Page 52 of Backslide
“I get you too, you know,” he says. “You and I are so alike. That’s why I knew you could handle a gummy. Noah always wants to believe you’re tamer than you are. But you’re an undercover wild child. I know that.”
This statement confuses me because I am now positive that Noah was one hundred percent right about the gummy. But also,yeah!I could be a wild child! Whatever that means.
“The thing is,” he continues, “girls always liked me a lot growing up—and they still do now, to be honest. You know that. I’m not trying to be cocky. But, like, it’s true.”
I nod. And not just because I have lost all other functions. What he’s saying is weirdly accurate, though I have never understood it myself. While not being the best looking or remotely trustworthy, Damien is deeply charismatic—in a sociopathic kind of way. He’s an expert flirt. In high school, there were even periods when we would talk on the phone and I soaked up that singular focus. The more attention he got from women, the more alive he became. I cannot count the number of girls who confided in me back in the day that they were hooking up with him in secret. At one point, two close friends of mine revealed their respective secret relationships with him to me in the span of a single week!
How he convinced them all to keep it on the DL is beyond me. But the guy is funny. And successful now, I guess. And I will admit he is truly gifted at making you feel like you’re in a secret club together—with everyone else on the outside.
Which is what he is doing with me right now. I assume out of boredom.
And I think I’m supposed to be flattered by his attention. But he has deeply misjudged my mental state. I’m not sure how I would handle this shit on a good day—but right now?
I cannot.
“Anyway,” he says, running his thumb up and down the edge of a white paper napkin. “I guess I’ve always wondered: Why didn’tweever get together?”
What?!This just took a turn.
I am functional enough to bark out, “Noah!”
“Right, I know. But you guys broke up for a second once or twice during high school and I actually met you first. I guess I should have stepped in when I had the chance.”
It’s true that Noah and I took a couple of breaks, but we always got back together within days. Neither of us dated anyone else.
I am struck dumb. And I am so hot. And dizzy as hell. And all I can think about is the trickle of sweat trailing its way slowly down my back. I am also going down.
“And, like, now we both wound up back in New York,” Damien is saying, eyes on the table in front of him and then shifting focus to me. “And I should have texted you or whatever—DMed you instead of assuming one day we’d run into each other. ’Cause now you’re engaged, and it just feels like we missed our chance. And what if we were meant to be?”
It occurs to me, even in my only semi-lucid state, that if we were meant to be, wewouldbe. That’s sort of the point. But I do not have the tools to express that concept or somehow explain to this man—who I assume is just having a moment in the movie of his life versus expressing actualfeelings—that we never got together becauseew.
“You’re just so stunning,” he says, gazing at me.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I say, gazing back.
He crinkles his nose, thrown off for a moment, but then thankfully he’s too high to clock the true weirdness of that transition.
And, so, despite my fear of moving at all, I take the opportunity while he’s distracted to stand up, unstick my dress from my ass and thighs ever so elegantly, grab my bag, and go wander in search of a make-believe bathroom.
Make-believe, because I clearly don’t have to pee. There is no liquid left inside me. I have sweat it all out.
“Be right back!” I lie as I reach the sidewalk and start walking away.
“I think the bathroom is this way!” Damien calls from behind me. But I don’t turn around.
As quickly as I can, I round the corner into a patch of shade underneath the awning of an olive oil store.
Thank the fucking Lord.
This isn’t the first time olive oil saved me, I think.What?
I lean back against the cool stone exterior and close my eyes and the sensation is like a dream.Thank you, thank you, thank you. There’s even a slight breeze worrying the leaves on the surrounding trees.
Oh, sweet relief.
The good news is I have escaped the sun—and Damien. The bad news is, I can’t ever move from this spot again. And it would be inconvenient to be arrested for vagrancy.
That’s when I hear someone clear their throat.
