The Me That I Became

by Christopher Harlan

  I smile. It’s not a happy smile. It’s the kind you make when someone says something a little bit silly and you’re about to point it out to them. “Abby, I love you, but it’s always worse than you think it is. I tell you everything, but hearing about it and seeing it live are very different things.”

  “I trust you. If you feel like you needed pills, then I guess you needed pills. I just remember what happened last time is all.”

  Last time. What she’s referring to is a quack therapist I was seeing two years ago who was basically a medical drug dealer. Our ‘therapy’ sessions consisted of him spewing some positive self-help bullshit that I swear he read off the internet, followed by us talking about drugs. How are the meds? Still crying every day? Okay, we’ll increase by 25 milligrams. That was therapy. We just kept escalating the dosage of my meds and adding new pills, and three months into seeing the guy I was a complete zombie. I got just about every side effect they advertise on the side of the bottle, and some that they don’t. You name it—dry mouth, low sex drive, nausea, skin irritation, irritability, I got them all. Abby got to see me like that until her and my sister, Carla, forced me to stop seeing the guy. It took my body weeks to fully detox and get back to normal.

  “It’s not like that, I swear.” I’m trying to be reassuring because I know that Abby’s coming from a place of concern. “My therapist is a good one, not like last time. She’s very conservative when it comes to meds, and I’m only on one pill, at the lowest dosage possible, once a day, or as needed. I swear it’s not the same, don’t worry.”

  “Like I said, Lia, I trust you. I just get concerned.”

  “I know you do. That’s why I love you.”

  Coffee ends with me much more energized and Abby asking me to tell her all about the book club experience after it was over. I told her that I would, and now it’s evening and I’m headed over to Barnes & Noble. I never thought I’d say that sentence in my life. I’m not even that social. If it weren’t for the incredibly hot guy running the whole thing I wouldn’t be caught dead in a Friday night book club. I picture a bunch of old ladies sitting around reading books that I was supposed to read in high school, like Catcher in the Rye or To Kill a Mockingbird. Either that or it’s a room full of young, hot women, all in love with their gorgeous president. I guess I’ll see which it is.

  When I go inside I ask a random employee where the book club meets, and she directs me to the back. It’s in a small back corner of the place, a little removed from the children’s book section. I see about ten people sitting in a circle on folding chairs, each of them holding a copy of It. They look like a pretty eclectic mix of people—nothing like I was imagining before. There are young girls, old women, middle aged men, and one person who looks like a college student.

  I feel like I’m back in school, and I take my seat quietly, giant book in hand. Everyone’s page turning, like they’re studying before a quiz in math. I’m worried if I take my phone out someone may take it away from me and send me to detention. I take it out, but only to put it on silent, and after I click the little button on the side I feel his hand on me, his fingers pressing ever so firmly into the muscles in my shoulder. I don’t need to turn around, my body knows who it is. My body feels him with every fiber, and I have to use all of my self-control to not put my hand over his in front of everyone. “No cell phones, that’s a rule.”

  “Sorry, sir,” I joke, turning around to his handsome face looking down on me. “I’ll put it away right now.” Brandon looks hot dressed up. I guess you have to look the part when you’re book club president, and he wears it well.

  “Actually, keep it close to you, on your lap, just shut off the vibration,” he says.

  “Yes, sir.” I say for the second time, and he smiles.

  “I could get used to this.”

  “Me being in your book club?”

  He shakes his head. “You calling me sir.” We could arrange that, I think. And it’s the first really dirty thought I can remember having in a long time. It makes me happy to think dirty thoughts. He smiles at me one more time and then addresses the group. “Okay, everyone, so what did we think of It?”

  We end up going in a circle, one at a time, everyone giving their opinion about the story. By the time we get to me I feel like I have nothing original to say, but I do my best. “I loved it,” I begin. “The prologue gave me chills when Georgie gets pulled into the drain, but really what I really loved was the detail he gets into about the history of the town, and each individual kid’s story.”

  “The Loser’s Club,” Brandon interjects.

  “Yeah. I can relate to that. I think that’s why I like it so much. I could take or leave killer clowns, but the idea of messed up kids with parents who don’t get them—that really stuck with me while I was reading.”

  There are two more people left to give their opinions after me, but I notice that Brandon really focused in on what I had to say. I don’t know if that’s because he thought it was interesting or because he likes me. As the person next to me gives her two cents, my lap glows from the light of my phone.

  You look hot tonight, my screen reads. I reach down, trying to not to be too obvious and peck away at my keyboard.

  Are you saying I don’t always? Lol.

  A few seconds later I see the light again. You’re normally at a ten. Tonight, you’re a straight eleven. I can’t even listen to these people right now I’m so distracted.

  Bad president, I joke in my text.

  Well we already established that I. What are you doing after this?

  Nothing, I write back. What are you doing?

  We’re going back to your place. Or mine. Doesn’t matter to me. But there’s zero chance that you’re not coming home with me. I want you so badly right now that I’m ready to abdicate the book club throne and take you right here on the floor.

  Holy shit!

  The words on the screen turn me on so instantly that I don’t even have time to smile before I start to feel a tingle between my legs. He doesn’t seem like the type to make such a bold statement. I could reject him, or tell him to screw off, but he took a chance and told me exactly what he wants. I want the same thing. There are layers to Brandon, and I just found the one that turns me on the most—the one that takes charge. I look up from my phone and he’s already looking back at me, the intensity of his eyes making me ache for him. I look at my phone again, but only to check the time. It’s too early!

  My place, I write back. And I don’t want to wait.

  I see him smile when he reads my text. He writes back—Waiting can be fun. Just imagine all the things I’m going to do to you later on. This side of him turns me on so much I don’t think I can wait any longer. I know I have to, so I start to fantasize sitting right there in the middle of the book store. Uhh, I hate waiting!

  Eventually the book club ends, and Brandon puts on his presidential hat long enough to assign everyone in the group another two hundred pages of the book for next week before wishing everyone safe travels on their way home. I stay behind, of course, pretending to page through the book, when really, I’m still having the dirtiest thoughts ever. Brandon approaches me after the last member of the club walks away, and as he stands in front of me I notice how tall and imposing a figure he really is. He fills the space in front of me, and looks down at me in a way that makes me think I’m the only person in the whole building. I’m lost in his eyes.

  “So, what did you think?”

  “Best book club, ever,” I laugh. “But I’m sad it’s over, I was having such a good time.”

  “You’re a terrible liar,” Brandon jokes. It hits me in the face, even though he means it to be funny. Actually, I’m great at it. The fact that you don’t realize is evidence of that.

  “No, I mean it, just not because of the book.”

  “Oh, you know what I meant to ask you? What was it you were saying about being able to relate to being a screwed-up kid with parents who neglect you?”

  I let o
ut a deep sigh when he asks me that. I’m too focused on what he texted me after that to want to get into my family history right now. “Another time, I promise you.”

  “Alright. So. . . whatcha doing now?” he jokes.

  “You’re coming back to my place, remember?”

  “Right. I almost forgot.”

  “Now who’s the terrible liar, Mr. President?”

  Chapter Eight

  Brandon’s following me back to my place, and all I can think about is Joel.

  I have this irrational fear that he’s there, sitting on my couch, stewing over what a bitch I was to him, waiting to tell me all about it as soon as I walk in the front door. I know how dumb that is, but I can’t stop worrying about it. When we pull up in front of my place the irrational fears dissipate, and instead I start to worry about more rational things. During the times that I haven’t been with Brandon I haven’t been feeling my best, and I’m worried that some of my issues are going to find their way to the surface. Sleeping with someone for the first time can be stressful, and stress is a trigger for me. I take a deep breath, and pop one of my Dirty Little Secrets as he gets out of his car. I hope it helps.

  When we get inside my place my default reaction is to apologize, so that’s exactly what I do. Something drilled into me by an overbearing neat freak of a mom. “I’m sorry for the mess. I didn’t expect to have anyone over, I know it’s a disaster.”

  Brandon furrows his brow and scans the room before looking at me like I’m nuts. “I guess we have really different definitions of what a mess looks like. Thank God we didn’t go to my place.”

  I laugh and offer him a drink. I walk him over to my little makeshift bar and open the liquor cabinet. I haven’t drunk anything since I started taking my meds again—psychiatric meds and booze are a dangerous combo, so I offer him a drink without planning to have one myself. “What’s your poison?” I sound like bartender from an old black and white movie.

  “I’m not much of a drinker,” he says. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

  Shit. “So, water, then?” I laugh, and so does he.

  “No nightcap for you?”

  “Trying to lay off. Apparently drinking is bad for you. Who knew?”

  “I’ve never heard that in my life,” he says sarcastically.

  “Actually, I get really bad headaches and it’s just not worth the pain to experience an hour or two of feeling good.” Even though that’s not why I’m not drinking, it’s still kind of the truth. It’s better than, sorry, my psych meds have a warning on the side in big, block letters, warning me not to drink, otherwise I might act even crazier than I already do, Sorry Brandon.

  “Water sounds great, then.” I grab two bottles of Poland Spring and we head over to the couch. Brandon sits close enough to me to let me know he’s still interested, but not so close that he’s on top of me. “So,” he asks. “Rate your first book club experience on a scale of one to ten. Am I ever going to see you again?”

  “I was pleasantly surprised, to tell you the truth. I thought it was going to be like tenth grade English, but the people there seemed really cool, and I love the book so far. I can’t wait to read the rest.”

  “Why’d you agree to do it if you thought you’d hate it?” he asks.

  I shoot him a ‘duh’ look, but I see that he wants me to say the words. I don’t mind giving him what he wants. “Because of you,” I say, seductively. “Because I wanted to be around you.”

  When I say it, he stands up and takes my hand, pulling me up off the couch so that I’m standing in front of him again. My face feels empty without his hands, and when he puts them there I feel comforted—I feel complete. His lips come soon after, soft at first, pressing gently against mine. “I love kissing you, Talia.” His words turn me on as much as his touch, and my body starts to ignite at his touch. We keep kissing for another minute, but I’m ready for things to go to the next level.

  “I didn’t show you my bedroom, yet, did I?” I ask. He shakes his head. “I’m a bad host. Do you want to see it now?” After he nods we move our make-out session into my room. I get nervous as soon as we cross the threshold. I don’t know why. I assume it’s because I haven’t been with anyone except Joel in a long time. Suddenly I start to have doubts, like this is happening too close to my break up, like everything Joel thinks of me being selfish is correct. I hear his voice in my head, accusing me of being unfeeling and self-centered, and I pull back.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. A discussion of my ex-boyfriend and what the appropriate length of time between sex partners is would be the perfect bullet to the head of this moment we’re having, so I’m not sure how to answer him.

  “I’m just. . .”

  “Nervous?” he says, finishing my sentence as though he could read my mind. “Don’t worry, I am too.”

  “You are? About what? Have you seen yourself recently?”

  “Really. I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. I’m not sure what you think of me, but it’s been a really long time since I’ve been with a woman.”

  “Come on?” I say, not sure if he’s being really vulnerable and truthful with me, or feeding me some lines to get into my pants faster.

  “I’m being serious,” he says. “It’s been. . . longer than I care to admit. I know you think I’m this playboy or something because of how I look, but I have a lot of trouble talking to most women. I haven’t had many girlfriends, and I don’t sleep around.”

  Who is this guy? What universe does he come from? “I. . . I wouldn’t have guessed that. You seem like you’re pretty comfortable talking to women.”

  “Not to women,” he says, looking deeply into my eyes. “To you. I feel comfortable around you. That’s why I invited you back. That’s why I wanted to have lunch with you. That’s why I kissed you that day. But this isn’t a regular thing for me at all, so I understand if you’re nervous.”

  “It’s not nerves,” I tell him. “Not exactly.”

  “What, then?” Taking his hand, I sit down on the bed and pull him down next to me.

  “This is about the last thing you want to hear about right now.”

  “Try me.”

  “I’m not nervous about being with you. It’s not that. It’s just that it hasn’t been that long since I broke up with my ex-boyfriend, Joel. Like, not a lot of time at all.”

  “And you feel guilty?” he asks.

  “No,” I say. “It’s not guilt, not towards him, anyhow.”

  “Then towards who?”

  “I don’t know? Society? I’m not even sure, I know it’s dumb.”

  He squeezes my hand to reassure me. “It’s not dumb if it’s what you’re feeling. Just talk me through it. Are you and this guy broken up, fully? There’s no ambiguity? You’re not taking a break like Ross and Rachel, are you?”

  The Friends reference makes me smile. It’s one of my favorite shows to binge on Netflix. “We’re not on a break. He left me a goodbye note.”

  “Like a Dear John letter?”

  “Yes, but in reverse.”

  “Well,” he says. “That sounds pretty final to me. Do you still have feelings for him at all? Even a little bit?”

  “Absolutely not. And not for a while now. That’s kind of why we broke up, I wanted out and ended up pushing him away.”

  “Okay.” He nods his head up and down like he’s taking a class on my past relationships. I’ve got his total focus, and he’s not trying to twist my arm or plead his case, he’s just listening and interpreting what I’m giving him. He looks away and thinks for a few seconds before his next statement. “I know this is going to sound self-interested, obviously, but based on what you’re telling me I don’t see why you should feel bad. You don’t love the guy, he broke up with you, and now you’re here with me, where I assume you want to be.”

  “More than anything right now, Brandon.” It’s true. There’s literally nowhere else I want to be now but in his arms.

  “Then I don’t see
the problem. But I’m not inside that beautiful head of yours. If it’s forced, or the logic of the situation isn’t enough to make you feel better, then I can go. I’m not mad if that’s the case, and I’m not disappointed. We did just meet.”

  “Does that matter to you?” I ask, genuinely interested how he feels, even though there’s a very different standard for guys when it comes to this sort of thing.

  “It doesn’t, no. I’ve made enough mistakes in my life and felt enough pain to know when something is right. And this is right. You and I make sense. I don’t need to know much more than that.” He’s right. I’m being stupid, even though he’d never put it that way at all. I haven’t felt anything for Joel in a long time, even though we were still technically together, and I haven’t had sex with him—or anyone else—in months. I think maybe I’m overthinking this situation. We do make sense together. “If you want me to go I underst. . .”

  I grab his face and kiss him. I don’t need any more conversation. He gets the message. He kisses me back, passionately, and I feel his tongue inside my mouth right away, forcefully breaking through my lips as I claw at his shirt. I can feel his muscles through his clothing, and it turns me on. He saves me the trouble of clawing it off and takes it off himself. His body is ridiculous—even better than promised by the touch I just gave him. His chest is contoured, his arms defined and powerful, and I just sit on my knees, taking him in and running my hands up and down over the bumps in his chest.

  He reaches over and pulls my shirt off. This whole thing doesn’t feel like it’s really happening. I get insecure for a second because no one except Joel has seen me naked in a long time. Brandon sees it on my face—the momentary hesitation as he undresses me, and he stops to put me at ease. “You know I think you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, right?” Anyone else saying that would sound cheesy and insincere to my ears, but I know that he’s telling the truth. He speaks with such authority that I know he means every syllable he utters to me, and I believe him.