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Don't Know Why	By : JustMeAgain Category: G through L > Ghostbusters Views: 2102 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no money from this story nor own any of the Ghostbusters or songs mentioned within.

Chapter List
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1992
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She was trying to kill him. She had to be. It was bad enough just seeing her in the form fitting short dress. When she brushed against him, for the second time in one night, he could feel her firm backside slide against his thigh. He’d nearly gasped but was able to control himself. Before he could recover, she asked him if he thought any physical pursuits were worth his time. He could think of one particular physical activity he would very much like to try with her. Her question had shut his brain down temporarily, and, when he could finally speak again, he made an excuse of getting the dishes to escape her presence. He wanted to be away from her almost as much as he wanted to be with her. He needed a chance to catch his breath and wait for his ears to go back to normal. Her teasing turned him on and made him feel embarrassingly inadequate. So much so his ears would flame red in a blush. He couldn’t let Becca see her teasing effected him, otherwise she’d amp it up. He wasn’t sure he could handle anymore. If he was totally honest with himself, though, he’d have to admit he liked it. If he didn’t he’d just avoid her. Instead, he found himself, more often than not, seeking her out.
When he got into the kitchen Nana Stantz immediately noticed his ears. "Egon? What’s got you so worked up? It wouldn’t be a certain devil in a blue dress, would it?" She astutely asked. He felt the blood rush even faster into his ears.
"I’m just a little warm." He said, coughing nervously and covering it with his fist.
"It’s those sweater vests you wear. There’s no need to be so formal here. Wash your hands before you touch those plates." She said, somehow knowing (even with her back to him) he was about to get them. His ears were probably still red, but being around Nana’s inquisitiveness was even worse. He quickly scrubbed his hands clean, dried them and carried the plates out to the table. He did his best to ignore Becca as he slapped plates down onto place mats. The movement of her hands caught his eye, though. She’d rolled up a cloth napkin and was slipping it through a wooden ring. He felt a tug in his groin area, and his mouth went dry again.
"I’ll do that." He quickly volunteered, taking the napkin from her. When his fingers grazed hers it felt like he’d been shocked. It had to be static electricity.
"I’ll get the silverware." She replied, and, for once, she didn’t brush against him as she went to the kitchen. He sighed heavily and grabbed up another napkin. He could feel the tension still, but it lessened without her in the room. He didn’t know what to do. The tension between them escalated every day, and he could only think of two foreseeable conclusions. One, he’d have to leave. If the tension lessened the farther he got from her, maybe, if he went far enough away, it would cease completely. He’d been asked to study at MIT twice now. Maybe he should accept. It would give him the break he needed from the tension, and it would be a very beneficial opportunity. When it came down to it, though, he couldn’t stand not being around her. That led to the second possible conclusion. They would sleep together. The idea of having sex broke him out in a cold sweat. Peter slept with women like normal people changed underwear, and even Ray had won over a few girls with his charm. Egon had been too busy with his studies to focus on the opposite sex. They confused him, which made him nervous. It had been easy enough to ignore girls, until Becca. He’d always seen her only as Peter’s little sister until this past summer. He’d been at the Stantz’ annual Independence Day barbeque, and Becca had been there. She was wearing a pair of denim cut-offs with a bikini top under a white tank top. Ray had been washing his car off, because Peter had borrowed it and returned it caked in mud. Playfully, he’d sprayed Becca with the hose, soaking her. The white shirt had clung to her, clearly showing her hardened nipples and the hot pink bikini top. Instead of getting angry, she’d broken out into laughter and wrestled Ray for the hose. In the struggle, he’d been caught in the crossfire, but mostly his glasses had suffered the consequences. She’d come up to him to apologize and had taken his glasses from his face to go dry them. He’d been hooked since then, but he was so afraid of her. She was perfect, and he knew nothing about sex. He used Peter as an excuse not to have sex with her, but, in all honesty, he was terrified he’d disappoint her. That thought terrified him almost as much as the thought of leaving her behind. He wished he could just fit this all into a neat black and white pattern, but the entire situation existed in a gray haze.
Becca returned with a fistful of silverware, and she set a knife, fork and spoon down at each setting. She didn’t speak, and neither did he. She worked clockwise around the table, and he moved counterclockwise. He could feel the tension rippling with every centimeter closer they got to each other. They finally met at the head of the table. He didn’t know what possessed him, but he moved up to stand behind her. He inhaled the scent of her as his right hand placed the napkin and his left hand hovered near her hip. Her fingers softly caressed his hand, and he felt a palpable wave of desire ricochet between them. She was starting to lean back into him when a loud cheer came from the den. She quickly escaped into the kitchen, leaving him there in a daze. He looked down to the place setting as if it held the answers he needed. What he found instead was another mystery. The air no longer smelled of Becca, but of electricity. The hairs on his arms were standing up, and there was a metallic taste in his mouth. The silverware was wrong. Not wrong in a normal sense. They matched the other settings and were placed in the proper order, but the knife was curled around in a C shape. The tines of the fork bent in four different directions, and the bowl of the spoon had curled up tightly. It reminded him of an Ipomoea alba bud. Even more confusing to him was how she’d accomplished the feat. She hadn’t been holding them when they’d touched. He tried to bend the knife back, but he couldn’t. He stared at the silverware and felt a tingle go through his body. It wasn’t exactly panic, and it wasn’t exactly excitement. It was a strange combination of both. He’d never seen anything he couldn’t explain with science. That some... phenomenon... existed outside his realm of knowledge made him uneasy. If he didn’t understand this, how much more did he not know? At the same time he was anxious to figure out exactly what was going on. He had to show this to Ray, but that meant confessing his attraction to Becca. He sighed and pocketed the silverware. It would probably feel good to admit the truth to someone. Or maybe he could just omit parts of the story.
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I rushed into the kitchen, past Nana and out the back door. I plopped down on the steps, not caring how cold they were on my backside. It had happened again, but this time it had been triggered by Egon. So far, all the little... happenings... had been caused by my father. It had only happened four of five times, though, and never anything as dramatic as what had happened to the silverware. The first time it had ever happened no one but me had noticed. When I’d come home from school later than my father had expected, he’d grounded me, accused me of ‘whoring’ around and threatened to take the belt to me. I’d wanted to take the belt to him I was so angry, but I kept my mouth shut. I went straight to the kitchen to start his supper, and, when he’d bellowed at me to hurry, a bowl in the sink had started to vibrate. I’d watched the water in the bowl ripple, and it only stopped when I’d started crying.
Other times were similar. My father yelled at me, I became angry and something moved. The bowl was first, then a cup had shifted on the table, a curtain had fluttered, a light flickered and, the last time, a small bowling trophy, shaped like a tiny wooden bowling pin, had shook until it toppled off the shelf. I’d been able to find explanations for all the other times, but how did I explain this away? I’d even reasoned it was my father’s doing somehow, but he wasn’t here. It was me, and I hadn’t been reacting to my father. I’d been reacting to Egon. If I wasn’t so scared I was going crazy, I’d have been trying to process what had just happened between Egon and me. Had he actually been about to touch me? What did it matter now, though? Once he saw the twisted silverware he’d think I was a freak. I got up from the steps and paced in the dark backyard, trying to shake off the way I felt. Nana Stantz knew me well enough to leave me be, and, when I glanced up to the kitchen window, I could see her and Egon talking. My panic edged up a notch. He was probably showing her the ruined silverware. Oh, why hadn't I just snatched it up before he could see it? I breathed heavily and rapidly, trying to calm myself down and not succeeding in the least. When I heard the back door open I turned toward it, holding my upper arms to try to warm them. Egon stood on the steps holding a wrapped plate in his hands. "Nana wants us to take this plate to your father." He told me.
"I’ll take it." I said, not wanting to subject him to my father. He ignored me, coming down the steps and moving closer to me.
"Are you all right, Rebecca?" He asked me, and I thought he actually sounded concerned about me.
"I’m fine, Spengs. Come on, let’s get this over. If we’re lucky he’s already passed out." I said. Egon followed me across the yard to the steps that led into my kitchen. The room was dark, and so was the living room, except for the flicker of the TV. I was about to sigh with relief that he was asleep, but then I heard a beer can hit the wall next to the TV set.
"Fuckin’ Jets!" My father cried out and tossed another empty can. I was about to just tell Egon to set the plate on the table and bail out, but Egon’s foot bumped into one of the chairs. "Who’s there?" My father asked, coming up out of his chair. I switched on the kitchen light.
"It’s just me, Pop. Nana Stantz made you a plate." I told him. He looked Egon and me both over.
"What to hell are you doing sneaking around in the dark? It takes two people to carry one plate?" He asked, snatching the plate from Egon.
"Egon’s just being polite, walking me over in the dark. We should get back. We’re about to eat." I said, taking Egon’s hand to lead him out of there. I heard the plate land hard on the table, and I felt the trouble coming. My father grabbed my elbow and spun me around until I stood between him and Egon.
"What the hell kind of dress is this? Where did you get this?" He asked. My mind went blank at the look of rage on his face. "Answer me!"
"I... I bought it." I stammered.
"Where? At Whores R Us? Get upstairs now!"
"But Pop..." I unwisely protested. He raised his hand in warning, and two things happened at once. Egon moved forward as if to step between us, and the kitchen table shifted a foot across the floor and blocked my father from me. My father stood stunned, Egon stared at the table and I grabbed his hand to tug him out the back door. My father wouldn’t follow us, and Nana would let me sleep in Connie’s old room. By the time I got home, Pop would have forgotten all about it.
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