Bound & Free Ch. 10

Tristan didn't have the mental space to finish that thought. The darkening sky held no answers for him. The professors in every one of his classes were piling on new assignments, he couldn't cover his bills, and Alice still wouldn't even listen to his apologies. Despite what he wanted, he had to respect her decision - it was obviously over. Stacy was the easiest; to her Tristan was simply a little experimentation on the side of her perfect life. No - that was unfair. She had her own issues to solve, with her meticulous schedule, her endless networking, her weird parents. He wondered what...

Wait - what was this in his pocket? There was something mixed in with the bills from Terry. He held it up to the fading light. It was almost unrecognizable, a bit of card, twisted and stained. If he squinted, it looked like a loyalty card for the campus coffee shop, with - he squinted - all the stamps filled in! Yes - free coffee! It was a sign from fate. Maybe his luck was changing! Maybe this would help him release a little stress.

Tristan thought as he walked. Was this what he wanted? To spend his days in a basement, skirting the periphery of a group he didn't respect, much less want to join? He wasn't that guy anymore. He wasn't even the guy with the rules and the handshakes. He didn't know who he was, not anymore. So now he had a tiny spark of bravery, and despite its size it lit up a different future. One where he could become a normal guy - cultivate normal friendships, look women in the eye, and follow his dreams - not run from them. Nothing would change if he didn't try, and if he didn't take this chance - he might as well throw himself back into the redolent basement he'd just left to rot.

He needed new friends, or at least a friend he could talk to about some of this stuff. He'd worked out that Hank talked at him (never with him), the D&D crowd would rather stab him than see him with a woman, and Stacy and Alice were the damn topic.

Tristan stopped. He was around the back of a building, surrounded by nothing but a bunch of trash piled in a dumpster, a staff entrance and some machinery. It was time to do something. To make a promise real, he first needed to put it out there, into the world. No-one was around, right?

"The next person." He resolved to himself, speaking over the hum of the big ventilation unit beside him. "I'll make friends with the next person who says more than ten words to me. The change starts now."

Tristan heard an odd noise, like a muffled cough followed by a door slamming. Had he been overheard? He whirled about, mortified. He could've sworn that noise was a door. Perhaps it'd just been the exhaust unit? He blushed, so red and hot he could probably be seen from space. He'd never live this down. Already, the moment was imprinted on his blooper reel, to be relived forever. His bid to change his fate was off to an encouraging start already.

He hurried away, hoping to put a few miles - or a continent - between himself and the scene. He rounded one corner, then another - wait, this building was the campus cafe. Well, at least he didn't have to go far before he could relax. As he approached the shop's doorway, he saw someone coming out. Tristan held the door for them, just as he'd been raised to. Someone else was right behind, then another, followed by a huge sweaty stream of humanity, leaving Tristan standing there, unwilling to let go, lest he shut the door in someone's face. Apparently it was time to leave, the show was over, hadn't he gotten the memo? He stood to one side as the coffee shop disgorged its contents, idly waiting for the flow to abate. Maybe he should get a job here as dom. Whoa, he meant doorman. He'd let his mind wander too far. And... wait, no-one else was coming - he was just holding the door for the sake of it.

This minor embarrassment barely fazed him - it was nothing compared with the catastrophe he'd so narrowly avoided a moment ago. Things were looking up! He stepped inside. It was almost empty in here, people at just a handful of tables. Lucky again! Unfortunately, the barista was female, but you couldn't win them all. If he was going to be different now he needed to work on it. He'd make eye contact with her, but er... later. The first of never sounded good. Tristan looked everywhere else but her. The new automated machine they'd put in took all the craft and most of the flavor out of the preparation. Listen to him, a pretentious snob - just last year he'd been tainting the beverage with mountains of milk and sugar. There was probably a lesson there... Huh?

"...ey! Wake up, dude!" the barista called. "This for here or to go?"

Tristan decided to risk looking up at her, risking an apologetic smile. Big mistake - she was pretty. He wasn't the terrified worm he was a few weeks ago, that's for sure, but outside of S&M (did it happen so often that needed mentioning?) he still wasn't ready to bear the weight of a woman's gaze. As their eyes met, he felt his heart seize with fear and the weight of something indefinable build exponentially. Inevitably his nerve snapped under the strain and his gaze fell downward, seeking something safer to look at.

"For here." he mumbled.

Come on, he berated himself. Just be a normal guy, not this pathetic creature. Didn't you tie up the campus princess? Didn't you 'decorate' Alice in her cosplay? Surely he could find just a tenth of that conviction! It was time to change! He forced his eyes back up to hers, making eye contact again. He could do this! The least he could do was give this person some basic respect. Uncertainly his eyes jumped up to her face and... fell down again. He'd managed a microsecond longer that time. Now he looked at her face, now down at her uniform, trapped in an awkward cycle. Years of learned behavior fought him as he tried to keep his gaze up. What's the worst that could happen?

He looked down at her strange ponytail with bright pink highlights, resting over her shoulder, almost pointing at him as it curved down over her chest. Which dye did she use to get it that shade of bubblegum? Up - were those freckles on her cheek? Down - a tattoo on her collarbone? He loved that band too! Up - why was she grinning? Down - her uniform had a couple of coffee stains on the blouse, right by her name tag. "Bob" it said - impossible, especially considering the lacy black bra virtually exposed right beside it. Was she missing a few buttons? The shirt only served to frame the slopes of her athletic breasts... See, she herself was looking... Oh no.

He looked up and met her amused frown. He had to apologize, but words had deserted him - right after his manners, apparently. No, he had to say SOMETHING.

"I'm sorry you're Tristan." he squeaked pathetically. "Er, I mean, I'm Bob, you're Tristan. Oh crap. Anyway, I-I-I d-didn't see anything."

She raised an eyebrow. Tristan cringed, digging himself deeper.

"No, I mean I did see your ch-chest, but not until the end... er, not to say they're not visible, I think they're a fun size... great size! And they're totally obvious. Oh! Not that they're on display or anything. Well, they are framed, but... No, look, I'm just trying to say you have..."

Mercifully, she put him out of his misery.

"Hold on there, Romeo - I'm taken. We're closing in a bit so I'll make yours to go." she said, smirking. "And yeah, you were being a total creep."

Tristan winced. Being called creepy was a new one, but for once he'd earned it, plus interest. What had he been thinking? He'd made her uncomfortable, and for what? It would have been better for everyone if he'd just done what came naturally and look down at his own feet. It'd take more than a couple of lucky sexual encounters to give him real social confidence. Especially after this.

"Sorry again." he insisted, more clearly and sincerely, meeting her eyes strongly. She stared at him in challenge, the moment stretching out. He deserved what was coming for his lechery - but it served him right for having the audacity to try to step out of his lane. Then, unexpectedly, she relaxed.

"...nah, at least you're apologizing." she responded, shrugging casually, surprising him. "Maybe next time try speaking to me first, I'm a person too. A person with obvious framed fun size tits, apparently."

Tristan facepalmed. Bob (probably not her real name) leaned on the counter, bringing her small cleavage together, and yet it was a black hole from which he could barely escape, leading him to sin anew. What was wrong with him? He broke off, feeling panic fill him with urgent impotence, his body needing to gasp for air but denying him the movement. She smirked, probably seeing his eyes struggle to avoid the trap she'd set. She obviously didn't take it as seriously as he was - maybe he needed to lighten up. He added that to his checklist right after 'keep your eyes to yourself'.

"You get two stars out of five. You said sorry - already more than most gawkers. Plus we've exchanged more than ten words, so I guess I'm stuck with you as a friend."

Two out of... Wait, before that, was ten word friendship a thing now? Had he missed a trend? Maybe it was on one of those apps or something. His brain stalled, searching for context - and to his abject horror - it found something. Was she... had she... Oh, gods, please...

"The change starts now." she announced in an imitation of his voice, her fists on her hips, her chest puffed out proudly.

Fuck. Tristan's humiliation was complete - he was now a total loser.

He released an involuntary squeak, fervently wishing for a hole to open up beneath him so he could throw himself in.

"So, Mr Tristan. Now we're friends..." she started, with a predatory grin.

Out of nowhere, a large weight traveling at speed collided into him, almost knocking him over.

"You!" a woman screeched in fury, battering Tristan with everything in reach - fists, handbag, a wrought iron chair.

The blows came thick and fast. It was, mercifully, a completely uncoordinated whirlwind of destruction, aimed at him.

He didn't have any attention to spare, trying his best to defend himself, and failing pathetically, his reactions slowed by shock and bewilderment. Not that they were great in the first place - he was a geek after all. Was this the first fight he'd ever been in? With a strange girl? No, not strange - the hellcat scratching at Tristan with her face twisted in righteous fury was... Emily? He needed to have another word with his roommate. This wouldn't be the first time Tristan had borne the brunt of the fallout for Hank's playboy antics. Right away, his inattention cost him.

Emily's handbag hit Tristan in the face. A metal stud dug into his cheek. The momentum of the bag savagely pressed spike deeper, until it parted his skin. Then it continued its arc, digging a long channel down his face as it was dragged out. Momentary numbness quickly gave way to stinging pain. His hand flew to his face. Tristan felt heat seep from a painful line across his cheek. Something warm flowed slowly down his jaw. He checked his hand.

Blood, a shocking shade of red. Tristan felt instinctive horror at the sight. A moment later it was replaced by a sense of unreality, like this was happening to someone else. Fuck, she'd cut him! This was madness!

Emily stopped, stepping back, but she looked completely unrepentant. That asshole Hank had a lot to answer for.

"You're an asshole! Stay away from Alice, you fucking pervert!" Emily screamed at him.

...or maybe it was something Tristan had done after all. His initial confusion at being attacked unexpectedly gave way to a measure of guilt. Maybe he had done something to deserve it. For example dating Alice while still 'helping' Stacy with her stress - and that was just one of many possible reasons.

Tristan took another step away, and Emily tried to follow. Before she could, a different woman stepped in front of him, putting herself between them, her skirts swishing. It was Alice! He'd know his sable savior anywhere.

"Alice, let go, bitch! Let me teach him a lesson!" she howled, her hands twisted in claws reaching for him.

She was shouting something at Emily, one hand on his chest, holding him back. He felt the contact burn more than the pain of his gouged face, the feel of her palm piercing him down to his heart. He'd really missed her. She looked okay - distressed, but okay. More than okay, she looked incredible. Her athletic figure flared to a fabulously full ebony butt, the improbable flare of her hips demanding his complete appraisal and... he was leering now.

"I would ask if you're okay, but if you're perving at me you must..." she trailed off. "Shit - you're bleeding! Emily, get lost you psycho!"

"But..." Emily protested, her teeth bared.

"Get lost - now! He's bleeding!" Alice shouted at her friend. "You can't go round cutting people... I... Just go."

He heard some swearing as Emily presumably left, but he was too busy looking at Alice's face, trying to gauge her mood. Trying to understand how she went from ignoring him to defending him, or if this was something she'd been planning when she saw him next, gone too far.

For a few intense moments, Alice's hands were everywhere. Alice stepped right up to him, ignoring his personal space and the fact they were in public. Her body pressed against his side, way too close, as she dabbed at his face with a random napkin and generally getting herself tangled up with him as she panicked. Alice pressed his wound far too hard, and he hissed in pain. She apologized, forgot, and ended up doing it again a couple of seconds later. He could feel it swelling angrily... even as other parts of him were swelling happily with her proximity. Perhaps he could get injured more often if this was going to be the result.

She had to stop - he'd reached his embarrassment quota for the day - er, year. If these people saw he was walking around the cafe with an erection he'd never leave his room again. Thankfully the didn't have much of an audience - just one very concerned barista.

He took a step back, leaving Alice reaching for him, Tristan holding her back. The bloodstained paper napkin fell to the floor. After a moment she stopped, took a breath, and had the decency to look slightly chagrined. What was this farce about? He started at Alice in bewilderment, watching her chest rise and fall hypnotically as she panted.

"Hands off the merchandise." he managed weakly. "I'm worth much less bruised."

"Stop joking around, moron! You're hurt!" Alice hissed, but obediently backed up a step, handing him another random napkin.

"I'm fine." Tristan tried to smile at her.

It felt like dozens of tiny pins were digging at his injury, which made him grimace instead. That only made her frown, her eyes shimmered as if she was about to cry. Tristan had the same reaction as men everywhere. He had to do something, he could fix this... er, he could... er... Unfortunately he didn't exactly have a wealth of experience to draw from. On the plus side, she wasn't glaring at him anymore.

"Are you okay, Tristan?" the barista asked, coming closer. "I'll get you a band-aid."

She could have stopped the fight in the first place, but hey, so could he, by going to wait outside the lecture hall like he should have. He resisted the urge to check if he was missing it. Alice's feelings were more far important.

"I'm fine." Tristan insisted, not trying to smile this time. Could he smile with his eyes? "Don't worry about it."

"It's... you're..." Alice rambled, her words coming in rapid gasps. "Emily, she... and I... she CUT you, and I don't..."

He'd made it worse! His mind scrabbled, looking for a mental foothold to stop the situation slipping further from his grasp, but he was heavily distracted. Between the realization Alice still cared about him, trying to keep an erection at bay, and... Wait, what on earth had gotten Emily so angry? What did Alice want? What could he do about it? What the hell should he say now?

Tristan met Alice's worried gaze, and his mind stilled. He drew in a fortifying breath, marshaling his confidence. His mind was a castle, the drumming of his heart desperately trying to tear it down. There was no need to feel surrounded by anxieties. This was Alice; they'd long since established their own code of communication. He just needed to assure her he had things under control. Maybe somewhere along the line this messy assault would start making sense. He kept his face serene, impassive, cocksure... though that last one was just his appetite trying to impose its own strategy. Yes; self-control was the first step in any plan.

"I think 'yes boss' will suffice." he stated eventually.

"Idiot - you're BLEEDING! It could get infected, and..."

"Alice." he said, staring into her eyes.

Alice stared back. Tristan raised one eyebrow. Hopefully it looked effortless, like it did in the mirror. 'Effortless' took him a lot of practice. Many years ago he'd seen it in a movie and thought it looked cool. Having a lot of time on his hands, he'd spent a truly ludicrous amount of time looking in a mirror (yet he still managed to never even think about his outfit). Long story short, Tristan eventually managed a result that didn't make him look like a drunken puppet. Of course he was still a 13 year old with crippling social anxiety, so it hadn't been any help with his love life. He hadn't thought that far ahead - but look at him now! Here it was, its moment of glory. Ha! Wait - did it look dumb? Of course it looked dumb. Maybe Tristan could blame his injury.

Alice and Tristan stared at one another for a long time. Finally Alice's expression changed and she looked away.

"Yes boss." she sighed, then gasped in horror, and quickly tried to cover it. "Er, no, I meant..."

Unfortunately Tristan missed her excuse, because as hard as he tried to pretend they didn't have an audience, they did, and he'd seen the barista's reaction. Her eyes widened, and he caught her smirking at him, mouthing words similar to 'you pervert'.

"What?" Alice said, turning to focus on the interloper. "Who are you?"

"Alice, this is um..." Tristan floundered. "...Bob."

"You're... what?" Alice repeated.

"No, apparently I'm called Bob." Bob corrected her, turning to grin at Tristan. "Dude, I thought you didn't..."

"That can't be your name." Alice said accusingly, turning to the woman.

"Says so right here!" Bob laughed, brazenly pointing at her chest, prodding the name tag which might as well have been pinned to her exposed bra. "Where's your imagination?"

Her gesture drew his eyes dangerously close to her breasts, but he managed to keep his eyes up. He wasn't a pervert - well, not an indiscriminate one. Plus Alice was already angry - almost as if she was jealous, and... Don't look! Don't... Phew. Far too close. Despite his superhuman effort, when turned back to Alice she gave him an icy glare, freezing his heart.

"I'll go get that band-aid." Bob said quickly, wisely retreating back behind the display.

His wound throbbed, reminding him of its presence. Trying to make him angry. Why wasn't he more angry about this? No, now was the perfect opportunity to recite the apology he'd rehearsed - she wasn't avoiding him anymore! But he'd just been attacked out of nowhere - did he have no pride?!

They stood there, just staring at one another.

Maybe he should leave? Or she could? It was ironic that now, after spending days praying to speak with her, he was wishing she'd just leave. And yet, what did he have to complain about? Oh, poor Tristan, got a little boo-boo and was forced to speak with an interesting woman. Plus he was already regretting the fact he stopped her from groping him a few moments more, audience be damned. Don't think about it, horny idiot! Keep it together, figure out what the hell this was about, then fantasize.