that I insisted on taking the bus.
“It’s just a waste of time,” he said. I heard him tapping computer keys. Multitasking again.
“I have nothing else to do. And I like the bus. It reminds me of when I was a kid.”
“Were you this worried about tainting conversations when you were a kid?”
“My spankings weren’t undertaken so willingly back then.”
He sighed and let it go.
Darren and I sat with our bags between our feet. He got up for women with children twice during the hour-and-a-quarter long ride. By the time we got to Sepulveda, the crowd had thinned, and he and I had stopped the seat-flip.
“Did you tell Kevin you wouldn’t be on the flight?” he asked.
“Texted him.”
“He told me his side of what happened the other night.”
I shook my head. “I bet he did.”
“Really, Monica, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I think you should give Kevin another chance.”
I twisted around to look at him. “Are you serious? Is your mind totally poisoned?”
“He’s not the same.”
“No, he’s worse. Let me ask you something: Were you the one who told him about me and Jonathan? Maybe you mentioned the bruises on my wrists?”
Darren pursed his lips and looked down. “He had an idea already. Geraldine Stark spent a couple of nights with Drazen and came back with some stories. To Kev, it was like a lightning bolt.”
Geraldine fucking Stark. Of course. The artist who put the trompe l’oeil on the side of Kevin’s building had to have been with Jonathan. She told Kevin, probably post-coital, and then Kevin went ahead and told Darren. Together, they’d strategized how to get us back together.
“It bothers me that we worked together so many hours at a stretch to make this thing, and the whole time, you and Kevin are planning a reconciliation I don’t want.”
“What do you want?”
“Right now? To be left alone by anyone with a dick. You’re all trouble. I want to never again hear who Jonathan fucked before I met him. Even if it was the first lady or Brad Pitt, I don’t want to know.”
“Why not?” His tone was confrontational, as if he was daring me to give him the truth.
“You know God damn well everything about this hurts. So stop being a prick.” I turned toward the window, shutting out further argument. We travelled in the fold of time between day and night, when headlights got turned on and the streetlights went from dead cold to humming half light.
“Did you open the envelope I left?” he asked.
“No, did you?”
“No. Is it still in the house?”
I turned away from the window to reengage our conversation. “I left it at your place.”
“Not even curious?”
“It’s probably a family tree.”
“Then why not open it?”
“I haven’t had time.” I could see, from his expression, he didn’t believe me. “I need to talk to him. And I need it to be clean. About us. No external shit. If there’s nothing in there, it’s nothing. If it’s external shit, then it’s not fair for me to know it.”
His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt naked. “You want him back.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Fuck. You want him.” He shook his head in a way that indicated nothing less than disappointment and shame.
“What? Is that a problem for you?”
“I should have driven up.”
“Are we back on the whore thing?”
“Don’t hit me again!” He covered his cheeks with his hands. “Please. My manhood couldn’t take it.”
Despite the fact that I wanted to belt him, or yell at him, or even shut down and go ice cold, I laughed.
He smiled and said, “Can you tell me, do you think this is you liking to get tied up? Or are you doing it because he likes it?”
The woman in the seat in front of us turned her head a little, and I shot her a look. She had a baby on her lap and a hemp sling over her shoulders.
“Both,” I said, looking straight at her because fuck her. I was ashamed and horrified, and that made me feel hostile. She turned away.
“It’s just a waste of time,” he said. I heard him tapping computer keys. Multitasking again.
“I have nothing else to do. And I like the bus. It reminds me of when I was a kid.”
“Were you this worried about tainting conversations when you were a kid?”
“My spankings weren’t undertaken so willingly back then.”
He sighed and let it go.
Darren and I sat with our bags between our feet. He got up for women with children twice during the hour-and-a-quarter long ride. By the time we got to Sepulveda, the crowd had thinned, and he and I had stopped the seat-flip.
“Did you tell Kevin you wouldn’t be on the flight?” he asked.
“Texted him.”
“He told me his side of what happened the other night.”
I shook my head. “I bet he did.”
“Really, Monica, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I think you should give Kevin another chance.”
I twisted around to look at him. “Are you serious? Is your mind totally poisoned?”
“He’s not the same.”
“No, he’s worse. Let me ask you something: Were you the one who told him about me and Jonathan? Maybe you mentioned the bruises on my wrists?”
Darren pursed his lips and looked down. “He had an idea already. Geraldine Stark spent a couple of nights with Drazen and came back with some stories. To Kev, it was like a lightning bolt.”
Geraldine fucking Stark. Of course. The artist who put the trompe l’oeil on the side of Kevin’s building had to have been with Jonathan. She told Kevin, probably post-coital, and then Kevin went ahead and told Darren. Together, they’d strategized how to get us back together.
“It bothers me that we worked together so many hours at a stretch to make this thing, and the whole time, you and Kevin are planning a reconciliation I don’t want.”
“What do you want?”
“Right now? To be left alone by anyone with a dick. You’re all trouble. I want to never again hear who Jonathan fucked before I met him. Even if it was the first lady or Brad Pitt, I don’t want to know.”
“Why not?” His tone was confrontational, as if he was daring me to give him the truth.
“You know God damn well everything about this hurts. So stop being a prick.” I turned toward the window, shutting out further argument. We travelled in the fold of time between day and night, when headlights got turned on and the streetlights went from dead cold to humming half light.
“Did you open the envelope I left?” he asked.
“No, did you?”
“No. Is it still in the house?”
I turned away from the window to reengage our conversation. “I left it at your place.”
“Not even curious?”
“It’s probably a family tree.”
“Then why not open it?”
“I haven’t had time.” I could see, from his expression, he didn’t believe me. “I need to talk to him. And I need it to be clean. About us. No external shit. If there’s nothing in there, it’s nothing. If it’s external shit, then it’s not fair for me to know it.”
His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt naked. “You want him back.”
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Fuck. You want him.” He shook his head in a way that indicated nothing less than disappointment and shame.
“What? Is that a problem for you?”
“I should have driven up.”
“Are we back on the whore thing?”
“Don’t hit me again!” He covered his cheeks with his hands. “Please. My manhood couldn’t take it.”
Despite the fact that I wanted to belt him, or yell at him, or even shut down and go ice cold, I laughed.
He smiled and said, “Can you tell me, do you think this is you liking to get tied up? Or are you doing it because he likes it?”
The woman in the seat in front of us turned her head a little, and I shot her a look. She had a baby on her lap and a hemp sling over her shoulders.
“Both,” I said, looking straight at her because fuck her. I was ashamed and horrified, and that made me feel hostile. She turned away.
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