J.T.

Content/trigger warning: s/a

He was supposed to be her friend. One of her closest, as a matter of fact.

That's why, when his name came across her phone, announcing that she had a new text message, she was excited. He'd been gone for months, away at basic training for the Marines, and this was the longest she'd ever gone without seeing that Campbell's kid face of his, or hearing one of his poorly delivered jokes. It'd been even longer since he'd sat on the cool tile of the high school floor after track practice, play wrestling over who would get the larger half of the sandwich and complaining about how much that day's exercises had just plain sucked.

She finished the online exam she was working on, closed her laptop, and reached across her rumpled comforter to grab the beat up Windows Kin cell phone. "Club sodas, not seals," said the worn down cartoon sticker on the back battery panel. A small Wolverine charm dangled from the loop that attached the hockey-puck shaped device to a lanyard covered in Hugh Jackman's chiseled, slashed, and bloodied body. This thing was more like an overgrown Tamagotchi than a phone at this point, but she adored it. The space bar only worked sometimes, and it would restart randomly, but she'd be damned if she was going to pay for a data plan when she only had a part-time job at Jimmy John's and was paying her own way through college. At least this phone got Wi-Fi, which was a step above some of the others she could have chosen.

back home nxt wknd. hang? 

that's awesome! yeah duh

kewl. txt u then. miss u

miss you too, can't wait to see how dorky you look in your uniform :P

hah thx. can't wait 2 hear bout the concert. c u soon :)

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"Oh, you definitely need that," she said, pointing to the panda beanie with the long braided tassels. He plucked it off the rack to reveal an equally hideous flamingo, plopping the bird on her head. "And you," he chided, "need this," making sure to pull on the orange braids to secure it firmy over her curls. "Just look at those dangly little legs he's got. Are you sure you aren't related somehow?" She snatched the flamingo off of her head & punched him in the arm before taking out the hockey-puck to snap a photo of him in the store aisle. He posed willingly, knowing the drill; if you went wandering into a store with her, silly photos were bound to happen.

They continued trekking through the strip mall, avoiding the unseasonably hot September day, as he recounted his days at basic. He told her about the people he had met, the drills he had learned, and some of the goals he had set for himself. He revealed that he was planning on proposing to his girlfriend later that year, and how he was excited to officially start their life together. She recounted going to Summerfest with a now ex-boyfriend, and how someone spilled beer on her at the Foo Fighters concert, but that she'd still had the time of her life, and how she was fairly certain she was the youngest person in the crowd at the Steve Miller Band to know all of the words. She told him about her recent rekindling with an old flame (a close friend of his) and they laughed about how some things truly never change.

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After getting frozen yogurt, they had walked over to his aunt's house where he grew up. It was a small little thing, not much different than her own. The fence was a little rickety, the weeds a little overgrown, and the lawn could use a good clipping. The color was faded on the siding, and the driveway was cracked, but nothing that a little TLC couldn't fix to make it look cute again. 

The smell of cold coffee and laundry detergent greeted them as they walked through the back door, as did two small little mutts. He shooed them away and the two-legged pair sat down on the sofa, clicking on the television in the corner. A few commercials rumbled on in the background as they both finished their now melted treats.

"TMNT?" He eased off the couch, sliding across the hardwood flooring over to the outdated entertainment center that the boob-tube rested on. "Sure," she replied, as he slipped a VHS out of its sleeve and into the VCR. She flipped the channel to 03 and static appeared for just a brief moment before the squiggles and waves of an old recorded episode began. 

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They sat like that for a few hours, watching through old tapes, talking and laughing over one another, obliterating a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, and surely were getting close to what was left of the box of Mr. Pibb soda. Once they finished up one final episode of Code Name: Kids Next Door, she got up to use the restroom down the hall. 

"Be right back." She got onto her feet and slipped down the hall, closing the door behind her. Good thing I looked, she thought to herself. "Where are you hiding the toilet paper? I know you've got the place to yourself this weekend, but not all of us can drip-dry," she laughed, popping back out of the doorframe. He quickly lumbered down the hall, opening a closet door and chuckling. "What, you don't want to use the washcloth there on the edge of the tub?" He winked before turning and walking away. "THANK you," she she sang sarcastically after him. 

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When she came out, she found him in his room, pulling out his uniform from the closet. "And here, in his natural habitat, we see an incredible sight. The rare migratory marine lemming, preparing his standard issue furs for display," she said in her best David Attenborough impersonation, squatting down, looking through mock binoculars fashioned out of her hands. "Have you ever seen anything quite like it? This little rodent-"

"Little?" He interrupted, chuckling, "come on now, give me some credit, I've been working my ass off out there. Now if you wanna make fun of this," gesturing at the uniform, "that's fine, but I'm finally losing weight here!"

Now that she took a minute to look at him, he did look a little bit trimmer than he had. The Campbell's cheeks were all but gone except for when he smiled, and perhaps he even seemed a bit taller? That couldn't be true, he was just less... round, she supposed. She conceded, "Yeah, you're looking pretty good these days, they're really whipping you into shape out there." She flopped down onto the bed as he began to explain what all the different patches meant, and he dropped his hat onto her head. 

"You want 'nother pop?" He asked, already stepping out the room. "Y'know it, Sergeant Lemming," she joked, saluting him, earning her a forced dirty look as he disappeared into the hallway. She took the hat off to place it back into the garment bag with the rest of his uniform, and carefully zipped everything back up before placing it back into the closet. As she was shutting the bifold doors, he reappeared.

"Only one left," he said, displaying the can of pop in his hand. "Wrestle for it?"

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The can of Mr. Pibb had been knocked over, and had rolled underneath the dresser. The comforter had been torn off the bed, now shoved underneath of it, beside her on the scratched hardwood floor. Her jeans were crumpled down at her ankles, and her shirt was bunched up above her bra, exposing the black & silver lace that her Batman tee had been covering only minutes before. 

She would realize later that he had broken her lanyard and charm when he had torn her phone out of her hands; Hugh would remain in the house long after she left. She wasn't quite sure what had happened, but she knew she had repeatedly told him that this was not fun anymore, and that she wanted to stop playing, that he had won. But he was so much stronger than he used to be, and he wasn't listening just as much as he wasn't playing. He had made it clear that this was never about the soda.

She did her best to go numb and began to focus on the chipping paint on the ceiling, because if she allowed herself to focus on anything else, the earth would surely crack open and swallow her whole. The chipping paint and her heartbeat was all she could bear to deal with right now. 

She tuned out the hot breath that was washing over her neck. Tuned out the hand binding her wrists, and the other that was across her throat. She ignored the suffocating weight of him as he repeatedly forced his body into hers. Ignored the two mutts galloping into the room and barking, wanting desperately to be let outside (wouldn't we all, she would've thought). And when he was done, when it was finally over, she acted as if she didn't hear his commentary about how she "fought just as hard as his girlfriend does," or his questions about "keeping this between us," as she let the tears stream silently down her face, and she pulled up her torn underwear and buttoned her jeans.

She pretended none of that was happening as she stared, unblinking at that god damn chipping paint on the ceiling.