The driver lets us out and disappears in a blur of brake lights and gasoline fumes that fan out behind the car.
Being back on my feet after being in a vehicle alerts me to the fact that I’m really, really fucking drunk. The world tilts on its axis, and when I walk, I find myself veering to one side. Connor laughs and slings an arm around my neck to steady me. My hand finds its way to his back, and I bunch a handful of his jacket in my fist and hold on to it tightly.
At one point, I’m pretty sure I sing a verse of a song I’m surprised I know the words to.
Yeah, I do, because Connor starts laughing, and he looks so good when he does it that I forget how to put one foot in front of the other.
I sway on the spot as he unlocks the door of our apartment, and when we get inside, I catch his face in my hands and turn it slightly, so I’m able to speak directly into his ear. “Can I tell you a secret?”
He smiles like I’m sweet and sober, even though we both know I’m anything but. “You can tell me all your secrets.”
“How ’bout just the one for tonight,” I slur.
“One’s fine too,” he says.
I’m vaguely interested and dimly concerned about what I’m going to say. God only knows I’ve done some things recently that could get me arrested—and if I take it upon myself to get all confessional, it’s going to be a very bad thing.
I wait for panic or dread to hit, but it seems all my emotions are cushioned by a thick, fluffy fog. It’s kind of nice. All floaty and swirly. Far from being worried, I’m curious. Curious about what I’m going to say. Curious about how Connor will respond.But most of all, I’m curious about the same thing I’ve been curious about since I moved in.
Curiosity is a curious emotion, isn’t it? All slithery and far-reaching. I’m so curious about this particular issue that I honestly can’t remember a time I wasn’t.
That’s not the booze talking, by the way.
It isn’t.
I have a valid question in mind, and it needs to be asked. And now’s the time to do it. I’m a hundred percent sure it’s a good idea to ask it because Connor’s here, and he’s the one who knows the answer.
Man, he’s so nice to look at. God. He’s gorgeous. Look at him, all sincere. Eyes all sparkly and serious.
I really do think he thinks I’m important. I think he thinks I matter. Really. Not like other people are important. I think he thinks I’m extra important.
I think he’s extra important too.
I think I can ask him anything, and he’ll tell me. I know it.
“When I moved in, I thought you’d flirt with me all the time,” I whisper, like a dumbass who thinks that whispering shit like this makes it better.
“Did you?” There are curved lines around the corners of his mouth. On both sides, not just one, and his dimple is deeply dipped.
I’m not thrilled that this is the topic I’ve landed on, but the thing is, Connor’s a safe person. A good person. I can ask him anything. And I should. “Yeah, and I just… I just don’t get why you don’t. ’Cause, ’cause you don’t. You just don’t. Like all the time, you could be flirting with me…and you don’t, and I don’t know why.”
“Well, there are a couple of reasons,” he says, trying not to laugh but failing spectacularly.
It’s cute that he laughs so much. So easily. So naturally. I think about telling him so, and maybe I will later, but right now, I need to circle back to the flirting business. Or the lack of it. If working in the housing department has taught me anything, it’s the importance of circling back. “Name one.”
“I didn’t know you wanted me to, and I don’t treat people like that unless I’m sure it’s what they want.”
There’s that sincerity again. A genuine earnestness and niceness and respectfulness that brims right beneath the surface. Most people don’t have it, and if they do, they don’t allow others to see it.
“Oh. Okay.” I’m a little perplexed because it’s a pretty good reason, but it’s not what I want to hear. “Name another one.”
Our eyes meet, and he slows things down. My heartbeat. My racing mind. He sucks the air out of the room and changes the atmosphere from lighthearted to serious. He reaches through all my bullshit, and instead of shaking me roughly like I deserve, he holds me gently in the palm of his hands.
It breaks something hard and fragile inside me. Around me. It takes something unpleasant away from me. Something that wasn’t mine, but has been with me for so long that I started to think it was.
“You’ve been hurting, Lennon, and I know that. You’ve been in pain. I want you. I’m not saying I don’t. Fuck. I want you a lot, but more than that, I want to take care of you.” Something changes near his eyes, around his mouth. He’s still mainly soft, like always, but there’s a little steel in him I haven’t seen before. “I want to make sure you’re whole before I take you apart.”
I hear his words with different parts of my body. My mind. My ears. My heart.
