Embarrassed by the one I love.

Inside my nice, warm truck, I was driving home. I was filled with inanition. I could barely keep my eyes open. I hadn't gotten much sleep last night, and I've been up since nine in the morning. I've been up for twenty-two hours. I'm exhausted.
I pulled into my driveway, shut off my car, and got out. I immediately saw my dog, waiting for me.
He barked once at me, and ran around in a circle, jumping up and down.
I walked up to him, knelt down, and hugged him. He licked my cheek and I laughed, rubbing my cheek. "See ya, buddy." I stood up and walked up my porch, Cloud at my heels. When I got to my front door, I paused, remembering that the boarder was supposed to be here. I sighed and swung the door open. Instantly the sound of laughing flooded my ears. My mother and, probably, the boarder.
Then a shrill shriek of appreciation met me. It was a little girl. After the laugh, the laughs started again.
"There you are. Peekaboo!" a male voice said. He was obviously playing with the little girl. It made me respect him more.
I stepped into my kitchen and instantly smelled food. My stomach growled.
Three heads turned in my direction, varying smiles on their faces.
"Story!" my mom exclaimed, obviously pleased. "You�are home!"
"Hello, Story. I�am pleased to meet you." He stood, turned, and walked to me, and I got a full view of him.
Even though he was dressed modestly in a pair of jeans and a pale blue long-sleeved shirt, and the shirt was loose, I could tell the man had a body. It was in the way he moved, the way he smiled at me. The way his shirt sleeves were pushed to his elbows and his arms were thick with muscles. His eyes were black, and his hair was inky black, spiky, and short. He was tanned, but not dark tan. Black eyes flashed in his young face.
I was shocked. He was cuter than I thought. And he looked . . . vaguely familiar. I shook my head.
He held his hand out to me, smiling brilliantly.
"Hello. As you know, my name is Story." I took his hand gingerly.
His large hand closed around mine. "My name is Nathaniel." He motioned to his daughter. "Her name is Pan."
I smiled at Pan, and she giggled back. "Hi, Pan. I'm Story."
"Story," she mimicked, and giggled.
I saw Nathaniel smile at Pan. "I wish I could stay down here and talk, but I really need to get to bed. I've been up all night. It was nice to meet you, Nathaniel and Pan."
Nathaniel smiled. "Call me Nate, please. It's much easier."
I could have sworn I've seen his smile before . . . I've seen him before! I knew I had. But where? That was the sixty-eight billion dollar question.
I tromped upstairs, and the moment my head hit the pillow, I was dead.
�@
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Crying . . . crying, screaming. . . . My eyes opened, and I pushed myself up. My eyes were dry, tired.
"Shh, shh, it's okay."
I walked out of my room and across to the other room, knocking on the door. "Hello?"
Nate came to the door, circles under his eyes, and Pan in his arms. "Hi."
"Do you need help?"
"She misses her mother." His voice was tired.
"May I?" I asked, holding my arms out.
He handed her to me, curiosity in his eyes. "It won't do any good."
I rocked her, singing softly under my breath, just loud enough for her to hear.
She quieted, looking up at me.
He stared at me. "Want to come in, sit down, finish your magic?"
I nodded, kept the singing up, and walked into the room. I sat on the chair next to her crib and continued to sing softly, rocking her.
In moments, she was sleeping, and her tiny eyes roamed under her lids. She seemed to be having a good dream.
Nate was watching, shocked, as I stood up and slowly, gently, set her in her crib. "That's . . . amazing."
"Thanks," I whispered. We stepped outside, and he shut the door gently.
"I should be thanking you." He was still staring at me. "Thank you. Very much. It's been so hard . . . you know, since I left her. She doesn't sleep well lately. She misses her mother so much, but I can't let Vid-Robin near her. Robin doesn't care about her. All Robin cares about is forwarding her fighting career. And I don't want Pan around that. I want Pan to have a normal life with a loving mother. I mean, Robin was . . . good with her, but it was like she was forced. I don't want my daughter around someone like that." He glanced at me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spill my life's story on you."
"It's okay. I don't mind." Was it just me, or had he been about to say another woman's name? Not Robin?
"So your boyfriend must love having you around."
I stiffened. "I don't have one." I carefully avoided looking at him.
"Oh. Your mother said you did."
"We just . . . broke up. I haven't told my mother yet."
"What did he do to piss you off?"
He'd been honest with me. I could be honest with him. "He broke up with me."
He froze. "Really? Why?"
"He said we never saw each other. I don't understand how he could say that. We saw each other every day and on the weekends."
"I'm sorry. At least you're still friends."
"I wish. He won't look at me, talk to me. Every time we walk past each other in the hallway, if he's smiling, he stops smiling and walks right past me like I'm not even there."
"Harsh. I hate to say it, but it sounds like he had another motive for breaking up with you."
I nodded, tears threatening to spill over. "Yes. And I wish he'd been honest with me. We've known each other for two years. He was so sweet, and honest, it seemed. He always was saying things like, 'I'll be there for you, no matter what.' And now. . . ." I sighed, shaking my head. "Now nothing. It's past me already. I'm over it."
He looked hard at me, studying me. "I don't think you are. You really liked this guy, didn't you?"
"I thought I loved him. And I thought he loved me back." I shook my head. "Even now, I still love him. I mean," I said, looking him in the eyes, "I know I'm young. I know that it's probably not love, that I'll get over him, but right now . . . right now he's all I had left in this world. I depended on him way too much. I depended on him to make me laugh and smile. I depended on him to be there when I needed him. I depended on him to . . . listen when I needed to rant. I depended on him to be truthful to me.
"Still, even now that he hurt and lied to me, I still love him. I know I'm young. I know in a few years, I'll forget him. But right now, all I can think of is how much I love him, how much he meant to me, how much he hurt me. All I see at night is his face, so solemn now. All I hear at night is his voice, so distant, so aloof. It's like I was just a fling to him. It's like when he realized I wouldn't put out for him, he didn't need me."
Nate looked shocked. "You didn't have sex with him?"
I blushed. I hadn't mean to say that. "I-I didn't mean . . . I'm sorry. I'm babbling."
"No, no. Go on. I want to hear this." He took a seat, waiting for me to sit, too. "Don't be embarrassed because you didn't have sex with him. It's not something to be ashamed of. It's something to be proud of." He smiled.
God, I have seen him before, I know I have!
"No, I didn't have sex with him."
"Have you, at any point in your life?"
I blushed. "Once. My other ex-boyfriend wouldn't quiet pressuring me. He even went so far as to blackmail me."
"What did he say?"
"He said that if I didn't have sex with him, he'd tell all the school my secrets. I didn't want my secrets out, so I . . . I slept with him. Once. It . . . never happened again. I broke up with him after that. He tried to threaten me to stay with him, to keep sleeping with him, but I put my foot down. He told the school everything I'd ever told him."
"Like what?"
I shifted uncomfortably. "Like that I sleep with a stuffed animal."
He smiled. "And?"
"And that my father beat me."
The smile on his face vanished, and he stared at me. "What?"
"My mother doesn't know. Nobody knew but him my latest ex. And, now, you."
"Your father beat you?"
"Up until the time he died."
"Didn't you ever try to tell your mother?"
"I tried . . . she tried to convince me I was dreaming. That it was all a dream. She didn't believe me. All she ever saw in him was the good." I didn't know why I was telling him this. What was wrong with me? I stood up. "I think I need to go for a walk."
He grabbed my hand. "No. Talk to me. Please. I want to hear this. What else did he tell the school?"
I tugged at my hand. When he didn�ft let it go, I sat back down. "He told the school that I loved the show Dragonball Z."
He stiffened, but a smile played on his lips. "Oh, really?"
I nodded, abashed.
"Why?"
"Well . . . I grew up with the show. My mother never really was a mother, and my father . . . well you know of him now. At first I hated the show. Then the thought of how perfect a family they seemed to be kept creeping into my mind. Eventually I came up with excuses to watch it. I came into the story when Gohan was eight and I was six. So I grew up as he grew up. His father and mother raised me. Goku and Chichi became my parents. I'm more like Goku, Chichi, and Gohan than I am like any of my family. I taught myself to fight by watching them. Mostly from Goku, Gohan, and Piccolo. To me, they were my family.
"Goten was my younger brother, when he came into the story. And Gohan . . . started as my older brother. Goku started as my teacher. Later he took on a deeper role as father. Chichi was always mother to me. Piccolo was like a much-loved uncle, or, maybe, a second father. The show . . . inspired me to be stronger, to live. It was what's kept me going. It's what keeps me going even now. The thought of disappointing Piccolo makes me stronger. Even if they're fake, they're real to me. They're real, in my heart. It's . . . hard to explain."
Nate's eyes had widened, and a smile played on his lips. A gentle, soft smile, with just a twinge of . . . fear? "You don't have to explain. I understand." He stopped, cocked an eyebrow. "You said, Gohan started as an older brother. What is he to you now?"
I blushed. "I don't really . . . know. I mean, he became everything to me. He was the closest in age to me, I guess, and he was the dominant one in my life. I began to realize that I look for men with . . . his qualities. I don't find them, but I look for them."
He seemed shocked. "You find Gohan attractive?"
"Attractive is such a strong word." I hugged myself.
"But it's true. You find the qualities in Gohan attractive, don't you?"
"Okay, the qualities. I like that better. I'll agree with that. Yes, I do find the qualities in him attractive."
"Like which ones, exactly?" he asked, a dreamy look in his eyes.
"Well, I prefer my guys on a more sensitive side, I've realized. I also love the idea of a smart guy. I don't like the idea of a brain-dead, musclebound retarded antagonistic bastard that thinks too high of himself. I find the fact that he's smart to be something I like. I mean, the fact that he has a body doesn't hurt, either."
That comment startled a laugh out of him.
"But that's not what I find attractive about him. He's smart, he's sweet, and he's strong. He knows how to fight. I'd feel safe with him. And he's a good listener, I'd imagine. I wouldn't have to explain big words to him, like I have to for everyone at my school. More likely, he'd have to explain them to me. I like that. He's a hard worker, too. And I like that. He also knows that not everything can be solved by fighting. Some things, most things, can be peacefully resolved by diplomatically and tactfully speaking it out with the antagonist. You don't always need violence. In fact, violence often hurts more than it helps. Sometimes, yes, it's needed. But most of the time, diplomatically speaking will help out. And he knows that."
"But Gohan is what people consider a nerd."
"And I like that. He's a nerd, and he doesn't care. He could care less what they think. I mean, yes, he's got serious self-esteem issues, but so have I, so I can't throw rocks at that."
"Don't you find Gohan's brother more attractive?"
"Goten?" I made a face and Nate laughed. "I mean, I guess as a teen, he's cute. Maybe even hot. But I look into his face and all I can see is that little boy of six and seven. That little boy, so innocent. Plus, he's so . . . rambunctious. It's like nothing matters to him. But other than that, I guess he's cute. But I can't stop seeing that little boy. The only thing Goten sparks in me is my maternal instinct."
Nate grinned. "Maternal instinct is what Goten sparks in you? Goten, the dating, charismatic brother sparks your maternal instinct?"
I nodded. "Silly, I know. But it's true."
"So, in a way, you're in love with Gohan."
"What!? No!"
He gave me a look. "Oh, come on. If Gohan were standing in front of you right now, don't tell me you wouldn't find him immensely attractive."
The more and more I spoke with him, the more and more attracted I am to him. He seems really sweet. "Moot point. He's not real."
"You don't know that. A lot of things are based on truth." He smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Yes, but I'm not a child anymore. I know people can't fly, and shoot energy beams, and lift planets with a single pinky."
"Planets?"
"I wouldn't be surprised if Gohan could."
He grinned. "Nor would I."
"Anyway, I'm just babbling."
"Hey, Story?"
"Yes?"
"Do you mind if I have my little brother over tomorrow?"
"Doesn't he live in Japan?"
"Yes. But he's on his way over to America today."
"Oh, in that case, yah. Have him over. What time? And I swear to freaking God if he comes over here at six in the morning, I will shoot him." I grinned.
He grinned back. "I'll remember that if I ever want to kill my brother. And, no. most likely he'll be here around dinner time."
"Big eater?"
He nodded. "Oh, yah. He's your age, by the way. Seventeen."
"Okay."
"He'll eat anything you put in front of him. He's a lot like Goten." He smiled. "And I do mean, a lot like Goten."
I smiled. "So he's a flirter?"
"Yes."
"Well, at least I won't have to worry about him hitting on me. I'm not pretty," I said cheerfully.
"If you really believe that, then you must have been looking at the wrong mirror for all your life."
"Maybe I have," I said, and, even to me, I sounded wistful.
"Besides that, I think I have first dibs on you." He grinned at me.
I stiffened from shock. "F-f-first dibs?"
"Yes. First dibs. I rather like that." He was grinning at me. I must've been blushing.
"Oh, um. . . ."
He laughed, a nice, friendly laugh. "I'm pretty sure I'm first in the race."
"Are you . . . you must be joking."
"No, not at all. I really do think I'm first in the runnings."
"You're joking about having first dibs."
"And why is that?"
"Because you can't possibly be interested in me."
"I wouldn't have said it if, in some manner, I wasn't interested in you. In this case, my interest stems a lot of ways."
I could feel the blush now.
He laughed. "So . . . am I first in the runnings?"
I stiffened, the blush deepening. "Uh, I, uh. . . ."
"God, and I thought I was shy." He smiled at me, gently. "Do you like me, in any way? Tell me no now, and I'll back off. Forever. No matter how my interest sparks, I'll back off, because I don't want to be annoying and awkward. But if you have even a spark of an interest in me, prepare to be annoyed to death because I will be annoyingly persistent."
"You have a daughter . . . and an ex-wife," I pointed out.
"So?"
"Doesn't that . . . bother you?"
"No. Not at all. Does it bother you?"
"I just . . . met you."
"And I just met you. Story, I'm not declaring love feelings for you. You've no need to worry about that yet. I'm merely saying that I have a slight interest in you. Well, a bit more than slight. I have an interest in you, and it would be nice if you would say whether you have a slight interest in me or not."
"You're rather . . . blunt."
"You bring it out in me, I think. I've never been this blunt before. I�fve always been the quiet, shy, studious one, while my brother was the boisterous, loud, outgoing, flirty one."
I was blushing so hard I thought I'd explode. "Um. . . ."
"Would you rather meet my brother first, before you give me an answer? To see what he's like."
"No!" I said, eyes wide. "I don't think I'll have an interest in your brother if he's as flirty as you say he is."
"But maybe you will like him. He's got a way with the ladies way more than I have." He looked so serious when he said that.
That proved it. I knew him from somewhere! He was so familiar!
"I, uh, well, I . . . oh, this is so embarrassing."
"Maybe I'll never be what you think I am. What you've made me out to be. But I can tell you that I'll be here for and with you. I want to be annoyingly persistent. Tell me that you've no interest in me, and I'll stop this conversation and never bring it up again. Between you and me, I think you have an interest in me."
I do. I don't know why, but I do.
He stood up. "Okay. I was wrong. You've no interest in me." He started to walk away.
I grabbed his arm, feeling frightened, and stood up. "Okay, I'll admit it. I do have an interest in you. I don't know why, but I do." I took my hand away from his arm, hugging myself, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. "I know I just met you. I know you've been married and have a child. But that doesn't matter to me." I closed my eyes. "I know you're older than I am. By two years. But I have an interest in you."
I was suddenly being hugged. His lips were so close to my ear when he said, softly, "Then prepare to be annoyed with persistence." He pulled away and his eyes drifted down to my lips. He bit his lip for a moment and lowered down to me.
For a moment, I thought he'd kiss me. I actually shut me eyes.
But he kissed my forehead, gently. "I know exactly what you see in me. You told me."
"What do you mean by that?"
We were so close . . . all he had to do was lower his lips a fraction of a millimeter.
He didn't answer. He pulled away. "So, you know it's Friday. Which means last night was your last night of school, right?"
I nodded, feeling bereft, and clutched the edge of the table. Why had his close proximity to me affected me this way?
"Awesome. So-" a loud wail interrupted him. "Oh, Pan's up!" He seemed worried. "She must've had a nightmare. Wanna come with? You can use that voice of yours to calm her down again."