His heart in his words and his breath on my cheek and his goddamn sincerity…it’s all just too much.
“I didn’t mean for things to go this far.” This is what I say in response. This, the only truth I can give him. “You’re sunshine, Ford. And I’m the opposite. I’m the dark. I’m blacker than black. The long night that comes after the night. I’m the night that never ends.”
“Maybe,” he whispers, “I like the dark.”
No, Ford, I want to say. You like the sex. You like the uninhibited way we play and fuck, the seemingly confident way I don’t give a damn because this is all just a game, only a game, and you were never meant to be a permanent player.
We’re a deadly fit, the two of us. I’m fractured and jaded. And Ford, in all his sweet purity, wants to fix me. But I’m not some broken piece of pottery that needs to be molded back together. I like my cracks; they keep me sharp.
Ford’s light turns my dark into a gray murky mess, and the more I’m with him, the harder it is to be certain about anything anymore.
But I keep my mouth shut, and soon Ford’s breaths even out, become shallow, and somewhere deep inside of me, I know what I need to do. What I should have done a long time ago.
The hours pass, and I fight off sleep, determined to savor this moment for as long as I can. The familiar weight of his arms, the heat of his body pressed against mine…close, so close…and his smell, fresh and earthy, like the forest on a rainy day.
I stay awake and soak it up, every bit of it. And all the while, the night pushes back, right back, doing its best to swallow me whole.
“Hollis really wants to meet you.”
I freeze, fingers tightening around the curling iron. My eyes catch Marla’s in the mirror – wide, expectant – and quickly flutter away. Turning my attention back to her hair, I section off a chunk and wrap it around the hot barrel. “Really?”
She nods, then winces when the movement causes the hair wrapped in the iron to tug against her scalp. “Yeah. He’s been talking about you a lot lately, wondering when I’m going to invite you over.”
“Cool,” I say, though I’m anything but. “I’d love to hang with your husband.”
It’s not a lie.
Luring Marla over to my place for drinks and makeovers before the concert tonight wasn’t ideal. Not with my nasty neighbor lurking so close by. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of Randall since he left here last week, tail tucked between his legs. But out of sight has always been his game, so the fact that I can’t actually see him doesn’t mean shit. Meshing my fake life with my real one has already come back to bite me in the ass once, and the last thing I need is another incident, another near miss. But as this is Marla, vanilla Marla, frumpy Marla, I see no reason that her presence here should raise any red flags. I’m simply a woman spending time with a friend, doing what friends do – drinking and primping and gossiping before heading out for the evening. And really, I had no choice. Because tonight, I need her looking hot, so hot, out-of-this-world hot. The sort of hotness that she’d never be able to pull off without my help.
“Maybe we could go on a double date, or something. You and Ford, me and Hollis.” She reaches for her wineglass and takes a sip, doing her best not to move her head. “You know, I really like your boyfriend. He’s so good with Belle, don’t you think?”
Remembering how Ford was with the kid last week – the way he jumped into a princess brunch with such unbridled enthusiasm – warms my heart, makes my chest swell. Not many men would do what he did, that’s for sure. Nicholas wouldn’t be caught dead in a tiara, even if it was for the amusement of his own child.
Then again, we don’t have children. We’ll never have children, so it’s a moot fucking goddamn fucking point.
Smoke starts to drift from the curling iron.
“He’d be such a great dad. I mean, the way a man interacts with a child tells so much about his personality. For example, one of the kids I worked with last year was really struggling, but his dad…”
I listen, listen to her stupid prattle. And as I do, the warmth coursing through me freezes instantly, turning my entire body cold, as cold as death, and I’m nothing but a barren landscape, where nothing grows, nothing thrives…nothing survives.
And nothing can change that. Not even Hollis.
I give the curling iron a tug, feign a shocked “Sorry!” when she yelps.
Feeling slightly better, I unwrap the chunk of hair and watch as it spirals down in a long coil, joining the other curls. She’ll probably have a few fried ends after tonight, but who fucking cares? Using my fingers, I run them along her scalp, fluffing the roots, my actions stiff and quick. Because what I really want to do is scratch the skin right off her head, pull her hair out by the roots. Maybe squeeze her head like a melon, watch it pop like a jelly-filled balloon.
But Marla doesn’t notice my tension, because alcohol makes Marla chatty, and as this is her second glass of wine, she’s really on a roll. She wants to talk about kids and the future, kids and the future…kids and the fucking future.
“I know you two haven’t been together long, but you know when you know, right? With Hollis, I knew right away. Like, pretty much after our first date.” She takes a deep breath, her exhale ending in a giggle as she recalls a memory that I’m not privy to. “Anyway, do you think you and Ford will, you know, get married? Have kids, do the whole shebang?”
Her question is more than words, more than rhythmic vibrations that float through the air and tickle my ear drums. Rather, it hits like a punch, exploding into a kaleidoscope of images filled with so much emotion it makes me ache. All over I ache, so thoroughly and deeply, the pain surpassing my muscles, my bones, my nerves, and seeping right into the very thick of my soul. Which is weird, because if, deep down, we truly are made up of nothing but ethereal junk, then how can we hurt like this? Experience such intense suffering that it extends beyond our physical senses?
So this spectral pain, this twist in my gut? It can’t be real. Can’t be caused by something that stemmed solely from my mind’s eye.
And yet, my jaw clenches. My entire body feels heavy, burdened by grief I don’t even understand. My eyes grow hot, grow wet, and I find that I’m losing myself entirely, mourning a life I don’t have, will never have.
The scenes flash like they’re on an old film projector, cutting almost as quickly as they start. Ford and me together, together and getting married on our wild beach. And there’s love, so much love, true love, the kind of love that’s worth more than money, more than stuff and security and image. Then, another flash, and it’s the two of us in a delivery room, and I’m greasy with sweat and ripe with pain. But I’m smiling, smiling because the pleasure outmatches the discomfort, and my life is about to change, change forever…
“Becky?”
Marla’s voice snaps me out of my reverie. “No,” I say, my voice clipped. “No, I don’t think we will.” Stepping back, I tuck my fingers into my palms, fight the urge to shove her forehead into the mirror. Because that’s not something one friend would do to another, right? I’ve never had a real friend before, but I know that much.