THIRTEEN
AVOIDANCE
Present Day
New York City, New York
The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor
I snuggle into the warmth beside me.
Hmmm. Boy. Soft skin. Smells good.
Ethan?
An arm wraps around me and I snuggle further, reliving the memory of lips and tongue. It wakes me up from the inside, making me greedy for more.
I put my hand on his stomach. Feel the taut muscles there. So many muscles.
Wait. Too many muscles.
I trail down to his belly button.
“Sweetheart, if you go much lower we’re going to have to re-examine my sexuality, and I don’t think either of us is ready for that right now.”
I open my eyes. My roommate, Tristan, is lying next to me with one of Ethan’s journals open in his hand.
“You know, I always thought your stories about this guy were embellished out of hurt or bitterness, but reading this? It’s a wonder he could walk upright and talk at the same time. There’s some serious self-flagellation going on in here. Did he actually have his own whip? Or was it all just in his mind?”
I grab for the book, but he tightens his arm around me and holds it out of my reach.
“Nuh uh uh. I’ve been hearing about his antics for three years. I think I’ve earned a little peek inside his crazy. Of course, the important question is, where did you get these journals? Please tell me you didn’t steal them like a crazy stalker-lady.”
I rub my eyes. It’s too early for one of Tris’s interrogations. “He gave them to me.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“At rehearsal?”
“No.”
“Then where?”
“At his apartment.”
He pauses. “Uh-huh. So you went over there, picked these up, and left, right? No romantic contact? No reminiscing about how obsessed you are with his cock?”
“Tristan…”
He pulls back so he can glare at me. “No, don’t you Tristan me. You swore you were going to take things slow with this guy, and I get home this morning to find your sex-kitten underwear on the floor, loverboy’s journals on your nightstand, and scruff rash all over your face. Seems to me you’re determined to screw this up before you’ve even given it a chance.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Do I actually need to check if your pants are on fire, Miss Liar? Because it looks like your face has been exfoliated with a sandblaster.”
“Okay, nothing much. We kissed.”
“Just kissed?”
“And … humped against a wall.”
He exhales. “That’s not nothing.”
“It’s not sex.”
“It’s also not slow.”
I know he’s right, but admitting it is beyond me. “What do you want me to say, Tris? That it was stupid? It was. Do I know what the hell I’m doing with him? Absolutely not. Did I have highly pornographic dreams about him last night? Hell yes. Honest enough for you?”
I slump against his chest as he tightens his arm around me and rests his head against mine.
“Sweet girl, I’m not trying to be a dick here. I just don’t want this to go south again. I know he probably turns you inside out but if you go too fast, too soon, then you’re going to do exactly the same thing he did—freak out and bail. I’m pretty sure neither of you wants that, right?”
“No. But whenever I’m with him, all I can see is him, and that terrifies me. And when we’re apart, I think that maybe we’re better that way, and that also terrifies me.”
He rubs my arm. “Fear is natural in this situation, but the key is to not let it call the shots. Scared people either shut down and avoid the thing they fear, or get angry at it and lash out. The bad news for you and Ethan is that you’ve tried both of those options and neither has been successful. The ultimate tragedy is that ever since you met, you’ve been completely nutso in love with each other and wasted too much time being stubborn asses about denying it.”
I close my eyes, not liking how this conversation is tightening my chest. Tris sighs.
“If it’s any consolation,” he says quietly, “the one thing these journals prove is that he always loved you.”
I laugh. “Even when he was breaking my heart?”
“Yep. Even then. I mean, listen to this one from six years ago. ‘New Year’s Eve. I can barely function with so many thoughts of her running through my head. I feel like a crazy man. I keep thinking, “What if she could have fixed me?” If anyone could have, it would have been her. I’m dreading next year. It’s going to be a fucked-up charade of pretending I don’t want her. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. I could barely hold myself back when she texted me on Christmas day, and that was just a freaking message on my phone. How the hell am I going to resist her when she’s right in front of me? All sad eyes and trembling mouth and broken heart.
Part of me kind of hopes when I see her again, she’ll break down and beg me to be with her. If she did that, there’d be no way I could deny her. Please let her beg me. No, wait, don’t. Fuck. I hate this. I want to peel off my skin. Happy fucking New Year.’”
Hearing about his past turmoil isn’t helping my own, but somehow, knowing he was as miserable as I was is strangely satisfying.
Tristan turns the page. “And here are his New Year’s resolutions: ‘Stop thinking about Cassie. Stop dreaming about Cassie. Stop fantasizing about Cassie when I masturbate. Be kinder to my mom and sister. Try not to imagine smashing my father in the face every time he says something annoying. Run more. Drink less. Be a better person. For Cassie.’”
He puts the book down and looks at me. “You have to admit, despite his issues, the boy was totally crazy about you.”
“It doesn’t excuse what he did.”
“I don’t think he wants you to excuse him. I think he wants you to understand that he was confused.”
“And stupid.”
“Well, yeah, obviously stupid. I mean, you turn me on and I’m a bona-fide cock lover. I have no idea why that hot-blooded straight boy thought he could be anything but totally obsessed with you.”
He keeps flicking through the pages. I lie there and listen to his steady heartbeat as I try to sort through my feelings about Ethan.
“Tris?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think it’s possible that soul mates who love each other aren’t actually supposed to be together?”
He pauses, and then puts the book down. “I think a better question would be, do you think it’s possible?”
I don’t answer him, because if I admit that it’s crossed my mind, the small spark of hope inside me will sputter and die.