SELF-RESPECT
Jordan
“Wanna watch a movie?” I asked as I held the remote to the theater system and glanced over at Amy playing on her phone. I’d invited her over late at night, like I wanted something else from her, but I wasn’t my brother. “The booty call,” plan A, was a bust. She didn’t act like she thought this was a booty call. Almost as if she didn’t understand why I would text so late. And even worse, for a girl who was allegedly interested in me, she didn’t talk much. Or try to engage in any way.
I had a terrible feeling it was one of two things. Either I was her first “boyfriend” and she had no idea how to be around a guy, which would make my dad’s plan extra gross, or she was being forced to date me and pretend she was interested, which made no sense. Her parents had loads of money; they didn’t need my family. Unless connections were her dad’s goal, weaseling into one of the old families, in which case my dad’s was exactly that. His family invented blue blood.
“Movie?” I asked again when she didn’t lift her face from her phone.
“Sure, whatever you want to watch,” she muttered, and then made that weird selfie face she always did and took another photo, ensuring I was in the background.
“Whatever I want?” I lamented, and turned on Guy Ritchie’s Sherlock Holmes.
The lights dimmed, and the room took over, becoming the amazing theater Stephen and I’d had custom made for us.
Massive reclining captain’s chairs with footrests and cup holders, like at the movies, but with better sound and a screen that was to die for.
The movie came on, making Amy jump as she gave a deep sigh from having to lift her gaze from her phone. “I have to go to the bathroom. Don’t bother pausing.” She waved me off and left the room, leaving me in peace.
It was beautiful.
The opening scene was amazing.
I dug my hand into the warm buttered popcorn Lucia had told me to make myself, as she refused to do anything for me until I was single again and had regained her respect. She had worded it more directly than that. The words little bitch had been used as a descriptor.
But regardless of how I felt, the reality was that I couldn’t be the one to break up with Amy without a plan. I didn’t want to be the shame of my family, but I also didn’t want this.
Hence the reason I had started to implement Grandpa’s scheme. I wasn’t going to call or text Amy during normal business hours, and if she tried to get in touch with me, I would be indifferent and let her make the plans. Like tonight. I ignored her texts all day and then messaged back late at night and asked if she wanted to hang. I’d expected her to say no and be annoyed.
But the girl came over and then acted like she didn’t want to be here.
I chewed the popcorn aggressively, worried I was never getting rid of her, not without my dad hating me. Was being disowned the worst option?
The antithesis of mutual attraction came back a few minutes later, smiling like she was going to tell me something funny, but she didn’t. Whatever she was laughing about was private.
She slumped back in the chair, making noises and clearing her throat.
I paused the movie, giving her a look, the one I gave my brother frequently.
“Sorry.” She curled into herself and prepared for the movie to start again.
Sorry? Dear God. Why didn’t this girl ever get angry? Why didn’t she have emotions? Was she a robot?
I contemplated asking her for a blow job to prove why I’d really asked her over, but I worried she might say yes, and I’d have to close my eyes and pretend she was someone else. And I didn’t really want to be touched by her. That would make it actual prostitution and the end of my morals.
“I’m gonna go,” she said after a minute. “I just realized it’s almost midnight.” She got up and walked to the door.
“Bye.” I waved dismissively and started the movie back up before she was out of the room.
When the movie ended, I got up, sighing and defeated.
I was going to have to up my jerk game after this. Grandpa was right, and I had to start doing more than just ignoring her and calling only when it could be interpreted as a booty call. I had to be disinterested to the point that she felt ignored or realized we weren’t meant to be. I couldn’t be too mean or ghost her, otherwise her dad would get angry that I’d disrespected her. It was a delicate balance that needed to be held.
But if I didn’t end this nicely, I was going to be disowned by my father.
I wasn’t sure I wanted that, not yet. It was a big decision to never see one’s parents again, and I knew my dad wasn’t bluffing.
Sauntering up the stairs to my wing of the house, I caught my mom on the landing. She had the same expression on her face I imagined was on mine.
“Hi, sweetie. You going to bed?”
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“Did you have a nice visit with Amy?” She perked her eyes up, maybe searching a little harder than normal for the real answer.
“No. We watched a movie. She wasn’t into it.” I acted indifferent, or was indifferent.
I didn’t know how much heart Mom had left in her. Most of the time I wanted to pull her into my arms and ask if this life was what she really wanted. To be married to a narcissist who used her as the butt of jokes. Surely there was more out there for her than this.
Instead of stepping out of my shell and risking emotional vulnerability, I did my same song and dance.
“Night, Mom.” I kissed her cheek and hurried up the stairs.
Since it was only midnight, I could still get in a couple of chapters of Swan Song, the novel I was addicted to.