So, here it is. My David Story.

A little background...

I participated in an interactive fan fiction on a friend's site, and my character ended up with David. I spent so much time immersing myself in his music and stories about him (which are hard to find, by the way) that he took over my thoughts for quite some time. I couldn't get him out of my head. He's still in there, rattling doors and opening drawers and such, but he's behaving himself. Mostly.

This story came out as an outlet for me to try to get through my little obsession. I told some of the girls from the other fan fic exercise, and they thought it was hysterical that I got so wrapped up, that I couldn't think of anything but him.

They convinced me to "go public" with the story, so here it is.

I hope you enjoy it. It starts here.

~ Hath

Chapter 25: Love...Exciting and New

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Saturday through Monday, December 8th – 10th, 2007

I was laden with bags when my cell went off. I couldn’t drop everything, so I ignored it until I got everything stowed in the car. I checked the call log, and saw that David had called. Again. I smiled. I also saw that he had sent another e-mail. I’m so glad he’s not as technologically challenged as they would have you believe. I’d never survive if I couldn’t keep in touch with him except by phone.

As I read this latest message, my heart raced. This was the second time he had signed his e-mail “Love David”. I think in my inebriated state last night, I said something to the girls, about the first e-mail, and I distinctly remember Stephanie talking to me about new love and how what I’m feeling is very similar to what she feels for her WKG. Gulp. As always, she gave me good advice, and told me to talk to him about it, but I feel stupid. It’s probably just a meaningless endearment or something.

Still, though, that night, when I was online with the girls on the laptop, and Skyping with David on the PC, it was eating at me. I wanted to say something, but had no idea what, and he could tell there was something on my mind. We talked for hours, never seeming to run out of things to say. Finally, he gave a great big yawn and stretch. “Well, my love,” he said, and my heart stopped. “I think I’ve got to go to bed.” He saw the look on my face. “What?” he said.

“Did you just say ‘my love’?”

Davie blushed. “Yeah, I guess I did. It just kinda slipped out.”

At this point, I abandoned the Harem and gave my full attention to David. The girls would understand.

David smiled and continued. “Listen, I want to tell you about a couple of things that happened last week.” He told me about the conversations he had with his mother and Jon last week, and I was stunned. David said he’d been thinking about what they had said ever since. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I wanted to say. I had to say something though. “So, what did you decide?”

“That’s the hell of it,” he said. “I don’t know. I’m not trying to be mean or thick or anything, but I just don’t know.” He looked down at something. “I just know that I go crazy when I can’t talk to you and,” he chuckled, “I find myself turning to you a hundred times a day to tell you something, only you’re not there. I miss you like crazy all the time.”

I smiled widely, and a tear leaked down my face. “Sweetheart,” I said to him, “I had a similar conversation with Stephanie,” and proceeded to tell him all about it.

He was quiet. “Wow,” he said.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“So now what?” he asked, and my heart was pounding.

“Well, we could try it on for size, and see how it feels, or we could not, and just see what happens.” I was such a coward, leaving the ball in his court.

David sighed. “I wish I was there with you.” He was quiet for a moment, and I thought that was how we were going to play it. “Jenilee Hathor Gengras, I love you,” he said, and tears sprang to my eyes.

“Oh,” I sighed, trying to compose myself. “David Bryan Rashbaum, I love you, too.”

It fit, and it felt wonderful.

* * * * *

I went to the Patriots/Steelers game with my brother and two of his frat brothers on Sunday; guys I’d known for more than a dozen years; guys who, while they are younger than I am, look at me as a little sister that need defending. So, when we got to the parking lot, and set up for tailgating, they shot looks my regular tailgating friends who stopped by.

“Guys,” I said, “You can relax. Nothing’s going to happen in this parking lot.”

Ed, my brother’s best friend, laughed. “You’re right, Hath, that’s because we won’t let it.” I love these guys, but sometimes their misplaced overprotective streak drives me crazy.

We kept warm and made lunch, played poker and cribbage, then finally headed up to the stands. A couple of guys up there, the regulars, asked where David was. Actually, they asked if my Jersey boyfriend got scared off. I tried to keep from rolling my eyes at them when I told them that he actually worked for a living and was getting ready to go onstage in a couple hours. The light bulbs went on, and they laughed. One smart ass asked me if he was coming back for the Jets game. People around us started grumbling. I laughed at them and told them David was a Giants fan, and they relaxed.

The four of us settled in for one of the best games I’d ever seen. The crowd was electrified, and we were yelling and booing and cheering, depending on the play. The Patriots were making more good plays than bad, so we four were high-fiving, and the guys were hugging me all the time. It was really fun.

After the sweetest play I’ve seen in a long time; the Brady-lateral-to-Moss-lateral-to-Brady-touchdown-pass-to-Gaffney, we were all celebrating with hugs and kisses, and this guy behind us grabbed me and kissed me. UGH!! Square on the mouth, and he smelled of stale $7 beers. Gross. Without thinking, I slugged him one, and his girlfriend got outraged and sucker punched me in the eye (if you ask me, she should have punched the asshole who grabbed me). My brother and his friends wanted to get into it, but I got them to not; they’re all big guys, and they probably would have gotten arrested. I had a dozen witnesses to the attack, so I wasn’t worried. We got led from the stands and "spoken to" by Foxboro's finest in one of the little rooms off the concourse. Since I was defending myself, I didn't get in trouble, and I elected not to press charges (though why I would want to is beyond me; I handled it with a punch).

After that, the game was tainted for me, and my eye hurt like a sonofabitch. When I got home, I was so bone tired I could hardly stand. The adrenaline had worn off hours ago, and the last bit of reserve I had was depleted. I called my Mom to let her know I got home OK (old habits die hard), and went to call David, but he was still on stage, and I didn’t want to leave him a message. I checked in on the board, thinking the girls would cheer me up, but nobody was about. I left a quick note, tuned off my cell and crawled into bed. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I felt guilty when I woke the next morning and saw David had called a couple times, and left messages. As I listened to the messages, I was getting annoyed. He seemed to be getting angry that he couldn’t reach me. If this was what loving him was going to be like, it was going to suck. I finally called him back, all ready to lay into him, and he was just so sweet. He was worried I didn't get home from the game safely last night because of the sleet and freezing rain we were getting. He told me he finally wound up calling my mother to find out if I was OK or not. I tried to stay annoyed at him, and I just couldn’t.

I told him about what happened, and he wanted me to get on the cam right away so he could see for himself that I was really OK. I told him no way.

"I knew I had reason to be worried last night!" he said,

“I’m fine,” I assured him.

He wanted me to get on the cam, but no way. He was outraged that someone would hit me, and asked why my mountain of a brother didn’t intervene. I told him the whole story, and I could hear an evil little smile in his voice.

“So, Popeye,” he said laughing, “do you think that will fade before I bring you home to meet my family?”

I burst out laughing. “You’d better hope so, or I’m telling your mother you did this to me.”

David blanched. “Don’t even joke about that; she’d kill me.”

We chatted for a couple minutes, and I had to leave for work. What a waste of energy that turned out to be, I got all the way to the train (late of course because the roads were slick) and after waiting an HOUR for the train that never showed, I went home, and worked from the comfort of my home office. The good news about that is I could blast the stereo as loud as I wanted (and I wanted) and changed into ratty sweats and my favorite toasty slippers.

I was kinda glad I didn’t make it in to the office today. It would give my eye one more day to heal before I have to go through the "what the hell happened to you" routine. I wasn’t looking forward to that. On the plus side there, I guess, since I work with mostly guys, after I tell them the story, I'll either have them cowering in fear or, well, cowering would be good.