already know, I really really want to, so it would be great if you’d be my girlfriend so I could do that.”

“Okay.”

I gasp and bring both my hands to my mouth as if I could shove the word back in.

“Ha!” He points at me with a triumphant smile. “I heard that! No backsies!”

Before I can argue, he gives me a look, his eyebrows shooting up. He turns and strides quickly towards the front door.

“I’ll start planning our first date! Text you later, mouse!”

The door is shut before I can respond.

Not knowing what else to do, I hurry over to the couch and scoop up Iggy, who’s still happily bundled. I pace back and forth, cradling him for my own comfort.

This is bad… This is so, so bad.

I’m dating a rockstar against my will! He didn’t even let me take three months to think about it! He just… took the pressure away.

And just when I was feeling ready to self-destruct, he left. Course, that could have been an effort to get out of dodge before I changed my mind, but I don’t think so. He seemed to sense that my discomfort was at its brink.

And then he said he’d text and not call… he remembers that I have trouble talking, even though he didn’t actually mention it. In fact, he doesn’t mention it much at all.

Oh my God…

I have a boyfriend.

I have a boyfriend.

And he’s a famous rock star.