by Allie Gail
I gaze at him speechlessly, stunned that he is calling me out. Somehow I'd always assumed my stipulation would be a non-issue. Why is he pressing this? Is he actually interested in pursuing a relationship with me?
The prospect sends my heart into overdrive, but on the flip side it also scares the hell out of me.
“You…” he continues, grazing one finger along my jawline. “…every part of you…” The finger tickles a light trail down my neck. “…wants to belong to me. And you damn well know it.”
Instantly all rational thought processes come to a screeching halt. My body instinctively tenses in response to his arrogant remark. It's not so much what he said, but the way he said it. The logical side of me already knows that he is one hundred percent correct, but the way he phrased that comment was wrong, all wrong, bringing up my shields of defense. And if I'm being honest with myself, I think just the fact that I know he's right angers me even more than his possessive behavior.
Bristling, I narrow my eyes and stare at him icily. “Let's get something straight right now, Becker. I belong to no one.” I strive to keep my voice cold and even, hoping he doesn’t hear the shakiness there. “No one. You better get that through your head right now. I am not a piece of property, and I am certainly not your property. I barely know you. So I would suggest you drop the whole subject right now because I don’t want to talk about it anymore! Capiche?”
He gives me a bewildered, almost injured look. “Melanie! I didn’t mean–”
“It doesn’t matter.” I wave my hand impatiently. “Forget it. You don’t have to say anything. Just do me a favor and don’t bring it up again, okay?”
After a long, uncomfortable silence, he finally nods. “Okay. If that’s what you want.” His face is expressionless, but the tone of his voice is surprisingly mild. I can’t believe he didn’t get pissed off by my outburst. Already I’m regretting what I said, but at the time it seemed necessary.
Shoving aside the guilt, I get to my feet and stand there awkwardly for a moment, distractedly twisting my fingers together. “You know what, I should really try and get some work done before the power goes out. I have a deadline to meet and I haven’t gotten much accomplished lately.”
He is still studying me searchingly, as if the tangled complexities of my mind can be unlocked by reading my expression. “I suppose that’s my fault. I’m sorry.”
Please don’t apologize – I feel bad enough already.
“No. It’s my own fault.” I’m backing away now, anxious to flee so I can gather my wits in solitude. “Look, maybe we can watch a movie later. All right?”
I don’t wait for an answer. Before he has a chance to say anything else, I scurry off in the direction of the sunroom.
And, as is my habit when the past returns to haunt me, I lock myself away and hide.
Flagler College campus – St. Augustine, Florida
Freshman year, spring semester
“Don't look now, Melanie, but your not-so-secret admirer is headed this way.”
I turn my head to follow Shelby's line of vision and catch sight of Luka Martelli loping along towards us in that distinctive listless stride. His pace never varies no matter what. The guy never gets in a hurry for anything. A wildfire could be spreading across campus and he’d still be walking at that same deliberate clip.
“Freakshow!” Rosalie fake-sneezes into her fist, evoking laughter from both Shelby and Kate. I’m the only one in our group who’s not laughing. Their uncharacteristic mean-girl behavior is making me uncomfortable. I hope they won’t act this bitchy in front of him. Why are they being so obnoxious?
“I can't believe you went out with that whack job.” Kate wrinkles her nose as if one of us just traipsed through fresh dog poop. “He’s so freaking weird. How can someone with such a high IQ be so clueless? He’s like, socially retarded.”
“He's not that bad,” I protest in his defense. “And we had dinner together once. It’s not like I’m running off to Vegas and eloping with the guy. I felt bad for him is all. He doesn’t seem to have any friends.”
“Can’t imagine why,” Rosalie snorts, slinging her monogrammed book bag over one shoulder. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. I have a class in twenty minutes. Later, bitches.”
“Why don’t I walk with you,” Kate offers. “I’m going that way myself. See you guys later.”
“Bye,” Shelby and I echo, watching as they head off in the direction of Kenan Hall just as Luka approaches us.
Because he doesn't say much, from everyone else’s perspective he comes off as withdrawn and reserved, definitely antisocial. But during the course of our date Saturday night I came to the realization that looks can be deceiving. Once he opened up and started talking, I often detected traces of narcissism in some of the cryptic comments he made. Even so, I kept thinking that surely I was misinterpreting him, because how can an introvert also be a narcissist? Those two qualities just don’t mesh. Do they?
“Salutations.” He nods to me, sending a perfunctory and seemingly scornful glance in Shelby’s direction.
“Hey. What are you up to?” I reach out to pluck a stray piece of fuzz off his shirt and he looks startled for a split second, as if he can’t believe I just touched him.
He wets his lips, gazing at me in that piercingly intense way that tends to put most people off. “You have no more classes today. I thought we might go to the bistro and have an iced coffee.”
“Oh. Okay, sure, we could do that. Sound good to you, Shelby?”
A brief trace of annoyance flickers through Luka’s blue eyes, but they clear triumphantly when she declines.
“No, thanks. I need to go change – I have to be at work in an hour. Someone quit yesterday and now we’re shorthanded. So of course we’ll be slammed. Murphy’s law and all that.” Smirking, Shelby winks at me impishly. “You two have fun though!”
“Have fun at work.” I wave cheerfully as she walks away, then turn my attention back to Luka. “Well, guess it’s just us.”
“Indeed.” His mouth curves up slightly on one side. He’s kind of cute when he smiles in that shy, lopsided way of his. I haven’t quite figured out yet why everyone shuns him. He's not unattractive. A little on the thin side maybe, and his complexion isn’t perfect, but he’s got nice blue eyes and jet black hair to contrast them. He’s also really smart. And while it’s true he's got a way of saying things that leave you scratching your head, I've always thought our eccentricities are what make us unique.
Of course, if that were really true, then Luka Martelli’s picture would be the first thing to pop up when you typed unique into a search engine.
We make our way to the student center in silence. He doesn’t say a word until we’re seated at a table with our drinks. Normally I would find that peculiar, but I share a class with him and he rarely opens his mouth in there either.
“Caramel macchiato is my favorite, too,” he tells me.
I never said it was my favorite, it just happened to be what I felt like trying today, but whatever. “They have really good coffee here, don’t they? I was surprised the first time I tried it.”
“You know, I’ve always found it interesting that caffeine mimics the very molecule that regulates brain function.”
Another of his little factoids. I’ve noticed that he has a habit of touting random tidbits of useless information. Like he’s trying to impress me with his intelligence.
“Is that right?” I don’t know what else to say.
“You had a vanilla latte last time.”
“Last time?” I’m not sure what he’s talking about – this is the first time we’ve ever had coffee together.
“You were in here with that Shelby girl on Monday, and you ordered a vanilla latte.”
“Oh. That’s right, I was. I don’t remember seeing you, though.”
“Quite possibly you weren’t looking.” He gives me a secretive little smile, and as usual I am totally confused.
I pull some napkins ou
t of the napkin holder just for something to do. “What do you think of sociology so far? It’s a lot harder than I thought it was going to be.”
“I am not sure I agree with Professor Langston’s views on Marxism.”
“No? How come?”
“Were you listening to this morning’s lecture? I counted two glaring inconsistencies in his comparison of Marxist and functionalist perspectives. First of all, he failed to take into account that society’s infrastructure has always been dependent upon…”
He goes on for a while and I try to appear interested in what he has to say, but honestly all I’m really hearing is background noise. I am not in the mood for some tedious political debate right now. Why is he telling me all this? He never says a word in class, even when we’re asked for questions or comments. You’d think that would be the time to express his opinions.
As soon as I see an opening, I try and change the subject to something a little less excruciatingly dull. “So what’s your favorite class then, if it isn’t Professor Langston’s?”
“My favorite? Well, I am enjoying astronomy.”
“Kate’s taking astronomy. She likes it a lot, too.”
“Yes. Kate Parish is in my class.” He doesn’t seem all too happy about it.
“I take it you don’t care for Kate.”
“Can you give me a reason why I should?”
Guess I can’t argue with that logic. Anyway, something else just occurred to me. “Hey, earlier when you said I had no more classes today – I was just wondering. How’d you know what my schedule is? I never told you.”
“I make it a point to research affairs that interest me.”
Oh. Okay…that was a little weird.
“Now may I ask you a question?”
“Of course. Ask away.” I take another sip of my macchiato. It’s every bit as good as Starbucks if you ask me, and not nearly as expensive.
“Why do you waste your time with them?”
“Waste my time with who?”
“The others. Those spoiled, simpleminded bitches.” Leaning forward on his folded arms, he gazes steadily at me over the table. “Those hollow shells who plod through life in a self-centered vacuum of vapid emptiness. Nothing about them real. Nothing about them genuine. Just beautiful walking automatons who mindlessly chase brawn rather than intelligence. Who would prefer an uncouth ruffian to an intellectual who would treat a lady as a gentleman should.” Shaking his head with a bitter laugh, he mutters, “Fools.”
I stop chewing on my straw as my mouth falls open. “Are you…who are you talking about? Rosalie?”
“I am referring to all of them. Every insipid female I have ever come across. But not you – you are nothing like the others,” he quickly reassures me. “You are different. I knew that right away. Would you like for me to tell you how I knew that?”
I’m almost afraid to ask. “How?”
“It’s quite simple. I was not invisible to you. From our very first day in class, you opened your eyes and your mind enough to see me. You looked straight at me, not through me. And you smiled. Believe me, that is more than anyone else has tried to do.”
Sympathy floods through me, washing away every trace of wariness. This poor guy – all he wants is to be noticed. Acknowledged. It’s hard enough trying to fit in without feeling like the invisible man in a crowd.
I reach across the table to pat his hand, and again he gives me that startled look.
“Maybe it’s just that you’re always so quiet,” I suggest. “You never give anyone an opening to talk to you. Have you ever tried just smiling and saying hello to someone?”
“I said hello to you.”
“Yes, you did – and see? I didn’t bite you.”
“No.” He wraps both hands around his cup and stares at the straw so intently it looks for all the world like he’s trying to bend it with his mind. “I wouldn’t doubt that we have much more in common than our taste in coffee.”
“Well…yeah, I’m sure we have lots of things in common.”
“How about paintball? Do you enjoy games like that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never played paintball before.” Getting shot at with hard dye capsules does not sound like my idea of fun.
“No?” He looks up at me, surprised. “We should do that sometime then.”
“Maybe,” I smile. I’m making no promises here.
His cobalt eyes narrow in disapproval. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Try to humor me. Don’t do that. I can tell when a person is being disingenuous. If you don’t want to go out with me, just say so.”
What the hell…? I can feel my cheeks growing warm as blood rushes to my face. What’s crawled up his butt all of a sudden? How did we go from having a fairly normal conversation to this?
“I wasn’t trying to humor you! It’s just that I have a lot going on, what with school and my job and studying and all that. I don’t have a lot of spare time, you know? And I don’t want to commit to something if I can’t follow through.”
He considers my explanation for a moment before grudgingly admitting, “Being goal-oriented could be construed as an admirable quality, I suppose.”
“Jeez,” I mutter, chewing on the end of my straw. “Are you always so moody?”
“Moody?” Cocking his head, he gives me a genuinely puzzled look.
“Yes, moody. You didn’t have to jump down my throat.”
“I didn’t jump down your throat.”
“Uh, yeah, you kinda did.”
“Really?” He still seems perplexed, which I find a little disconcerting. “Well then. I apologize if you read into my observation that way.”
I can’t help but notice that he isn’t apologizing for what he said, but for the ostensibly mistaken way it was interpreted. He’s putting it off on me. As if I’m the one who did something wrong.
Feeling suddenly uneasy, I start to wonder how I can cut this impromptu date short without being too obvious. “Don’t worry about it. Um…but you know, speaking of my busy schedule, I really do have a lot of work I should be–”
“Would you consider having sex with me?”
I lean back in my seat so fast I come close to knocking the coffee over in my lap. I’m pretty sure right about now my eyes are popping out of my head like a cartoon character’s. Did he seriously just say what I think he said? Oh, no – no freaking way. I mean, I’ve been propositioned before but never quite like this!
“Come again?”
Ignoring my shock, he impassively continues, “I just thought, since I am still a virgin, that it would be a simpatico gesture on your part. My belief has always been that a girlfriend’s obligation is to be attentive to the needs of her patron.”
Patron?
Girlfriend?
Good God, this is bordering on surreal. If I didn’t know better I’d think there was a camera hidden somewhere in here, setting me up for a prank to be posted on YouTube later. It’s beginning to become very clear to me why nobody ever talks to this guy.
I am careful to keep my voice mild and nonconfrontational so I don’t unwittingly provoke him again. “Luka. Don’t take this the wrong way, but…we went out once. You do realize that doesn’t make me your girlfriend. I mean, you know that. Right?”
He stares vacantly at me for a long while, long enough that I start wondering what could possibly be going on in his head. Does he even hear the things that come out of his mouth? How can he not comprehend how bizarre this is?
When he speaks, his expression remains deadpan and the words are slow and deliberate. “Yes. I understand. It would be inappropriate for this relationship to progress too quickly. Why don’t we agree to take it at a somewhat slower pace for now? For the sake of propriety. We have our integrity to consider. Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”
I am at a loss here. I’ve never dealt with anyone like this before. Never had anyone full-on freak me out the way he has. I don’t want to argue with him
, don’t want to get into some wicked altercation in the middle of the bistro. All I want right now is to extricate myself from this awkward situation without making things worse. So I say the first thing that comes to mind, hoping simply to appease him until I can get the hell away from here and go back to my room in the residence hall.
“Slow. Yeah. That’s it. We’ll take things really, really slow.”
~ Chapter Eighteen ~
I screwed up.
It should have been evident that pushing Melanie’s boundaries wasn’t going to win me any points with her. Badgering her was a stupid move. Why couldn’t I just shut up while I was ahead? Clearly she needs time, and here I am going about it all back-asswards, trying to rush things that shouldn’t be rushed.
I can’t force my way past the bars surrounding her heart. It will never work that way. She’ll have to trust me enough to unlock them herself. And she will – she’ll open up to me in her own time if I just have a little patience.
Unfortunately, I’ve never been a patient man.
I wonder who it is that hurt her. What he did. Whether she still cares about him.
I don’t even know the guy, and I fucking hate him.
She doesn’t come out of that room for the rest of the day, which doesn’t really surprise me. I make it a point not to disturb her. Instead I pull a roast out of the freezer and stick it in the oven with some potatoes to slow cook for dinner, provided the power doesn’t go out before it gets done. Then I spend the rest of the afternoon lazing on the sofa watching Netflix and listening to the wind and the rain.
Sometime around dusk, during a lull in the storm, I hear the water running and know that she’s taking a shower. I head into the kitchen to throw together a salad, and I’m just finishing up when she comes padding in. Barefoot with her cute little toes painted pink, dressed in a gray tank top and something that resembles boxer shorts, she looks as soft and cuddly as a kitten.
I’m hoping she’ll keep the claws in tonight.
“You made dinner?” She sounds surprised, as if chopping up a few veggies and shoving a hunk of meat in the oven is a complicated endeavor.
