Read Online Falling From Grace by S. L. Naeole - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: S. L. Naeole
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really done it before — yell at someone for no reason other than because I was angry — it felt good. “I’m through being the damn punchline for everyone’s jokes, so you can wipe that stupid smirk off of your face. You’re new here so you’re seventeen years late for the joke anyway.”
He took a step forward, the slight motion causing me to take one back for some nameless reason. “I don’t recall you responding in a very pleasant manner when I said it the first time, and I received no response the second time, and now after saying it again this third time, you give me a response in the form of a little tantrum. You should be glad that I’m amused, rather than turned off,” he answered me, calmly, matter-of-factly. He reached for the seat of the motorcycle; lifting it, he removed a small bundle from within and handed it to me. “And, just in case I was rude by not introducing myself earlier, my name is Robert N’Uriel Bellegarde.”
Robert . Now I knew something that Erica did not. I knew his name. I felt the beginnings of a reluctant smile form on my lips, but I quickly squashed it. “So you do know more than four words of English. Good. That’ll make it easier to yell at you later — I hate yelling at people who can’t understand what I’m saying,” I joked nervously, grabbing the item in his hand. “What is this?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “You complained about smelling like beef and beans. That’s an extra shirt I carry with me in case I ever need a clean one, and it just so happens that today, I do. Or, at least, you do.”
I looked at the bundle of cloth in my hands. This was a shirt? But it felt so…nice! Soft, like an old t-shirt, but it wasn’t old, faded cotton with some cheesy screen print on it. I was a stranger to anything different. This shirt, if one could call it that, was a gunmetal gray, shimmery, and smelled…it smelled incredible. I looked up at him, wondering why he would give me his shirt when he didn’t even know me. What was I but a nobody to him? I looked around nervously and laughed; where was I going to change?
“I’m not a fan of chili — the smell offends me—so I would appreciate it if you would change; we’re completely alone here, so you can change right where you are. I’ll turn my back, if that will make you feel better.” He paused and looked at me, his expression bemused, contemplative. “And I do know you, Grace. You’re not the nobody you think you are.”
I didn’t even notice that he had answered the questions in my head before I had had the chance to ask it out loud until later.
SECRETS
He turned around so that I could remove my now crusty, chili-drenched clothing with some semblance of modesty. The shirt was probably impossibly stained now — there was no saving it—so I just balled it up and threw it into a nearby trashcan after using it to wipe up the chili that had leaked through onto my chest. I quickly slipped on his shirt, gasping at how silky it felt against my skin. It definitely was far more expensive than anything I owned. It hung like a sack on my body, though; trailing down to my thighs, the collar hung low over my chest. I looked down and sighed. There really was nothing there to cover anyway, so why try and be modest?
“Okay, you can turn around now,” I told him, confident that I was looking as decent as humanly possible.
He put his hands into his pockets and slowly turned to face me. The look on his face didn’t reveal to me anything as to how he felt about the way I looked in his shirt. Of course I would look hideous in it; the color was wrong for me, if I paid any attention to that sort of thing to begin with, and there was no shape to it — or me for that matter.
“Thank you for the shirt,” I said, not quite sure exactly what to make of his vacant expression. “And I’m sorry about your jacket
He took a step forward, the slight motion causing me to take one back for some nameless reason. “I don’t recall you responding in a very pleasant manner when I said it the first time, and I received no response the second time, and now after saying it again this third time, you give me a response in the form of a little tantrum. You should be glad that I’m amused, rather than turned off,” he answered me, calmly, matter-of-factly. He reached for the seat of the motorcycle; lifting it, he removed a small bundle from within and handed it to me. “And, just in case I was rude by not introducing myself earlier, my name is Robert N’Uriel Bellegarde.”
Robert . Now I knew something that Erica did not. I knew his name. I felt the beginnings of a reluctant smile form on my lips, but I quickly squashed it. “So you do know more than four words of English. Good. That’ll make it easier to yell at you later — I hate yelling at people who can’t understand what I’m saying,” I joked nervously, grabbing the item in his hand. “What is this?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “You complained about smelling like beef and beans. That’s an extra shirt I carry with me in case I ever need a clean one, and it just so happens that today, I do. Or, at least, you do.”
I looked at the bundle of cloth in my hands. This was a shirt? But it felt so…nice! Soft, like an old t-shirt, but it wasn’t old, faded cotton with some cheesy screen print on it. I was a stranger to anything different. This shirt, if one could call it that, was a gunmetal gray, shimmery, and smelled…it smelled incredible. I looked up at him, wondering why he would give me his shirt when he didn’t even know me. What was I but a nobody to him? I looked around nervously and laughed; where was I going to change?
“I’m not a fan of chili — the smell offends me—so I would appreciate it if you would change; we’re completely alone here, so you can change right where you are. I’ll turn my back, if that will make you feel better.” He paused and looked at me, his expression bemused, contemplative. “And I do know you, Grace. You’re not the nobody you think you are.”
I didn’t even notice that he had answered the questions in my head before I had had the chance to ask it out loud until later.
SECRETS
He turned around so that I could remove my now crusty, chili-drenched clothing with some semblance of modesty. The shirt was probably impossibly stained now — there was no saving it—so I just balled it up and threw it into a nearby trashcan after using it to wipe up the chili that had leaked through onto my chest. I quickly slipped on his shirt, gasping at how silky it felt against my skin. It definitely was far more expensive than anything I owned. It hung like a sack on my body, though; trailing down to my thighs, the collar hung low over my chest. I looked down and sighed. There really was nothing there to cover anyway, so why try and be modest?
“Okay, you can turn around now,” I told him, confident that I was looking as decent as humanly possible.
He put his hands into his pockets and slowly turned to face me. The look on his face didn’t reveal to me anything as to how he felt about the way I looked in his shirt. Of course I would look hideous in it; the color was wrong for me, if I paid any attention to that sort of thing to begin with, and there was no shape to it — or me for that matter.
“Thank you for the shirt,” I said, not quite sure exactly what to make of his vacant expression. “And I’m sorry about your jacket
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