Page 22 of The Fadeaway
I roll my eyes but smile as I correct the intro to the story.
Me: Once upon a time there was a very tall man-boy with hair the color of coal.
Joel: And the body of Zeus.
Me: Who is telling this story?
Joel:
Me: His mouth was clever. His words charming. So charming that when he spoke women fell to their knees. But the strong man-boy, simply swept the women up and took them to his lair where he ravaged them. Later, he left them alone and cold to find more women to bring back. For he was greedy and wanted all the women for himself.
Joel: Lair, badass.
Me: But as the years passed, he grew a terrible hunch on his back from continually bending down and sweeping the swooning women into his arms. Disgusted by the now ugly and hunched man-boy, all the women in his lair stood, pulled themselves together, and went about their lives like the man-boy had never existed. The end.
Joel: Weird. Is that supposed to be some sort of cautionary tale?
Me: Just an impromptu bedtime story, man-boy. All persons in this story were fictional.
Joel: Now I’m going to have nightmares of hunchbacks, thanks a lot.
Me: I do what I can.
Joel: Come over tonight.
Me: You never give up, do you?
Joel: Never.
I’m typing my sign off for the night when another text comes in and I laugh into the silence of my apartment for a second time tonight.
Joel: If I ever do get you to my lair, I’m totally going to ravage you.
Me: And leave me cold and alone?
Joel: With you in my lair, I don’t think that would be possible.
* * *
Between classes and the play, the week flies by in a blur. I haven’t heard from Joel again and I’m wondering if I should have just slept with him the night of the party or taken him up on his offer to go over to his house this weekend. I mean if that was my last shot, should I have just gone for it? I watch the clock like a hawk in a futile attempt to speed it up or slow it down – alternating feelings depending on the minute. I’m not even sure he’s going to show up to the café again. He may not have gotten exactly what he wanted, but maybe that kiss and my continued refusal to sleep with him was the last straw.
Is that what I want, to get rid of him? Or did I honestly think he was going to chase after me forever?
I groan audibly.
Before I can work out my feelings, he pushes through the door and locks onto my gaze with an intensity that I feel in my toes.
“Morning, Kitty.”
“Coffee?” I ask, and he nods.
“And maybe dinner tonight?”
A small, okay a large, part of me jumps for joy that he’s not given up on me. But then that makes no sense because I’m not going to say yes. But how do I justify the relief I feel that he’s here? Guess that answers my question if I wanted to get rid of him. I don’t.
“Sorry, I can’t.”
“¿Por qué mierda sigo torturándome?”he mutters under his breath.
