Page 59 of Loathing My Boss
Viktor
“I don’t want to be loved anymore,” Crisis says. “I’ve just decided. It does not suit me. At all.”
“I think it suits you beautifully.” I slip her brush through her long hair while she sits on the bed in front of me. The dark strands are like silk in my hands.
“I feel like a child. Are you trying to parent me?”
“Acts of service,” I note. “You’re the one who said you had to brush your hair when I asked if there was anything I could do to help you tonight.”
“Yes.” She breathes deep. Her shoulders rise and fall in front of me, and I trace the movement of her birthmark while she continues, “I recall looking at you like you were crazy, then saying,I only have to brush my hair, and I’ll be ready for bed. Right before I pointed at the pillow pile and asked if we were going back to purity land.”
Purity land is not a bad idea. I’m just sothrilledthat she’s not only come back but she’s also taking this seriously. She’s considering me. Whatever I did that made her hate me hasn’t stopped her from taking a chance on me. We will have to talk about my sins sometime, but, for now, I’m taking this one step at a time.
First, I’ll prove my love, then I’ll make amends when she can trust my apologies and the assurance that I’ll do better.
“Arewe going back to purity land?” she asks, turning to face me. The way her hair moves against her back does things to my brain.
Rough, I say, “Yes. I think that’s a good idea.”
Her gaze grazes my lips before she faces forward again. “I’m not sure I feel safe sharing a bed with you anymore.”
“Okay. I’ll make a bed out of the extra pillows and try sleeping on the floor again.”
Her muscles tighten. “You’re no younger nor spryer, Viktor. If anyone is patchworking a bed out of pillows and sleeping on the floor, it’s me. But also I think I’d rather sleep in my car. My car locks. I like that feature.”
My heart plummets. “Are you saying that you don’t feel safe around me at all anymore?”
“I hear you’re known for kissing people randomly.” She peeks back at me, lip pouted. “I am small. Defenseless. No pufferfish beak to bite you with. No hope of slurping out your guts, like snail carcass.”
“Wow. Vivid.”
She smiles, and my heart jumps. “Potato eats his blood worms like spaghetti. Justslurp.”
I havegotto meet Potato sometime.
Her pouting lip returns. “I am not Potato.”
She’s sleepy is what I’m gathering. Exhausted beyond rational thought.
Pulling the curtain of her hair over her shoulder—and baring the pale skin of her back to me—she combs her fingers through the locks. “No one spilled soup on me tonight. I appreciate that.”
I, also, appreciate that, because if someone’s soup were heading for her, I know I’d throw my body in front of it.
“Viktor,” she states.
I remove myself from the bed and put her brush back with her things, glancing at her while I do. “Yes?”
“How long have you been harboring these…” Her eyes narrow on the carpet at my feet. “…feelings?”
How long?
I rest my back against the wall and settle my hands in my sweatpant pockets. “Since autumn, the first year. That’s when I realized myfeelingswere deeper than attraction, anyway. I was attracted to you the first moment I saw you.”
Disgust wrinkles her nose.
I can’t stop myself. “I thought your eyes were beautiful. Rich, like coffee and chocolate. And your smile…” I can still picture it, how she sat upsostraight in the chair at my favorite restaurant, where I asked that we have our interview to see if we’d make a good fit. She was sparkling. Eager. Excited. And beneath it all, her deep coffee-brown eyes sparked. “…your smile undid my molecules. I love seeing it.”
Her eyes lift, peering up at me as though the image of her kneeling on the bed—feet splayed outward on either side of her thighs, her hair over one shoulder, and her hands planted between her knees—is not the most seductive thing I’ve ever seen. Her full lips stretch, baring her teeth in an uncomfortable grin. “This is what you like?” she asks, unnaturally keeping her face shaped in the odd expression.
