Friends Without Benefits

His lovely words coming from his lovely mouth said with his lovely voice made my insides melt to mush.

Maybe just a little longer, a traitorous voice, that sounded nothing like me, pleaded from behind the curtain of my subconscious. The entreaty had the opposite of its intended effect.

I stood taller by straightening my back. Picked a make-believe piece of lint from my jeans, and cleared my throat. I would prove to him that he didn’t know me at all.

“I use people.”

His confident smile slipped. He frowned. “What?”

“I use men.”

“What do you mean, you use men?”

I shrugged, but my heart was galloping, and I felt abruptly nauseous, “I use men for sex. I pick a guy, have sex with him, and when I’m done I toss him aside.”

I know I sounded heartless, I know I sounded cold, but I did so purposefully. In order to save his heart he needed to understand that mine no longer functioned, that after losing my mom, after losing Garrett, I wasn't interested in loving or being loved by anyone. I endeavored to hurt him a little now because I refused to prolong his hope.

Nico straightened, re-crossed his arms over his chest. “Explain.”

“Okay, then. I’ll spell it out: I pretend to like a guy and use him for sex. When I get tired of ha**ng s*x with him, and I always do, I stop returning his phone calls and blow him off.” When I finished I noted that my stomach hurt.

Nico’s eyes moved over me in plain assessment, his frown became more severe. “You haven’t. . .” He shook his head. “When was the last time you dated someone you actually liked?”

“Garrett.” I didn’t hesitate, my response was immediate. He flinched. My hands were cold and clammy.

“Jesus.” He sighed. However, instead of appearing disgusted by my proclamation, his gaze softened. He shifted closer. “I wish you would’ve—we could have—”

“Haven’t you been listening? I’m trying to be honest with you. I’m not looking for love, I’m not even capable of it. I’m completely toxic. I’m a user. I have no interest in having a relationship. I have no interest in men other than using them to play hide the salami. So, see me, Nico. See me for who I am and not who you want me to be.” I grimaced, annoyed by the lingering look of sympathy he was casting in my direction. I rubbed my forehead with damp and shaking hands. “Forget it.”

I moved to the door and unlocked it. I was unrepentant in my honesty, but in that moment I recognized that a big part of me wished things could be different, wished I were different. He crossed to my position and held the door shut. I tried yanking the handle, but he was too strong. After several fruitless attempts I smacked the door with my palm—a childish display of frustration—and turned my flashing blue eyes to his now stoic face.

“What?” I spat; feigning anger was really the only thing keeping me from bursting into tears. “Don’t like what you see? What is it going to take for you to let me out of here?”

His eye searched mine, his face like granite. He was still frowning. Nico opened his mouth as though he were going to say something, but, ultimately, he moved his hand from the door and stepped out of my way.

I tried to make my face rigid, severe, and acrimonious as I tugged open the door. “I did warn you.”

I searched his expression for the judgment I hoped would be there and still found only pity. His pity dually pissed me off and sparked my mortification. Gritting my teeth, I walked past him, out the door, and into the dining room, into the crowd of Manganiellos—where everyone looked like him, talked like him, and laughed like him.

I couldn’t wait to leave.

Chapter 10

Undefinable emotion casts the next several moments a fog of gray grumpiness. Sandra, after one look at my expression, made excuses for our hasty departure. I said nothing. I allowed her to steer me through the crowd of Manganiellos with a plastic smile pasted on my features.

Just as we were nearing the front door Nico shuffled into the dining room looking like a kicked puppy. I blinked against stinging moisture as the beginnings of an inexplicable epic cry fest forced my chin to wobble. I clenched my teeth, bit my tongue to hold back the deluge.

Sandra led me to the car. Rose followed us out.

I could tell Rose was disappointed, but I couldn’t think clearly enough at that point to pacify Nico’s mother. I promised, with a head nod, that I would visit the next time I was in town.

We drove in silence for several minutes, my hands opening a closing on the steering wheel. They were still shaking. I wasn’t paying much attention to where we were going. When I ran a Stop sign Sandra made me pull over so she could drive. As soon as my passenger-side seatbelt clicked into place the tears started to flow.

It was a messy cry. A snorting, snotty, sobbing cry. It felt like someone was trying to pull my lungs and stomach from my body. And, damn it all, I wasn’t sure why I was crying, which only made me cry more.

Sandra, bless her, drove in circles until I was ready to give directions to the interstate.

“Oh, Elizabeth,” she sighed, reached for my hand as we climbed the ramp to I-80. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I hiccupped. “I don’t know why I’m so upset.”

Sandra cast me a sideways glance and offered a small smile. “Let me know if you want to talk through it.”

I nodded and pulled tissue from the glove compartment. I didn’t want to talk about it, not with Sandra. Maybe not with anyone. I just wanted to forget the last twenty-four hours.

That would be my plan A.

But, try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking about Nico and his expression when I told him how I’d used guys. This recollection caused new tears. I kept seeing his eyes, how they changed from worshipful to pitying, and for several moments I really felt like I was going to be sick.

Miles of empty cornfields passed by in a blur, and I tried to console myself. I silently repeated that I’d done the right thing. I’d been honest with him. It was in his best interest that I dispel any residual delusions about me.

I would only disappoint him.

We continued in this way until my eyes stopped leaking. She didn’t push me for details about what happened in the bathroom, and she voluntarily turned on the Backstreet Boys as driving music.

I knew she felt bad. At some point I would need to knit her something nice to prove I wasn’t upset with her. I really wasn’t upset with her. I understood her motives and part of me, the part of me I was trying really hard to disregard, was quite euphoric to have kissed Nico.

The rest of me was gorging itself on pity party pie.

I didn’t consider myself broken, because I wasn’t broken. I was merely content to be shallow, and I actually really hated that about myself. But Nico would never want to touch me again now that he knew, now that he understood what I was like. He deserved better.

As my breathing normalized I found myself touching my lips, remembering, daydreaming. Sandra was kind enough to disregard my wistful sighs. Instead she made jokes about the apocalypse and finally having a chance to see the World’s Largest Truck Stop as we neared the state line.

The actual apocalypse occurred as we were on the exit ramp.

My cell phone rang. I glanced at the number. I made a face. “Ugh. It’s Meg.” My voice was still nasally and thick. I had a cry headache.

Sandra made a face that mirrored mine. “I like that you call her Megalomaniac Meg. The description fits her like a pair of bike shorts.”

I smirked my agreement and rejected the call.

My cell phone rang again. I glanced at the number. I made a face. “Ugh. It’s Meg again.” I rejected the call.

Sandra laughed. “She thinks you two are besties.”

I tried to chuckle, sighed, sniffled. “Nah. She knows what’s up. She’s my nemesis. We’re on the same page.”

My cell phone rang again. I glanced at the number. I frowned. “What? It’s Meg. Again.”

“Do you want me to answer it? I could tell her you’re in the bathroom and seem to have a nasty case of gastroenteritis.” We pulled into the Truck Stop parking lot. Like the rest of the World’s Largest Truck Stop, the parking lot was truly massive.

“Yes, please, if you don’t mind. I don’t particularly wish to speak with her right now.”

Once we parked Sandra slid her thumb across the touch screen and brought the phone to her ear. “Elizabeth’s cell phone answering service, this is Sandra. How may I direct your call?”

Almost immediately Sandra held the phone away from her ear; Meg’s indecipherable screeching filled the car.

“Ah, take it off speakerphone.” I winced and covered my ears.

“It isn’t on speakerphone. She’s banshee screaming.”

I took the phone from Sandra and held it a safe distance from my ear, yelled into the receiver. “Meg. You have to stop screaming—what is the problem? I can’t understand you.”

“Oh my god! Elizabeth Finney—you are in so much trouble! Why didn’t you tell me you had a child with Nico Moretti!?”

I held the phone away from my ear and in front of me. I stared at the screen. The sound of Meg’s continued expletives blasted from the small device. I stared at it. I just stared at it. I couldn’t think.