Page 48 of Resting Grump Face
I turn towards the door and consider my actions for a moment. Gordon is probably right. I should probably go. Today was one big bust. I didn’t take care of my obligations. I didn’t use the opportunity to exact revenge on the person who almost made me miss my best friend’s wedding, and got me locked up. And I still didn’t really do anything about the ‘Commando Catastrophe’ as one newspaper started calling it if I can believe Bruce’s texts. On the contrary, I spent half the day having fun like some useless moron. And maybe that’s the worst part.
I did have fun.More fun than I’ve had in a while.
I close the door, take off my shoes, and walk over to Sienna’s bed. She’s tucked under her blanket. Her fingers are holding onto it, framing her little button nose and smiling eyes. Above, with slight delay, her curls follow every movement her head makes.
“Which book do you want me to read?” I ask as I sit down on the edge of the bed, looking over at the stack of books next to me.
Sienna shrugs, making her hair bop a little. “Reader’s choice.”
So I just grab the book on top of the stack, open the first page, clear my throat and begin to read: “Once upon a time —to be more precise twenty-one and two years ago— there was a… well, princess would be kind of a stretch to be honest.” I move the book into the light of the little lamp on the nightstand. The text is handwritten. Sienna’s peeking eyes have grown to twice their normal size.
“Yeah, maybe not that one.” She pulls the blanket over her head.
“Wait, did you write this?”
“Maybe,” her muffled voice replies, followed by a long yawn. “Olivia told me to do it as some sort of mental exercise. Something about working through the past and what not. I’m not a writer like her, I don’t intend to publish it. It’s just some thoughts and such. They don’t even make sense half the time, so feel free to pick another book.”
“Reader’s choice,” I grunt and continue reading. “…princess would be kind of a stretch to be honest. She didn’t have a castle, or a crown, not even a horse. And from this day on, she wouldn’t even have her parents anymore.
This fateful day started like any other day. Our little (barely a) princess got up, ate breakfast, kissed her mom goodbye, and headed out to school where she would train in the ancient arts of computer games, candy eating and trampoline jumping all day long.” I look over to Sienna and nod approvingly, which she acknowledges with another head bop.
Then I continue, “Watching over the school grounds from up high (or at least as high as a little kid could jump on a trampoline), she couldn’t see what the future was holding for her that day, and she didn’t know yet that this story would not be another fairytale about a princess. It was the beginning of a much different story. Some might argue it was the beginning of a villain origin story, some might say it was the start of a pretty cool vigilante story, but all could agree that it was a hella depressing tale. I mean a kids’ parents are about to die. That’s not the kind of story where they play the ‘Ceeee-le-brate good times’ song in the background.” I swallow and flip to the next page. Sienna has turned her back towards me by now, one arm is pulling the blanket up to her chin, the other keeps the pillow underneath her in place. I wonder if I should stop reading. I don’t know if I am crossing boundaries here that shouldn’t be crossed. Then again, it’s not like we didn’t already barrel throughall imaginable boundaries the moment we met. Plus, she didn’t really try to stop me, so I guess it’s fine? “The little (not a) princess had always been a fairly good little girl. In fact, she wasn’t even that interested in being a princess. Would she have wanted to own a crown? Absolutely, but she would have sold it to give the money to her parents (after wearing it and bossing them around for a day, of course) so that they could have bought themselves a castle, or at least a little palace (assuming those are cheaper to come by).A haunted one would have sufficed, she thought.It would have been more fun anyway, she secretly added. And a horse? They seemed like a lot of work, and the little girl wouldn’t want anyone to sit onherback all the time either, so she didn’t even want to own a horse. She did think it would be nice for someone to offer her a horse at least, but only so she could explain that horses are not meant to be fenced in all their lives. Because that’s who the little girl was: a little insufferable, but kind at heart.” I look up from the book once more and over to Sienna, who is now giving off the same noises Paul down in the lobby did earlier. It would appear her own story bored her so much she fell asleep within minutes. Or maybe she was just that tired. It is fairly late by now and she had been yawning for quite a while. I close the book, consider taking it home, and then put it back on the pile. Reading it felt a little shady; stealing it would definitely be wrong.
Careful not to wake her, I get up, turn off the lamp, and circle the bed. She is fast asleep indeed; her mouth opens slightly on every exhale. Her complexion shines golden in the dim moonlight that creeps through the window. Looking at her like this, she appears delicate, almost vulnerable. I guess it’s hard to keep your guard up when you’re drunk and asleep.
I lean down and swipe a lock of hair off her eyebrow. Her steady breathing continues, although her nose wiggles around for a moment as if she is about to sneeze in my face, which iswhen I notice that I am much closer to her than I intended. I pull back, stand up, and straighten my shoulders. This is the problem with Sienna de la Vega. She may look like an angel, her vivacious nature might make you feel more alive than you have ever felt, and her rude comments might make you laugh (on the inside somewhere deep within) but it’s all just to hide the one thing, the real Sienna, the deceitful one, the one that can never be trusted. Given the chance, it would only be a matter of time until she’d stab me in the back. Just like Mira did.
On my way out, I take a deep breath and inhale her scent one last time. Then I put my shoes back on, discover a polaroid of Sienna and her cat, let it disappear into my pocket, quietly close the door behind me and really consider seeing that therapist. There are a lot of uncomfortable (and hard) things we would probably need to discuss.
When I exit the elevator, Paul is still fast asleep. Gently, I shake him awake, explain to him that it’s late, answer his inquiry about what year it is, and accompany him to his own apartment. By the time we make it there, he seems alert enough to get himself to bed. I stay for a little to make sure he’s actually alright and then leave for home myself.
On the way, I try really hard not to get haunted by the image of sleepy Sienna with that delicate curvature of her lips, or by the way she was lying there, calm, almost serene, and vulnerable.
I give myself a little slap. I need neither a nightmare nor a wet dream, both of which are distinct possibilities tonight.
18
SIENNA
In nature, pretending to be dead is a perfectly viable strategy to prevent death in the first place. So it follows that pretending to be asleep is a perfectly viable strategy to prevent yourself from sleeping with the guy you detest the most.
I could have told him to stop. Maybe I should have told him to stop. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to. On the contrary, despite the embarrassment, I liked it. I wanted him to read my story like some weird emotional exhibitionist. Like: Look here. Look at my metaphorically exposed ass.
Turns out, drunk Sienna wants Ryker to get to know her.
What’s even worse is, it made me… horny? Everything he does makes me horny.
The grown-up thing to do would have been to tell him to stop, to ask him to leave.
So, naturally, I didn’t, and instead pretended to snore like a chainsaw orchestra performing a lullaby. And it worked too. He stopped reading and left. Unfortunately, he also left me a dripping mess that just found out that hot guys with low and gruff voices reading bedtime stories to her is a fetish she willhave to explore further in the future. It should probably be a different guy though.
Not probably.
Definitely!
And possibly less depressing literature.
I take a deep breath and try to replace the horny thoughts with happy ones. And it totally works right away. If‘it totally works right away’means three hours of tossing and turning and still ending up even hornier than before.
