The Tracks
by Superimmunegirl
There were times when she felt as if she were one of those boats in an amusement park water ride, or some kind of cart, like in a mine. She would be rolling along of her own free will, and then suddenly she'd feel the tracks engage. From that point on, she couldn't stop or change direction, but only continue to the end.
"Thanks for letting me crash here," said Bryan, as they entered her apartment. He was shivering slightly.
"You're welcome," Caitlin responded. "I'm sorry you missed the last train. You can put your bike over there."
"Thanks," he said, sniffling and rubbing his nose. It made her pulse jump. "I don't know why they don't run the BART any later than they do, especially on a weekend." He sniffled again. "This really helps me out."
"It's the least I can do. You helped me set up the gallery."
"Well, I owe you, you helped me set up my show."
"Now I'm going to have to get stranded in Oakland sometime to even things out," she said. "Do you want some tea?"
"Yeah, thanks."
Caitlin excused herself to the kitchen, and put the kettle on. She could see what was coming. She heard Bryan enter the bathroom. When he finished, he came into the kitchen. He stood behind her to look at her selection of teas. "Mmm, ginger licorice," he said, reaching over her, lightly brushing her as he took out the box of tea. She could smell the scent of attraction rising on the heat from Bryan's body. It filled her with anxiety; it filled her with desire.
She knew she could never have a happy relationship. There was nothing to contradict that conclusion: nothing in her history, nothing in her family. But she still wanted one, still hoped she was wrong. Yet every time she tried, it ended up so painfully, either for her or for the hapless man she got involved with. She usually knew which it would be before the first kiss. She knew that with Bryan, it would be him.
She poured the tea and they carried it out to the living room and sat on the couch.
"You're still cold," she said.
"I'm warming up," he said, hands cupped around his tea.
They proceeded to talk—about the gallery, about mutual friends, about nothing at all, and all the while they seemed to get closer and closer on the couch. Don't do this, she told herself. You know what comes next. He doesn't deserve that. But she was on the train tracks and she couldn't stop.
They were very close together. Suddenly his smile faded, and he blinked a few times. He gave a soft, halting intake of breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Atchhhhischh!" he sneezed, ducking his head. She softly blessed him, desire surging inside. She handed over a box of tissues, because he seemed to need one. "Thanks," he responded stuffily, taking a tissue from the box. He blew his nose. "I just can't seem to shake this cold."
"How long have you had it?"
"Couple of weeks," he sniffled, wiping his nose. He looked a little embarrassed. "I hope you don't catch it."
"Don't worry about me." She crossed her legs and pressed them together, but it wasn't going to help.
If only he wasn't sick.
*But he is.*
If only it could be different this time.
*But it can't.*
Maybe that isn't true.
*How many men do you have to hurt before you realize that it is true?*
His hand came to rest on her knee and he gazed into her eyes. His other hand reached up to stroke her cheek. There was no way off the tracks. She leaned forward into his arms and kissed his welcoming lips.
Maybe it would be different this time.
Plot Bunny: Week 132: Write a fic where a character sneezes and then utters the line. "I just can't seem to shake this cold."