Page 44 of Guy's Girl
It’s only five, but Adrian is exhausted. Day drinking always has that effect on him—an early boost, then a steady drain as both alcohol and energy seep out of his system. Under his arm, he thinks Ginny has already drifted off. He strokes her hair absently. A warm feeling seeps through him, the same tendrils he felt growing within him the first time they had sex. He shuts his eyes.
Just before unconsciousness pulls him under, Ginny whispers, “I like you, Adrian.”
His eyes flutter open. By now, twilight spills into the studio. Rays of dying sunlight illuminate the kitchenette, the sofa, the unopened whiskey bottles, the barren fridge. Adrian spends almost no time in this apartment. A place built for one, usually empty, now holding two.
Finch’s words echo in his head:I should’ve been honest with her from the start.
He likes Ginny. Hereallylikes her, actually. She’s funny. She’s unpredictable. She fills him with a low-level buzz, even when he’s sober. But he doesn’t yet know whether they have a real future together. He needs time to figure that out.
Unfortunately, time is the first thing he lost when he took a job in banking.
Plus, he’s tired. So, so tired.
“Ginny.” He rolls over to look right into her eyes. He will say this only once, and he hopes she hears. “I like you. I do.” A pause. “But my life is still hell right now. To be honest, I can’t even believe my eyes are still open. I can’t... I don’t have the mental capacity for a real relationship.”
It’s like watching a flower fold back in on itself.
“But that doesn’t mean—” Adrian searches for the words. He has only ever ended relationships—never given them a chance to become something more. He doesn’t know how. “I do like you. I don’t want to stop seeing you.”
For a moment, Ginny becomes completely vacant. Her jaw slackens. Her eyes drift away. Her chest ceases to move, going as still as a doll left to gather dust in the attic.
Adrian panics. He thinks she might cry. She’s naked in his bed, and she might cry. He starts to reach for her hand, then stops.Looks around. He didn’t want this; he just wanted her to understand. To know what to expect. She can’t go into this relationship thinking he’ll give her more than he can.
Before he can panic any further, Ginny blinks twice and snaps back to life. “Sorry about that. I just...” She clears her throat. Smiles. Nudges his arm. “Got any more of that cherry wine?”
After just one glass of wine, which they drink naked under the sheets, Ginny says that she should leave.
“Really?” Adrian sits up, the sheets slipping down to pool around his waist.
“Yes. I have to... I’m working on a new section for next week’s newsletter,” she lies.
He blinks. “Okay.”
Ginny pulls on her skirt, underwear, crop top, and white platform shoes. She works quickly, knowing that the longer she stays, the greater the risk she starts crying. She kept it together as long as she could, but she can feel herself starting to come apart. At first, Adrian just watches, confused. Then he gets out of bed and starts to dress, too. He only makes it into his underwear by the time Ginny slings her purse over her shoulder and is ready to go.
“Thanks for the wine,” she says.
Adrian stands with one foot in the kitchenette, his long, bare torso swaying. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. “You’re welcome.”
Ginny walks forward and wraps him in a hug, quick and tight. “See you.”
“Okay. See you.”
Then she’s out the door and running down the stairs.
Street after street, awning after awning, she runs. She barely takes in the people she passes, all of whom are headed to dinners and drinks, dressed in outfits they tried on six times, just beginning an evening full of promise. Ginny forgot to zip up the back of her skirt; it’s now slipping down her hips.
Four years, no romantic feelings toward any man whatsoever, and now she feels like life is leaking out of her body. She cannot believe how much it hurts.
She should have known this was coming. Between his cancellations, how long it takes him to text her back, howshehas been the one putting all the effort into trying to date him—of course he isn’t interested in having a real relationship. All that nonsense about not having the time? What a convenient excuse. He isn’t the first man to use “I don’t want a girlfriend right now” in place of “I don’t wantyouas my girlfriend.”
A part of her isn’t even surprised. This entire experience only confirms what Ginny already knew: that she is broken. That something about her—something fundamental, sewn right into the fibers of her muscles, the marrow of her bones—prevents Ginny from deserving love.
Love.
That cannot possibly be what she feels toward Adrian, can it? Two months. It’s only been two months. If love is a fire, he was barely a candle.
But a candle is enough to start an inferno.
