This is one of those posts… The kind I never expected I’d write. I’m about to write about writing. Because, after posting my snippet yesterday, I read it. And, it felt off.
Sometimes, when you are in a predicament like I am, trying to squeeze in the writing wherever it will fit, often having to dig it free with my fingernails because, let’s face it, a life full of work, dirty diapers, first grade bullies, homemade baby food, spelling homework and drudging through my emotional issues isn’t exactly inspirational. I’m trying to force myself to do it, because I want to. Because I want to write. That is genuinely all of it. But writing is not the same as writing well.
After posting Red yesterday, I knew something was wrong, so I asked for some writing advice from a friend who is mentoring me through this process. I tend to overexpose. I tend not to trust the reader. I tend to tell the story instead of letting the story tell itself. I want you to see the scene exactly as I see it in my head… but that is just silly, because we are going to interpret things differently, and isn’t it better to let you have your own experience with it?
And, as he pointed out, Leigh sounded an awful lot like Meredith, yesterday, instead of Leigh.
I’m in the beginning stages of a second draft of Good Girl, so Mer has been fresh in my mind lately. And truthfully, Leigh is a stretch for me (which is great, because stepping out of your comfort zone is often when the really good stuff happens).
Leigh is a real hardass. She is not soft and fluffy. She’s not a babygirl, like Mer. And she wouldn’t say half of the things I made her say yesterday. So, I revised the scene. And I’m posting it to see what you think. You can read the opening scene here. There is much in between that I’m not sharing on blog, mainly because I’m not even sure what I’m going to do with this story yet. But I wrote a little more this morning. I should put it away so I can concentrate on my first project.
What can I say. I have ADHD!
Let me know what you think!
I look at him, beneath a sheet of red hair, with a grin that only nips at my cheeks and never makes it to my eyes.
“Those eyes give you away, Leigh.”
As he steps closer, I narrow them, and I feel the corners of my mouth pull in.
“Come on. Let go. You can just… be, when you’re with me, you know?”
His fingers slide my hair away from my face as he touches my cheek. His voice falls.
“Look at me this time. And don’t run away.”
I glance up into his eyes, willing myself still.
For a moment, I think about scaring him off, like I had that first night. Or when I’d dyed my hair. Or when Nicole told him he was too good for me.
But that would make him fight me again. Even though he said he never would.
“You’re shaking. …Say something.”
My thoughts crash into each other, none of them letting any of the others get any leverage. I want to just fucking leave. But something is keeping me locked here. And it isn’t just his fucking hands on me.
“I get it, babe. You want to fight instead? Kick the crap out of me so you can feel enough pity to let me kiss you again?”
I hear the laugh gurgle up from my chest. But, as I watch him, I stop it. Staring into his soft, brown eyes, I do want him. Fuck. I do want him.
“I don’t really want that… But I want you, Leigh.”
I shake my head, looking at the lips of this nerdy, little prick that just confessed… He wants me.
He moves closer, his voice so low.
“You’re not running. And you’re not swinging.”
His breath falls across my lips and my lungs ache from holding my own air too long.
When his lips touch me, I feel the rush. I reach up to hold onto him, the same way he holds onto me. Both of us working to keep me here. I sigh when he pulls back, and looks straight through me again.
“I need you to tell me. Tell me what you want.”
I swallow and slide my fingers back into his thick hair, trying to make my feet move closer to him, or pull him closer to me.
“No, Leigh. Tell me. Open that big, beautiful mouth of yours and talk to me. Any other moment, you’d have a whole mouthful of words for me.”
I roll my eyes, and he groans, pulling further back and letting his hands fall. I let mine drop as well.
“Don’t be a fucking asshole.”
“No, let’s turn that around, shall we?”
I frown at him, and look down at his hands at his sides. He raises them, crossing his arms in front of his chest and I turn away for a moment. I want to leave. But I don’t.
As I face him again, the corner of his mouth is tugging upward and he lifts his fingers to my face again. I sigh with relief at the contact, leaning into it but hoping he doesn’t notice.
“You want more, Leigh?”
I force myself to close the gap between us while my cheeks burn.
The words hang in my mind, but I’m not quite sure I actually said them.
“Kiss me the way you did that first night.”
His eyes bore through me.
“No, Leigh. Tell me.”
“I’m here! Isn’t that enough?”
“No. Because you need to admit to yourself, as much as I need to hear it. It may have been fun, but I don’t want to have to fight you to fuck you.”
I smirk. But for barely a moment. Because his expression is not that of a man who just wants to fuck.
I swallow and press against him, pulling at the words in my head, trying to force them out. Until his face begins to harden.
I inhale deeply and close my eyes.
“I want you, Doc. I want you to kiss me. I want you to make love to me…”
Every muscle in my body is tense, and when I open my eyes, they dart between his and his lips for what seems like an eternity. I can taste blood from where I’ve bitten the inside of my lip to keep still. My feet tingle. My head aches.
Until his eyes spark with something unfamiliar, and his lips soften into a tiny smile before crushing mine.
His tongue parts my lips and his hands slide into my hair, pulling me up to meet him further before gliding down my body, under my ass, and lifting me to wrap my legs around him.
My body seems possessed, giving and taking what it wants. My hips grind against him, while my fingers slide into the collar of his polo so I can feel his skin. I bite his lip, fisting my hands in his hair. Then he strokes my tongue with his own, sending electricity through both of us until we finally need breath more than that kiss.
He sits me on the table and tugs the buttons of my blouse apart. When it opens, I pull it off as he steps back to look at me.
I know I am still scraped and bruised, and glance down at my plain red bra. I tense, seeing all those fucking marks. But as his finger crooks under my chin, tugging my face back to his, I feel every muscle in my body relax.
His voice sounds so fucking right. And his words pool deep inside me.
“I know you did it to piss me off. But I really fucking love the red, baby. On you. It’s perfect.”