by Kat Pace
“You not the boss uh me,” I pout. “You go home!”
“I’m fuckin’ serious Em.” Brooks curses loudly on his end. Can almost picture his nostrils getting all flarey and his eyes getting all dark and stormy, like that night we spent in the thunder. This is just like that night –the night he tried to slut-shamed me.
“I’m seriousss, Brooks!” I giggle. Am I trying to eat my phone? Jesus.
“What the fuck Em. Why do you have to do this?”
“Whys do you haves to do dis?” I repeat, mocking his voice. He curses more on the other end. “UGH I HATE YOU!”
More thumbs up from Barbs.
“EM!” Brooks shouts into the phone. “Em, I SWEAR!”
“What? Huh? What d’you swears? Oh, that’s right. NOTHING! HA-HA!” I laugh into the phone. Basically making out with my phone.
My phone is starting to feel like Jell-O in my hand. My legs feel like something even less stable. It’s all hitting me. Brooks asking if I’m drunk, telling me I better not be out dressed like –uh a CAT, Brooks not caring about my photo, not calling me. It’s all a taunt. And I fell for it.
I called HIM!
“Broooooks! Come on, baby. Let’s go.” I hear it on his end of the line.
A thousand miles away, across the motherfuckin’ United States some girl is on Brooks’s phone with him. At the very least she’s close enough to him that I can hear her trashy voice.
“EM!” He’s shouting again. Panic. Maybe vomit.
“I have new friendsss I am I’m to make. Goodsbye Brooks,” I say, clicking the phone off. OK, well not clicking because this isn’t 1996, but you get it.
I broke our cardinal rule of the telephone-verse. I said goodbye. Conversation terminated. Who knows if we’ll ever talk again?
I turn my phone off completely. Shut down. I stick it back where it belongs, where it can’t hurt me, where trashy girls and their trashy voices can’t get to me. Down my shirt.
Why am I surprised at Brooks? None of this should surprise me anymore.
Barbs and I fly back onto the makeshift dance floor. Zoë throws her arms around both of us. How she’s still standing I cannot fathom. Then again, me either.
“Oh my god, you guys took forevvvvvvvur,” she laughs. Her tenth Zombie spills over her cup onto the floor. Bryan takes it from her and trades her for his water.
These fucking cute men with their being all responsible and taking care of us. What’s it about?
“Someone had to make a call,” Barbie says, looking at me.
“Noooo!” Zoë shakes her head. “No. The hottie?”
“Yes, hottie. Not anymore!” I say, shaking my head too. Somehow she’s handing me another shot and for some reason I’m taking it.
I got another for the mixtape, holiday edition. Drunk on Halloween by Wallows. I know, almost too fitting. Too real. Too right now. But this is where we are.
Fuck Brooks.
Fuck him for trying to control me. Then for doing whatever –whoever he wants! Fuck him for playing the game better than me. Fuck us both for playing the game in the first place. Which one of us will care first? Which one of us will cave first?
Which one of us will lose first?
Then I see him sitting at the bar. Trevor. AKA naked man from the night before my first trip back home. I’m almost not sure it’s him because I hardly remember him if I’m being honest. Plus I’m like way drunk. But when the guy he is sitting with shifts to the left and Trevor sees me he smiles. Yes, it’s him.
Wow, he remembers me? I mean, of course he remembers me, but him of all people? Now?
“Hi,” he says walking up to me.
“Hey,” I smile. I turn to look for Zoë but she’s disappeared into the crowd somewhere.
“Long time no see, babe.” He gives me a half smile, almost crooked the way his left side turns up more than the night.
Babe.
I’m flashing back to him in my bed, to his cute dimples and cute butt. The way he called me babe without even knowing my name. Fuck, that’s really appealing right now.
I don’t know why it’s appealing.
Just kidding, I do. It’s because my call with Brooks is still playing like a sound system is blasting through my head. His voice. His fucking chastising me for what I’m wearing and asking if I’m at a party. His telling me to go home.
“A cat, right?” Trevor’s question brings me back to the bar, to the strobe lights, and the mixture of cheap perfume and hard liquor.
“What?” I can’t hear him.
“I said you’re a cat, right?” Trevor says, looking down at my costume. Well, at my ears and nose at least.
“Yesss! And you’re a…?” I ask. He’s just wearing black pants and an oversized black blouse top thing.
“I was…” He pulls a pair of fake teeth out of his pocket. “A vampire.”
“Was?” I ask, leaning into him.
What are you doing, Em?
“Had a little too much to drink,” Trevor smirks. “Had to take a breather.”
“Oh yea? What’s your blood blood concentration?”
“Over the legal limit,” he shrugs, holding his teeth up. “Ya know, I could put these back in if you’re into it.”
“Me-Ow.” I hate myself.
Swear I do.
“So who are you here with Emmy?” Trevor asks, eyes flashing under the strobes. He looks mysterious this way. Maybe that’ll make this easier.
“No one anymore,” I say, shrugging.
“Oh yea? Lucky me,” Trevor says, leaning down to me.
EM. OMG.
I can’t help but love every ounce of how wrong this is. How bad this is. How trash I am.
But I don’t owe anything to Brooks. Or the slut he’s banging right now.
Then before I know what is even going on I am walking back with Trevor. Well, not back. I’ve never been to his place before.
But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.
I can hear Brooks’s voice ringing in my phone. I don’t care. He called you! I don’t care. He’s with someone else. I don’t care. So are you!
Yes, so am I. I steal a peek at Trevor. He’s not much of a vampire, really. In fact, he’s second to the syringe shot. But damn he looks just as delicious.
And one more shot won’t kill me tonight.
Moon is back, just as judgy as before. But I force it from my mind. I force Brooks from my mind. I press myself into Trevor the second he opens his apartment door. I unzip my boots and ditch the entire costume until all that’s left is my black lace bra and thong.
Trevor pulls me over to the bed and sits me on the edge. He kneels in front of my and pulls off my panties. He stands up right between my legs. He unclips my bra and I undo his black jeans. I crawl backward up the bed and he hovers over me. I smell lemons and something else citrusy.
He has a hand on either side of me and uses his knee to separate my legs. I’m surprised by how badly I want this –want him. Maybe it’s for revenge. But that doesn’t mean anything now. I arch my back when he moves into me.
Instantly it’s different. And instantly I’m so fucking happy that Brooks is no longer the last guy to have fucked me.
He’s the same cheating, untrustworthy, shithead that he was nine years ago. A few months of summer fun does not suddenly make him a better man. And even if he were, it doesn’t mean I’m a better woman.
Thanksgiving Eve
Three days. It’s been three days. It’s not even enough time for an avocado to ripen but here I am already missing him. Missing my Brooks. My.
There’s that word. The word that makes me want to reevaluate my mental well-being.
I’m three blocks away from my loft. Sitting at a coffee bar. Pumpkin spice latte in hand. #PSL for those of you who only speak in trends. ‘Tis the season, bitches.
Every time my phone dings, buzzes, vibrates or literally just sits there I hope it’s him. It takes a lot of TV, a lot of yoga, some porn and a ton of ripening avocados for me
to keep my mind occupied. OK, maybe I squeezed in a one-night stand or two (pun intended). I blame Zoë. It’s like there’s this wild dormant side of me that comes out to play whenever she’s around. She’s a terrible influence.
It didn’t matter. It didn’t change anything. It’s like sex has been ruined for me.
Once you go demi-god you never go back.
Filthy average humans. Eye roll to them all.
Had to keep my hands too busy to pick up my phone and be the one who caves first #feminism. We are the stronger sex and I will be damned if I let smooth talking, surfer-boy, demi-god Jay Brooks break me.
It’s been three days since he’s called or texted. So what? My head tells me there’s a logical explanation. There must be. Brooks has been checking-in every other day since Labor Day. Sometimes we video chat.
The video chat after Halloween was our longest. A lot of sorry’s went around. Some we actually meant. Some not so much. More from him than me. The conclusion was we should never text/call each other while drinking. More easily said than done as that is arguably when you want to text/call people the most –especially ill-fated sexy ex-turned-current lovers.
He spent the entire last video chat trying to convince me we should visit each other. I was finally coming around to the idea; I had told him maybe I would consider it. Since then, nothing.
Of course not. Duh. I took the bait. I said maybe. The chase is over and he knows it.
It’s not like Halloween completely erased everything, right?
I may or may not have stalked his media pages. Discovered he was in Myrtle Beach last weekend. Couldn’t help notice all of the attractive women on his story. Couldn’t help harping on them for hours –days. Not proud of it, but it happens. I knew this would happen.
Typical boy. I’m prob getting ghosted.
It’s your own fault I remind myself.
Go Zen is crowded as fuck today.
I’m splitting the 11AM class with Zoë and there’re still too many people to focus on. The front glass windows are already steaming up from everyone’s overly active sweat glands. This ain’t PE class, people; news flash, deodorant is a thing. Everyone is getting their workout in today since we’re closed tomorrow. And I’m betting everyone is going to eat their stomachs into a coma on Thanksgiving.
Zoë flips the fans on. Even in the airy space with industrial ceilings and exposed air vents, it’s still TOO HOT. My bare feet are sticking to the hardwood floor.
“Em, someone just got here. Wants to join today’s class,” Zoë says, tossing me a towel.
“Tough shit. We’re packed.”
I’m glad yoga is trending but no new people are allowed today. These lessons have been booked since September. They can’t sit with us.
“You can tell him. Wants to see the owner anyway. Over by the door.” She nods her head. “He’s really cute.”
I roll my eyes. Everyone is cute to Zoë. I glance in the mirror on the back wall to make sure I’m presentable. My black yoga leggings and macramé sports bra seem to be in order. Can’t say the same for my hair. Oh well.
I turn for the front door.
Fuck. No.
Oh. Fuck. No.
There he is sitting in the chair beside the front desk. Next to the out-of-place palm tree. His gray long-sleeved shirt stretches across his chest. Pairs nicely with his black gym shorts. Both have his Edge lax logo on them. He’s a walking ad for his own clothing co.
He looks up. My heart leaps. What in the hell? How is he here? How does he look so good? HOW has it been two months?
“Hi.” Brooks beams. A gym-bag hangs from his shoulder.
“Hi? Really? You want to go with hi?”
“Yes, I do.” Brooks says, head nodding, rocking back and forth on his heels.
“What? What’re you doing here?”
“I heard this place was the best.” He looks at me.
“Well, it is. But I’m still not sure what you’re doing here.” I shake my head.
“Heard the instructor was hot too.”
“Yea?” I laugh. “I heard she’s way out of your league.”
“We’ll see about that. I was in the neighborhood and I’d like to take a class.” He hands me a clipboard of paperwork.
“Sorry, we’re full today.” I smile back.
“Can you make an exception? It was a bit of a commute.” Brooks stands and towers over me. He steps in to me.
Fuck.
“You have to stay in the back.” I shove him away from me. “And don’t get any ideas. The instructor’s taken.”
“I like a challenge.”
Longest. Class. Ever.
Properly demonstrating a bridge was torture. I had to somehow pretend to care about peoples’ cobra pose. I just kept thinking how stupid cobras are! Brooks watched silently the entire time from the back corner –from the neon pink yoga mat I gave him from the spare cabinet. I stared up at him during downward dog. I knew he was thinking the exact same thing as me. Or hoped he was, at least.
The last five minutes were reserved for a Zen meditation. The come down and the calm down. Normally I enjoy this. But today? It’s just as dumb as cobras. Today it’s five whole minutes I am kept from Brooks.
God, yoga is fucking stupid.
“How was I?” Brooks appears at my side once half the class has left. I’m folding up my mat, pretending to hardly pay attention. It’s hard to fight a smile.
“Mediocre at best.” I shrug.
“Maybe private lessons could help.” He smirks, reaching for my waist.
“Or a change of hobby?” I suggest, laughing.
“Quick on the draw. I’ve missed that.” Brooks laughs. God the way he leans into me when he laughs. “Can you get something to eat?”
“Um,” I bite my lip.
“Go on!” Zoë calls from the mat pile. “I can cover the last two.” She winks at me. I roll my eyes.
“Fine,” I say, turning back to Brooks. “But I’m picking the place. Come on.”
“I like her,” Brooks says as we turn away from Zoë.
“She’s an enabler.”
“And I like what she’s enabling,” he laughs.
AH.
The November air is crisp, a nice contrast to the stifling heat of the yoga studio. I toss my sweatshirt over my head and lead Brooks down the street. The entire block is lined with organic shops, quirky vegetarian bistros and coffee bars. We sit at a small café with blue umbrellas down the street from Go Zen. Specialty is Vegan Greek. Brooks will hate it. Something I find amusing. Our table is across from a group of hipsters that thinks wearing beanies and vaping as a group is mad cool. No one has told them it’s not.
“Falafel and ice coffee. Lunch of champions.” Brooks says. The look on his face is priceless.
“I try.” I take another sip from my straw and put an almost empty cup back on the table.
Brooks drinks his own hoity-toity chai tea latte coconut milk concoction. I recommended it.
“This is candy milk,” he says, almost spitting it out.
“Good candy milk.”
“I’ll never know how you drink it like this.” Brooks is shaking his head.
“So why are you here? How are you here?” I ask, cutting to the chase.
“You invited me.” Brooks takes a bite of his falafel. “Honestly, this is trash. It’s like I’m chewing a rubber burrito.”
“I didn’t invite you!” I say, finishing my coffee.
“You said ‘OK’ to my recommendation about visiting…” Brooks looks dumb.
“That’s –I was saying ‘OK’ to maybe thinking about it.” I say, exasperated. “I’d hardly call that inviting you.”
“I’d call it inviting me,” he laughs.
“Well, after how you acted on Halloween, I’m not sure how you could think the invitation still stood. Or did you forget?” I roll my eyes.
“I said sorry, Em.” Brooks pauses. “Like 20 times.”
“And I heard you. Like 20 times.
Also heard the girl,” I say, complete with a condescending fake smile.
“Emmy, I don’t know what to say–” Brooks starts.
“Nothing.” I hold up my hand to stop him from speaking. My mind is alive with images of Trevor on Halloween. The revenge bang really did help.
