Abby
“Stay in the lotus position. Close your eyes. Let all thoughts leave your mind and focus on your breathing,” the yoga instructor guides us.
Taking a deep breath through my nose I try to find the peaceful place my mind always wanders to when I do yoga. But it’s not happening this time.
When I close my eyes I find myself seeing his nakedness again and again. My pelvis area contracts like I’m having a cramp when I think of the way the muscles in his back, butt, and legs tensed. I shut my eyes tighter, hoping the image of his penis will be erased from my mind with the force of my eyelids, but no. My breathing picks up, the squeezing inside me intensifies and I want to go home to use my vibrator.
I’m aroused.
Oh my God! I’m so, so aroused because of a guy I hardly know.
This can’t be happening. I can’t have these thoughts. No. They’re not part of the plan.
Take a breath, Abby. Focus.
It’s not helping, but I still try to keep my breathing steady as I talk to myself.
Breathe. You’re a human being. You have needs and he’s the closest male to you. It’s all about pheromones and yours are in overdrive. Do your yoga, go home and have your release. Everything will be fine.
“Now we’re doing supported handstands, ladies,” Evi, the yoga instructor says this time. “Perfect, Angela. Keep your back straight, Elsa. Good.” I hear her criticize and help other students, but I’m hopeless today. It’s been my third attempt to do the pose I’m used to doing with such ease and I still can’t manage to focus my mind enough to straighten my legs. My body is off-balance because of the million thoughts running through my head which include mostly a very fine specimen of the male body, naked.
“Abby? Are you okay? Do you need help?” Evi touches my shins to help me lift my legs. With her help I manage the pose, but as soon as his smirking face and amused, teasing voice replay in my mind I fall back to the mat with a shaky breath.
“What’s wrong, Abby?” she asks. I don’t blame her curious and surprised expression since I’m her best student. Well, I was until today. There was never a time when I couldn’t manage any of the poses. I’m a natural and have been doing yoga since I was a kid.
“I… can I leave early today, Evi?” I ask. She’s the only teacher in the college that forces us to call her by her name only. I’m still not so comfortable with that, but I get used to it.
“Of course! It looks like there’s so many thoughts in your mind even yoga won’t help you today. Maybe you should try swimming? It always helps me,” she smiles, touching my arm briefly.
I clear my throat, not feeling comfortable with her familiar way and concerned look.
I nod and grab my things as I mutter a thank you and leave the yoga class without a second glance. I don’t like that people saw me preoccupied, but more than that I don’t like when they look at me like we are friends or they care. It makes me nervous.
I consider going to the pool, but I don’t want to swim right now. I know the water will remind me of his wet skin and the drops I watched as they licked their way down his spine, pronouncing each and every muscle on the way down. So instead I head to the bookstore, the only place where he won’t show up in my thoughts.
I work in a local bookstore that is owned by Jack, an old man who is a recovering alcoholic. When I first stepped into the place it was a mess, a heart-attack worthy chaos, I thought I was having either an anxiety attack or an asthma crisis. Jack and I haven’t gotten along well since that moment, because his and my idea of order was -- and still is, very different things. But he gave me the job nonetheless when he realized I would be able to get the place in shape. And I did.
Now, my heart soars when I walk into the store. Everything is in order; the books are shelved by their genre and their popularity. Everything is clean and spotless as I walk between the shelves and check if there are any messes left on the desks where students sometimes study. I put the books in their places and smile as I do that. The bookstore is my favorite spot in the entire world. It’s silent, filled with book scent and wherever I turn my head there’s a book that I could lose myself in.
Books are my second passion, the first one is medicine. I normally read non-fiction about medical stuff, but sometimes I read romance – hot and smutty romance that I’ll never admit to reading or never let anyone see me reading. That’s my secret. When I dare to dream of a life where I have friends, a man who loves me, a life where everything is perfect. But that’s just a dream. In real life, I don’t believe in those fake lives. I believe in the life and death I witness or learn about every day in my classes. I believe in order where I have control over my own life. And I believe in myself, not a friend or a man who I can rely on.
My thoughts go back to Coyer. The way he looked at me so intensely as I applied my insulin and I groan in frustration.
How can he find his way into my mind even when I’m surrounded by books? How can he be the only person my mind brings up when I think of relying on someone?
I shake my head. Coyer seems like the last person I could ever think of relying on. Whether he gives me a fluttery stomach or not.
Yes, I’m realistic and I’m going to stay that way.
My phone vibrates in my hand as I head to my cashier’s desk. I check the screen, the alarm is reminding me of my tutoring lesson with Levi.
Levi and I have only one common class and he’s so bad at it. Biology certainly isn’t his interest, football and girls are as I’ve gathered so far. He’s a football player in our college, one of the populars I have nothing to do with, but the dean has put me in a position where I have to tutor him a few days a week. He’s that bad. At first, I was so angry about having to tutor him even though it paid me well, but after a while my anger dissipated and I almost started to like him. Almost. He’s a strange guy. Good-looking for sure, popular, and rich too. He’s so close to one of those players I came to face in high school, but strangely he doesn’t rub me the wrong way. He finds a way to make me smile with his silliness and smiling doesn’t happen often.
“Is there a manual for a guy who is deeply attracted to a genius and very serious girl who doesn’t even spare the guy a second glance?” I hear someone ask me as I’m busy adding new books into our computer system.
Lifting my gaze I meet Levi’s smirking face.
“Hmm, let me check. I’m sure there must be a book about that in the fantasy section,” I say. A smile teasing my lips when he groans. “You’re early,” I tell him as I grab my textbook from under the desk.
“I have so much interest in biology lately, you know.” If I didn’t know him, I would believe him. I shake my head at him, but there’s a truth; he’s getting better. At least now he now knows where his organs are. When he first started the lessons his only knowledge began and ended with his penis.
We sit at a desk near the back of the library, in our usual seats, so we don’t bother anyone else while they try to study.
“I got a D for that fucking biology exam last week,” he announces, slouching on his chair.
“That’s better than F, but you know you still need a B at least.”
“I know, that’s why I’m sticking with you,” he says.
“And here I am, thinking you were attracted to me.”
“Oh fuck! I need to write this date down. She flirted back for the first time,” he says loudly and I have to silence him.
“Shh. Let’s start before you bother everyone in here.”
Music reaches my ears as soon as I step into the hallway of our apartment floor. Loud music. As I get closer to my door, the music gets louder and I get angrier.
What’s this music? Is he having a party?
I’m ready to punch him when I enter my apartment, but I’m stopped when I hear a crashing sound followed by a frustrated growl even over the music.
“Coyer?” I murmur, but I know he won’t be able to hear me.
I hear another crashing sound coming from his room. I quicken my step and open the door of his room without thinking.
First, I notice the chaos in the room. A canvas is sitting in front of the wall, torn in some places. His paint brushes are scattered around the floor, their colors leaving a stain on the hardwood. Then, my eyes find him. He’s sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. His knees are bent in front of him, his back is supported by the wall he’s leaning against and his paint covered hands are over his eyes.
“Coyer?” I whisper. I don’t know why I whisper, but my voice doesn’t come out louder when I see him like that -- troubled, vulnerable, and almost in pain.
I crouch next to him and touch his shoulder. He’s sweaty, his heat radiates through his body to mine from that single contact, but I ignore the strange tingling and whisper again. “Brant?”
He lets his hands fall to his knees. His eyes meet mine and I gasp. The raw emotions behind them knock me down with one gaze.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
He shakes his head, but answers me anyway. “I can’t paint.”
I want to laugh when I hear his response. All this mess is over that?!
I try to ignore the anger showing its face again from the stupid reason he gave me and I ask, “So? What’s the problem?”
He looks at me with an anger I haven’t seen before, but he covers it so quickly I’m not sure if I just made it up. “You don’t have empathy, do you?”
I swallow. His voice is soft and his question only signals curiosity, but I feel like he’s just slapped me. He’s right, though. I don’t have empathy. I don’t know how to put myself in another person’s place since I limit my human relationships to the bare minimum.
I’m trying to decide if I should answer him when he pulls me to his chest and hugs me tight. I’m surprised as a squeak escapes from my throat; but I don’t pull away as he starts to talk.
“Art is my passion, Abby. My paintings are what medicine is to you, maybe even more. Just think how you’d feel if you couldn’t save a patient. Okay, well. That’s a very extreme example. Instead think if you weren’t able to be as good as you wanted to be. What would you do?”
Focusing on his fast heartbeat I think of what he’s trying to ask and what my answer will be. Medicine is the thing that means the most to me and art is the same for him.
I push on his chest to pull away enough to look into his eyes.
“You want to know what I’d do if I wasn’t as good as I wanted to be?”
He nods.
“I’d work harder. Till I get even better than I wanted to be.”