"Brian needs to get laid," Nick said into the dark an hour and a half later, as he and Lauren lay on their backs in the bed, staring at the ceiling. Nick rolled to his side, crunched the pillow up forcefully, and flopped back down, making Lauren's side of the bed jiggle. He stared at the side of her head.
"Sex isn't the answer to every man's issues," Lauren answered, "Just because it's a cure-all for you doesn't mean it is for him."
Nick shook his head, "Nawh, I know Brian. Brian needs sex. Brian needs wild, crazy, kinky sex." He rolled back onto his back, groaned and flipped over, punching the pillow. "Think Emma's got like chains and whips and shit?"
Lauren raised an eyebrow. "You're joking, right?"
Nick continied punching the pillow.
"Okay, look, Mike Tyson, lay the freakin hell down."
"I can't sleep."
"Well you're not going to sleep having a boxing championship with the damn pillow."
Nick flopped onto his stomach and pressed his face into the pillow. He sighed deeply. Lauren closed her eyes, figuring the conversation was over now that he was still. But it was only a brief pause. He turned his head to look at her. "Do you think he loves her?"
Lauren kept her eyes closed. "You never stop loving your first love," she replied.
Nick thought about that for a long moment. "I don't still love my first love," he said quietly. Lauren smirked. After a pause he asked, "Do you?"
"Mmhm," Lauren hummed.
Nick sat up. "You do?" he reached for the lamp on the bedside table. "What?"
Lauren kept her eyes closed.
Nick glowered. "Dude, seriously? You do?"
"I told you, nobody ever stops loving their first love."
"I did."
"Your first love was Cindy Crawford, it doesn't count when your six and your correspondence with the person is your mom."
"Nuh-uh," he muttered, even though it was totally true.
Lauren took a deep breath. "His name was Keith and he was a football player."
"A football player?" Nick demanded. He paused. "I sang the National Anthem for the Buccs."
Lauren smirked. "Singing for a crappy team doesn't compare to being QB one at the high school. Especially not when you're a color flying rally girl."
Nick stared at her. "Crappy?" he asked.
"You know they're crappy, I don't have to tell you that."
"That's it." Nick rolled over and faced the wall. "I ain't talkin' to you no more." He pulled the blanket up to his neck and curled his knees up into his chest.
"Good, maybe now I'll get some sleep," she teased him.
Nick stayed still for exactly thirty seconds. "What the fuck kinda name is Keith anyways?"
"Drop it, Nick," Lauren laughed.
"I can't," he whined. "Do you love Keith more than me?"
Lauren opened one eye, "Nick. Whose bed am I laying in? Yours or Keith's?"
"Technically the bed belongs to Brian."
"Nick."
"Okay okay."
Lauren closed her eye again. Nick flopped back down for like the one-millionth time. He reached over and turned off the lamp and they fell into silence. After a long lapse of time, Lauren heard Nick's voice hoarsely whisper, "Lauren?"
"What?" she whispered back.
Nick snuggled closer. "My egos bruised."
Lauren rolled and looked at Nick's shape in the dark, barely able to see his features. "You need a fix-all?" she asked quietly. Nick nodded and she laughed, kissing his chin softly.
In the next room, Brian was sitting in the chair in the corner of the room, a glass of Jack beside him on the dresser, and the high school yearbook open on his lap. He stared down at Emma Harris in the yellowing pages. Most Likely to be the Next Michaelangelo. He took a long swallow from his drink and pulled a face as the burning liquid slid down his throat.
When he closed his eyes, he could still remember every detail of that night in the back of the pick-up truck. He'd never really told her that it had been his first time, too. He could still hear her ragged breathing, see the rise and fall of her chest, the faces she made, the sounds, the feeling of her skin as the sweat built up...
Brian opened his eyes and shook the vision out.
He closed the yearbook and dropped it onto the floor, his eyes travelling across the room until he spotted the one photograph of Leighanne that he hadn't tucked away in a box in the attic. It was from the 10-year wedding anniversary party, in her dark blue gown. He felt a lump climb into his throat and take up residence. He could still feel Leighanne, too. He could feel her hand, safely tucked into his, and hear her tinkling laughter.
It occured to him that both of these women - the Emma he'd known and the Leighanne he'd married - were gone. Leighanne's life, her personality, now consisted of a granite stone with a simple epitaph. Emma... well, she was buried within herself. Neither of them were ever going to return.
Brian took another long swallow of Jack. Next door, he heard Nick shout something and he downed the rest of the glass.
