Storm

I text Michael.

Me: I feel like shit. Going to rest all day. Miss you

Michael: K. In a meeting. Feel better. Call me later. MY2

I stare at my lie on the tiny screen. I don’t miss him. This fact sinks into me slowly and then spreads from my mind all the way down to my heart, then plunges deeply into my stomach like a heavy rock.

I get up and go upstairs to wash up in my bathroom and put clean clothes on. I look a mess—red nose, watery eyes, clammy skin. Just great. I go back downstairs with Halo hot on my heels and fill his little dishes with food and fresh water.

“You should be resting. Get back on the couch.” I’m both relieved and disappointed he’s fully clothed now in jeans and t-shirt.

“You have to go now,” I tell him. “Thank you for everything, but I’m okay.”

He leans against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms defiantly. “When is Michael coming back?”

“Sunday.”

“Then I’m staying until Saturday night.”

“No. You can’t.” I head back to the couch because I’m feeling dizzy again, but he follows me just like a cat.

“I’m not leaving you alone when you’re sick. It’s not cool.”

“Storm, I’m not a baby. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.” I lie on the couch and pull my blanket up over me.

“Then it’s time you give someone else a turn. Look, next month I go on tour and it’s going to be fucking chaotic. I like hanging out with you. We can watch movies and eat ice cream. We’ll take naps like we did in the truck.”

I swear, I think he wants to be back trapped in his truck. Maybe in a way, I do, too. As much as we annoyed each other, I liked our little bubble of us.

“Come on...” he begs, giving me his sad puppy eyes.

I really don’t want him to go. Partly because I hate being alone when I don’t feel well, and partly because I kind of like having him around, and I’m not really ready to never see him again or give up whatever it is we are.

I finally give in. “All right, but I have some rules. No more touching or inappropriate behavior. Okay? I have a boyfriend and you need to respect that. I’m not a slut, and I don’t like you trying to turn me into one.”

He looks visibly insulted. “Evelyn, I would never, ever, want you to be a slut. Unless you’re my slut.” He quirks his eyebrow up.

“Good. I’m going to ignore that last part. And no more picking locks. That is seriously creepy, not to mention illegal.”

“I was worried about you.”

“Whatever. No more of that. You can’t just do whatever you want. There are certain boundaries, okay? I would like us to be friends. Real friends. I will not be some toy for you when you’re bored, though. So if that’s your plan, you can just leave.”

“I don’t get bored.” He deadpans. “And I have enough toys.”

“Good, then we shouldn’t have any issues.”

He lifts my feet off the couch, sits where they were, and then puts my feet on top of his legs.

“You can sit over there in the chair, ya know. Or on the loveseat.” I motion over to the other furniture in the room that is currently unoccupied by a sniveling person.

“I’m fine here.”

Unwrapping a cough drop, I shrug at him and pop it into my mouth.

“Why don’t you want me?” he blurts out, as if he can’t even fathom it. I laugh at the sheer audacity of his question, but he doesn’t laugh or smile at all. He waits for me to stop giggling much like a parent waits for a child to stop acting like an idiot so they can continue being serious.

I force myself to stop laughing. “Excuse me?”

He says it slower this time, like maybe I didn’t understand it the first time. “Why don’t you want me?”

“Storm, are you really this used to women just throwing themselves at you? Am I really the first woman who hasn’t come running to you, tongue wagging, legs spread?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hurt your amazingly large ego and obvious world record.”

“Evelyn, I’m serious. Just tell me why.” He’s still not laughing.

“I... okay, I’ll be serious.” I struggle to find the words to explain to him what I feel, but how can I do that when I don’t even understand it myself? “I hated you at first. I thought you were really strange and pretty much an asshole. But now, I like you. I want us to be friends. You make me laugh and you make me feel safe. I like the attention you give me, I guess. And yes, I’m attracted to you. I mean, look at you. But I have a boyfriend. I have never been a cheater. And you... like you said, you don’t do relationships. You have your fuckbuddies. I think you like that I’m a bit of a conquest for you. I just don’t want to be that. I don’t want to be some sort of fun challenge for you, so you can see how far you can push me and how much you can fuck with my head and my body before I give in and sleep with you, and then you move on, leaving me a huge mess.”

“Why do you make it all sound so bad? What’s wrong with setting your sights on something or someone that’s a bit out of reach?”

“Nothing, if that’s what two people are into. What I’m trying to say is I don’t want to be part of that. It’s not me. Yes, I’m attracted to you if that makes you feel better. You seem to need to hear it. But I really don’t believe you’re attracted to me. Look at me, I’m like five feet tall with hardly any boobs, pale skin, I’ve been a mess since the day we met. I am not the super model you are used to.”

He squeezes my foot. “Evelyn, I am attracted to you. I think you’re fucking adorable. I’m sick of girls like that—”

“See?” I interrupt. “You’re bored. You want something new.”

He runs his hand through his hair, exasperated. “Why do you make things so hard? I don’t sit around and analyze my feelings. I just go after what I want. I think you’re miserable with Michael. He seems to treat you like fucking shit.”

“That doesn’t mean I should jump into bed with you!”

“I know that. Did you ever think you’re just wasting time with him?”

“No.”

“Do you really think if I just wanted to fuck you and leave you, I’d be here taking care of you?”

“No... at least, I hope not. And I appreciate that you’re taking care of me, but I’m not going to fuck you in return.”

“That’s not what I want, Evie. I think you know that much. You can’t deny there’s something between us, right? Am I the only one who feels a connection here?”

I stare at the wall behind him. I don’t want to answer this.

“Right?” he pushes.

“Yes, there is something.”

“There is. I don’t know what it is either. This is new for me too, ya know. You think I do this shit?” He waves his hand at me and at my glass of orange stuff. “I’m just following what I feel and seeing where it takes me. I think you should do the same. Stop putting walls up.”

“Really? And what about my boyfriend? Of twelve years?”

He pulls out his little e-cig and starts puffing on it. “I don’t fucking know, Evelyn. But after twelve years, and here you are sick and he doesn’t give a rat’s ass, I think I’d be taking a good hard look at this.” He takes a long drag on his e-cig. “I like you, you’re different. I like how you make me feel. I love how shy but feisty you are. I want to fuck you stupid and watch you come undone and then fuck you back together again.”

My thighs start to burn. Yes. Do that. Whatever that is.

“Well, that’s romantic, Storm. And therein is why I would never be with someone like you. I don’t want to be with some pig who just goes around randomly fucking girls with no regard to their commitment and values. That’s why God made sluts—so men like you can have something to keep their feeble little one track minds happy because they’re too shallow to have real relationships.”

Oops. He looks really pissed. He’s shaking his head at me in disbelief. “Wow, Evie. I thought you kind of knew me a little fucking bit, or at least could see that I treat you different, and I was hoping we could figure out the fucking reason for that. Together. But fuck it.” He pushes my feet off and stands up. He points his finger from me to himself and back again. “This is why I don’t have relationships. This fucking bullshit right here.”

“I’m already in a relationship, Storm,” I remind him. My voice is strained from talking too much and coughing. Or maybe it’s because I’m about to cry because seeing him mad and upset is slowly chipping away at my heart.

He grabs his leather jacket off the chair and pulls it on. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

The minute he leaves, I burst into tears. He has my head so confused. I don’t even understand what just happened or what he was trying to say, or why I even care. My words came out so much worse than I wanted them to and made me seem like a total bitch. I just feel so sick and confused! I am in no position right now to be making decisions or thinking about where I stand with people. Can’t he see that?

My phone rings and I answer it quickly. Maybe he’s calling to say he’s coming back.

“Hello?”

“Wow, you sound even worse than yesterday.” Michael. Dammit.

“I know... I feel like crap. How are your meetings going?”

“Good, everything is good. You better get some rest. You can call me later if you want, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, I think so.” No... He just left because I called him a pig.

“Okay, hon. I hope you feel better soon. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Ugh. I’m not sure what Storm has done to me, but he’s got himself so embedded into me right now. I hate it. My life was normal before he came into it. I was happy and content, going through my day-to-day routine. I thought Michael and I were happy. I didn’t know I was missing out on so much feeling. I don’t even know how else to describe it. How can everything I feel and want change in just a week?