Yours for the WeekendDorothea visits her hometown for Christmas. By megalodon_. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. Dorothea fiddles with her scarf, nerves tangling her insides as she gazes out the window. Her hometown seems so small thousands of feet below her private jet, a village of dollhouses, and she smiles to herself, the view bringing back memories of her childhood. She’ll be seeing them again, all her childhood friends. After all these years, how much have they changed? Lord knows she’s not the gangly teenager she once was, wishing her friends goodbye as she boarded the plane to California, giddy with optimism and naivete. She bites back a wistful smile as she remembers all her friends waving her off. Well, nearly all of them. All but her high school sweetheart, Elliot. Elliot, so unlike the men she dallied with these days, all chiselled jaws and plastic veneers, inhumanly gorgeous and emotionally constipated. Elliot was nothing like that, with his curly hair and quiet beauty. He adored her; worshipped the ground she walked on, and she, young and conceited, revelled in that, wrapping herself in his devotion. A pang of nostalgia shoots through her as she reminisces. She and Elliot were attached at the lips, sneaking away to screw in backseats and under bleachers. He gave her the confidence to make the big move, to get where she is today: A-list actress, Hollywood star, face plastered on massive billboards and tiny screens. But he wanted to keep her all to himself; couldn’t stand to watch her board the plane, leaving him and his small-town life for bright and shiny Hollywood. Will she see him again? Surely they’ll bump into each other; a town this small, it’s bound to happen eventually. But would he remember her as fondly as she did him? The boys are treating him with a careful wariness that’s edging on his nerves. Stephen and Cory are giving each other sneaky sidelong glances and not-so-subtle elbow jabs as they prattle on about nothing in particular. None of the typical ribbing and roasting that accompanies them when they intrude at the bar where Elliot works. They think he doesn’t notice, but he’s no idiot. Finally, with a sigh, Elliot says, ‘Come on lads. Spit it out.’ Stephen and Cory exchange glances and feign innocence. 'What do you mean?’ says Cory, tapping tattooed fingers on the bar. 'Spit what out, Elliot?’ says Stephen, chewing on the complimentary peanuts. Elliot is wiping down the bar with a cloth. 'There’s something you’re not telling me. What’s up? Out with it, already.’ Stephen grimaces, then stuffs his mouth with another handful of peanuts. He looks at Cory, who seems to find the countertop absolutely fascinating. 'Oh my god,’ says Elliot, 'I’m not some delicate flower. Just tell me.’ Cory, finally, is the brave one. 'Dorothea’s back in town,’ he says, with such insincere nonchalance it’s almost laughable, were it not for the bomb he just dropped. Dorothea. Back. Here? 'Just for the weekend,’ Cory continues, 'she’s seeing her folks for Christmas.’ But Elliot can barely hear the words. Blood rushes in his ears. 'Dorothea?’ he mutters. His high school girlfriend, back home? Does she remember him? He never stopped thinking about her; not that she’d given him that chance. He sees her every day, in blockbuster movies and makeup ads, on magazine covers and the poster at the bus stop. (And the secret polaroid in his pocket. When Cory found out he gave him shit for it, but never told Stephen, for which Elliot is grateful) Dorothea. He never thought he’d see her again, not in real life, resigned as he was to always be just one of her many admirers, only ever dreaming about being able to touch her again, to fuck her like he used to in the back of his old truck. Stephen scoffs. 'See, I told you he’d get like this. Get that fuckin’ dopey look off your face, dude.’ Cory laughs, and mocks, 'Oh, Dorothea, the one that got away. Do you think she still remembers me?’ He puts his hands over his heart and bats his