by Jo Raven
***
My phone ringing wakes me up much later. I recognize the ring tone immediately, even though I can’t have heard it more than once in this past month.
The opening notes of Debussy’s “Clair de Lune”, performed by Luka Sulic of 2Cellos.
It’s the one I’ve set for Fred.
Couldn’t I have picked a sadder piece? Yawning, still half-asleep, I make a grab for my phone.
“Yeah?”
“Madeline. Are you okay? I was calling you earlier, too.”
Figures the one time he decides to finally call me I’d be in such deep sleep I missed it.
“I’m fine.” I twist around so I’m lying on my back, staring up at the ceiling. It’s a light blue, like the morning sky. “Fell asleep while reading in my bed, that’s all. What’s up?”
“Nothing much. In my room, too, finishing up an essay. Haven’t heard from you in a while. Wanted to check up on you.”
“That’s sweet of you.”
I can imagine him so clearly in his dorm room—where I’ve been exactly once and for five minutes—sitting at his small desk with his laptop on, his glasses slipping down his nose, his fair hair sticking up. Maybe he’ll be dressed in old sweats and a T-shirt, like Seth was.
I try the image out in my mind. Try to picture him standing before me, pressing his body to mine, like Seth did. Pressing me up against the wall and kissing me. Reaching into his pants and—
“Maybe we could go for a walk along the lake?” he’s saying. “The weather’s nice. We should take advantage…”
His voice fades into a buzz.
Nothing. The image of him naked or touching himself is doing nothing for me. How’s that possible? Would it have excited me a week ago?
Did I ever think about this before meeting Seth? Did I ever realize what Cassie was talking about when she asked her questions? How it feels to crave a man, to desire him. To get flushed and sweaty just thinking about him.
Then again, I haven’t even kissed Fred yet, not properly. Can’t even tell you how he smells, how his body feels under his clothes.
“Madeline? Are you still there?”
“Yeah.” I sit up, hug my knees with one arm. “I’m here.”
“You sure?” He laughs. “What’s on your mind? It’s as if you’re somewhere far away.”
Yeah, maybe I am.
“I think…” I say, a thousand random thoughts whirling around in my head, “I think I’m going to get a tattoo.”
“What?” Stunned silence follows, then he says, “Tell me you’re joking.”
“And if I’m not?”
More silence.
Then, “What’s happening to you?”
“I might also get a piercing or two. Would you like to see them?”
“Madeline.” A choked sound. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what? What if I decide to pierce my nipples? Do you think that’d be hot?”
“Jesus.”
I’m pushing him. Kind of like when Seth pushed me, made me react. Made me think, and realize things.
“Do you want me, Fred?” I need to know this. “Do you desire me? Do you need me?”
“I really like you.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
“We have time. We can figure this out.”
Christ. I bite on my lip so hard I think I taste blood. “What has you so confused, Fred?”
Looks like I’m not the only one who’s feeling torn here.
“I’m not confused.” He spits the word out like something rotten. “I’m not an asshole. I can take my time with a girl before I have sex with her. Maybe that’s confusing you.”
“What are you saying? That knowing that you want me makes you an asshole? I don’t get you.”
“No! Dammit, Madeline, that’s not what I meant.”
“Do you want me or not? Do you get excited when you think of me? Of seeing me, touching me, kissing me?”
“Of course I do. This whole conversation is absurd. Look, we can talk another time.”
Really? I’m close to cursing him, or howling my frustration into the phone, when he hangs up.
What in the world?
I throw the covers off me and grab my clothes from the chair by the bed. Suddenly I know what I must do: I have to see Fred. Have to test this in person. My imagination is unreliable. My memory, too. I bet he isn’t too skinny or too fair, or too anything just because I keep comparing him to Seth.
A bad habit. I should stop.
Have to stare into Fred’s eyes, put my hands on his body, find out if I want him, if I’m still attracted to him.
If he wants me.
If we fit together, if we’re destined to be, or if it all was a distorted image of me and him together—a fake impression that’s stuck in my mind.
***
Fred’s not in his dorm room. His roommate, who’s apparently the same Brandon he’s been rehearsing with, opens the door for me, introduces himself and tells me Fred hasn’t been in all day.
“You’re mistaken,” I say, trying to see past him. “He called me from here half an hour ago.”
“He’s not here, sweetheart.” He steps aside, makes a sweeping gesture with his arm. “Feel free to check if you like. Make sure to look under the bed and inside the closet, too.”
He’s making fun of me, but I don’t care. I brush past him and enter Fred’s room. It’s exactly as I remember it. The narrow bed, the window with the gray curtains, the small desk with his laptop resting on it.
Fred is nowhere to be seen.
“See?” Brandon is lounging against the doorjamb, arms folded over his chest. Dressed in faded jeans and a button-down blue shirt, with his crazy afro hair and cinnamon skin, he looks every part the musician he is. Same thin shoulders like Fred. Same bright gaze. Same long, thin hands.
I shake my head to stop myself from getting caught in that crazy loop again. “Any idea where he might be, then?”
“Probably at Mondays.” At my wide stare, he laughs and says, “the bar? Off State Street. That’s where he usually hangs out.”
He does? He has a place where he usually hangs out?
Do I even know Fred at all?
“Thanks,” I say, giving Fred’s room one last glance, hoping that somehow he’ll appear from behind the curtain and say “surprise” and we all laugh together.
Because it does seem like a big joke.
But he doesn’t, and I turn to go.
“You’re Madeline, right?”
I stop and look at him. “You know me?”
“Not really. He’s talked about you. Only good things, I promise.”
“Like?” I ask. I can’t help it. I’m so curious to know what he’s been saying to his friends about me.
“You’re a ballerina. A classy, sweet, nice girl.” Brandon lifts a dark brow at me. “Not what you expected to hear?”
“Yeah,” I stammer. “I mean, not really. That all he said?”
“What else?”
The tips of my ears are burning. “Nothing.”
What else did I expect? That he’d tell everyone he thinks I’m hot, I guess. That he’s with me. Something like that.
“You’re exactly as I pictured you,” he says. “I can imagine you dancing on stage, pirouetting on your tiptoes.”
“Um, thanks?” I manage a weak smile, because he obviously doesn’t know I’ll never be a ballerina, and besides, this mess isn’t his fault. “I think I’ll swing by Mondays, see if I can find Fred. Need to talk to him.”
“Uh, sure.” He winces. “Listen, why don’t you call him first or something? Before you swing by.”
“Why?”
The alarm bells in my head start ringing before he even opens his mouth to reply, and through them I faintly hear the words.
“He had a fight with his girlfriend this morning. He might need some space.”
Girlfriend.
The word settles at the bottom of my mind like a rock.
***
I park as close to Mondays as possible. The day has been sunny, but the sun is dipping now behind the buildings and it’s turning chilly. In my favorite fifties dress and vintage pumps, I shiver as I trot down the sidewalk, and it’s not just the cold. I feel as if I’ve landed in a spy movie.
It’s nauseating, spying on the guy you thought you wanted to be with. Only… When I reach the bar and walk inside, when I see them standing together—Fred and the strawberry blonde whose style eerily recalls my own, a veritable pin-up girl in her red dress, a match for my blue one—I don’t feel as devastated as I thought I would.
Weird.
I stay long enough to make sure I’m not making anything up, that they aren’t just friends meeting for a drink.
Hey, it looks like he isn’t confused about her at all. He doesn’t need time to figure things out. Doesn’t want to take things slowly. No, Fred’s all over the blonde Marilyn there. He’s sucking on her mouth like a vacuum cleaner. His hands are on her ass.
Yeah, he looks like a guy who knows exactly what he wants.
I back away before they notice me and return to my car. Feels like I’m walking through a thickening fog, battling against rising water.
I’ve been living a lie for months now. Waiting for him to make up his mind, to make the final move. Thinking I was the problem—my inexperience, my insecurity. Thinking he wanted me but was being nice.
What the hell just happened? Why would he insist he wants me if he doesn’t? What’s the matter with this guy?
My feelings are a whirlwind as I climb into my car and turn on the engine. I’m upset. Betrayed. Angry. Hurt.
But I also feel strangely relieved. Like I thought I was going crazy, that I was imagining something was off, that I was acting like a bitch, like a slut, like a crazy person, when he was stringing me along and seeing someone else.
I’m not crazy.
I still hurt, though. And I’m really pissed. How could he do this to me? Let me believe I wasn’t good enough.
Hot tears are rolling down my cheeks. I lick my lips and I taste their saltiness. Screw you, Fred, with your artistic ways and gentle manners. Screw your lies and your games. I want…
Christ, what do I want?
“If you’d let me, I’d show you how a boyfriend should treat you.” That’s what Seth said to me just yesterday. Seth with his dark eyes and even darker shadows, with his powerful body and sexy ways.
I’m turning the car about and driving toward him before I even know what I’m doing. I just know he’s the only one who can keep me from sinking to the bottom tonight.
Chapter Thirteen
Seth
Jesse’s here.
I thought I’d escaped interrogation for the weekend. Needed a reprieve after Manon left yesterday. After I realized she still wants the douche who isn’t sure if he wants to be her boyfriend or her brother, and that I’ve been pushing her for nothing. The only thing I succeeded in doing was to scare her and push her away.
Yeah, I needed some downtime to lick my wounds and discreetly beat my head against the fucking wall.
Somehow, with the sinkhole my life has become and the news of my mom returning from the grave, you’d think driving Manon away would be the least of my worries.
Well, it fucking ain’t. It’s killing me. It’s a fucking huge hole in my chest that won’t let me eat or sleep or think straight. Between beating myself up and remembering how she felt, how she looked, how she sounded, well… It’s a miracle I’m still sane.
Now if only Jesse would just fucking go… He’s been sitting here for well over an hour, trying to get me to go out with him for a bite and to talk, and neither is on today’s list. Especially not the talking part.
At least he’s brought me my walking stick.
“Come on, man.” He gives me his best puppy-eyes impression. “You can talk to me. You’re the only one who believed me back when everyone thought I’d cheated on Amber. You stood by me. Let me do the same for you.”
“I appreciate it, bro,” I tell him and mean it. “There’s nothing to talk about, though.”
“Don’t lie to me, Seth. Rafe said your mom’s back and asking you to pay her bail. Said you refused. Said your leg was broken—your other leg, dammit, the good leg—years ago, and you won’t tell him anything about it. And you lost your job because of the beating—a beating you took because of me! Fucking hell.”
Jesus. “This isn’t on you, J. None of it is.”
“So you say. I know you wouldn’t have been in bed with a broken leg for two months if you hadn’t been there with me.”
Fuck. Guess I’m not the only one beating myself up.
“I’m the one who took you out for drinks that fucking night,” I remind him. “If anything, I’m the reason all of it happened.”
But at least for Jesse it ended well. His girl found him, they talked, realized they were good and got their happy ending.
Unlike me.
Yeah, okay, stop whining, Seffers. Just fucking stop.
“How come you haven’t found a job yet?” Jesse goes on, oblivious. “Anything I can do? I could ask around.”
“That’d be great,” I mutter, wondering why my eyes feel hot. I’m really off my game these days. “Thanks, buddy.”
“Sure. And at least let me get some food into you,” Jesse mutters. “You look like roadkill.”
Yeah, I really have to look like shit for Jesse to insist so much.
“Nah, I’m good. Really. I ate late.” As lies go, it’s not a big one, and yet I feel bad for lying to Jesse, of all people. He doesn’t lie, ever. It’s a matter of principle with him. “I think I’ll turn in early tonight.”
He finally takes the hint and gets up. “Okay, sure thing. I’ll leave you to it. Just…” He rubs at the crease between his brows. “I’m here, buddy, you know that, right? For anything you need. Anything that’s been bothering you. Fuck, I won’t judge. You’re my best friend. Let me help in any way I can.”
“Gotcha, man. Thanks.”
Jeez, my eyes do that burning thing again. Need to get them looked at.
But he’s wrong. He can’t help me. He’ll turn his back when he finds out the truth, like everyone who ever did. He thinks he knows me, but he doesn’t.
See, he was saved, and when you’ve been saved, you think you can save everyone else, too. God, I wish that were true.
We do our fist-bumping, back-thumping thing, and he’s on his way, leaving me alone again in my apartment.
The apartment I can’t afford. The roof I thought was solid until the world started caving in once more.
When the doorbell rings, I open the door automatically, prepared to tell Jesse to go to hell, if that’s the only way to get rid of him tonight.
Should’ve known by now life likes to spring surprises on me just to see me jump out of my fucking skin.
“Manon?” I whisper, my voice choked. What the fuck?
“Does your offer still stand?” she asks, and that’s when I notice her eyes are red-rimmed and wet.
Oh shit.
I don’t ask what offer she’s talking about. It doesn’t matter. Whatever she needs, I’ll fucking give to her.
I haul her inside, pull her into my arms and let her cry.
***
Somehow we end up on the sofa, curled up together, my arms full of sobbing girl and my T-shirt wet with tears and snot. She’s clinging to me as if she’s drowning, and I won’t let her. I know what it’s like to hit rock-bottom, and nobody should have to do it alone.
I rock her a little, kiss her hair.
Fuck, I told myself I wouldn’t do this again, I wouldn’t set myself up for another soul-crushing disappointment by letting her inside.
Yet here I am. Stupid or not, there’s no other place in the
world I’d rather be right now and that, right there, tells you all you need to know about how I feel.
How I fucking ache for this girl.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her quietly, rocking her in my arms. “How can I help?”
“Hold me,” she whispers, and I tighten my grip on her, as if she’s made of mist and will vanish the moment I let go.
“I’ve got you. Everything’s okay.”
“I want you to show me.”
“Show you?” What the hell is she talking about?
“You said you would.” She’s a soft, warm weight on my legs, on my chest. Her hair has come loose and is spilling like silk over my arms. “Christ, it’s as if I’m just not good enough. For anyone.”
“What the hell are you saying?” I pull her to me, a fierce embrace. She’s mine, and someone hurt her. I’ll kill the motherfucker. “Who told you such things?”
“Nobody did. But I know it.” Her voice cracks. “Mom left when I was little, didn’t take me with her, and Dad wasn’t there often. Said it was his job to travel, playing in concerts, but… I know, all right? When I’m not enough.”
“Shh, don’t say such things.” My heart is pounding. I know too fucking well what she’s talking about. “That doesn’t mean you’re not good enough.”
“And then the dance school cut me loose, and then Fred just…” She shivers.
“He’s a douchebag,” I growl. I don’t know what he did to her this time, what little assholery he cooked up to make her think so low of herself, but now I know what she’s been asking me ever since she came inside. “And I will show you. I’ll show you what you deserve. What a man should do for you. Because you’re so fucking beautiful, Manon, and you deserve the best. Give me one week to show you everything.”
Even if it breaks me to pieces when you’re feeling better and leave again.
***
I wake up some time in the early hours, stretched out on the sofa, a girl half-sprawled over me, smelling of sugar and vanilla, the bare skin of her shoulder soft under my hand.
It all comes back to me, bit by bit. Her appearance at my door last night, her tears, her request.
Manon.
Done it again, Seffers, boy.
She feels nothing for you. She’ll take what you give her and move on.
