Page 119 of Bad at Love
Take in a deep breath through my nose, counting to five.
I exhale.
Open my eyes.
Look into the camera.
Smile.
“Hi there,” I say in my most polished voice, “my name is Marina Owens and this is Palm Tree and Honey Bees beekeeping 101. I hope to teach you over the next two hours the beginning basics of starting your own hive, whether for honey production, positive environmental impacts, or just pure love for honey bees.”
I smile until my smile starts to shake a bit and I feel crazy and then my eyes dart up to look at Laz behind the camera. “That’s it, right?”
He nods, brows furrowed. “I think we got it.”
I sigh and adjust the collar of my bee suit. The hives are behind me in the background and the girls are paying me no attention but Laz thought being in the suit would make me look more professional.
He’s also the one who, a couple of weeks ago, thought that if I was going to start filming my own online classes, that I should actually be in the video. That wasn’t part of my original plan—it’s supposed to be about the bees, not me. I was just going to film everything myself and do a bunch of voice over work, maybe some shots of me in action, but I would be totally suited up, you wouldn’t be able to see me.
But Laz was insistent that I show myself off since I’m “bloody hot” (his words, not mine) and it might attract more people, especially men. I’m not sure I like the whole idea of men being interested in learning about bees because of me—especially as my Instagram always receives a slew of sexist and misogynistic comments from guys every time I post a picture of myself or remind them that I am, in fact, a female beekeeper.
But I do need the extra income and as long as I’m not trying to be sexy and wearing a bikini or something, it’s something I’ll have to be okay with.
Plans change.
Now, though, I’m feeling that more than ever.
Like I said, it was weeks ago when Laz said he would help film me.
But the Laz from then isn’t the same Laz as now.
I don’t know what the hell happened.
Actually, I have some idea.
It was the moment I told him I loved him.
I swear something inside him changed.
Something betweenuschanged.
I recognized fear in his eyes after we had sex in that bathroom at the show, after we had our first fight. At first, I thought it was just for the magnitude of what we were to each other, the fact that love is scary. Of course it is. It’s this force of nature, bigger, more powerful than anything,greater and stronger than hate. At the same time, it’s not tangible. You can’t hold it in your hand. What else is there in the world that is worth so much but you can’t save or store or sell? Love is the currency of the heart. It exists only in us, powered with every single beat.
What I think I’m learning is that love is something you can give but it comes at a cost. Someone may not want the love you’re giving and the cost is greater than you could imagine. When I love Laz, when I look at him and think about how much this man means to me, how deep he’s carved himself in my heart, I know there’s a point where the love I give will start to deplete me. Maybe love is only limitless if someone takes it from you. It’s when they send it back that it starts to fade.
I know I’m thinking about this while staring at Laz as he fiddles with the camera. He’s not looking at me. I have a feeling there’s nothing interesting about the camera either, that he’s reviewing the footage as something to do, not because he has to.
He doesn’t want to look at me.
The last two days, he’s barely even touched me.
We haven’t had sex.
It bothers me.
Not in some greedy way, like I’m some horny teenager who pouts because she can’t get her fill (though, yeah there’s some of that, hey I just started having sex for the first time, in some ways I’m closer to a teenager than I would like to admit). It bothers me because he’s pulling away.
Right now, I’m standing in front of him and the only time he’ll look at me is when he’s looking through the lens. It gives him distance.
