Psycho Bitch: A Love Story

  "To the best of my knowledge, you've been brutally honest with me. No, you haven't always been polite, but your break up really isn't any of my business and I should have stayed out of it."

  He picked at his silverware as if he didn't know what to do with his hands.

  "Besides, I missed talking with you. There were no hard feelings. I'm just glad you came back. So, no olive branches are necessary."

  I was floored. I had no idea how to respond. I had pulled no punches, been rude, and yes, brutally honest with the man and he said he liked me.

  My eyes burned and I felt my skin grow tight. I was going to lose it. Just as I was about to hurl myself toward the bathroom, our waiter returned with our food. I bit down hard on my tongue to bring myself under control. Two steaming aromatic plates were set before us.

  "Can I get you anything else?"

  We both declined and sent him on his way. The food was a welcome distraction especially as I wasn't at all certain how to respond.

  "What exactly do you have me eating?" Henry asked, his head cocked as he eyed his plate.

  Feeling on more certain footing, I said, "That, my British friend, is dry-aged Angus beef with caramelized onions, Havarti cheese, spicy mayonnaise, and, of course, lettuce and tomato. In other words, it's a gourmet cheeseburger. And," I popped a sweet potato fry into my mouth, "It's awesome. You can't ask for a better introduction to the most American of American foods -- the burger."

  The singer had moved onto Ella Fitzgerald and was belting out a velvety version of "At Last." Something I found apropos as Henry took his first bite. I waited, not touching my own food, cataloging his every reaction. A mix of emotions crossed his face: skepticism, surprise, and, finally, pleasure. I grinned.

  "Good, huh?"

  "Good?" He scoffed, "Bollocks. That's wonderful."

  My grin deepened. I toasted him with a fry before digging into my own food. It was as good as I remembered. A warm little glow spread inside me as I watched Henry eat.

  Neither of us spoke much. Henry continued to compliment the food and the singer launched into a haunting rendition of "I Fall to Pieces." The lyrics brought me back to my near meltdown earlier. It wasn't my way to be so uncontrolled, so vulnerable. I wasn't sure how to handle it and I damn sure didn't like it.

  Once again, I was floundering. I didn't know what this was between me and Henry. I usually know immediately what a guy is trying to get from me. Most often it's sex, other times favors, but the negotiation was clear. I set the terms and decided what I was, or was not, going to do.

  With Henry, I had no clue. I couldn't read him. He rebuffed my artifice and welcomed my honesty regardless of its brutality. I was used to the opposite, to having to play a role and fit a mold.

  I was out of my element in a big way. Making matters worse, I had no filter with him. I told him things and exposed myself in ways I didn't understand. It frightened me. Life would be easier if he just wanted to screw me.

  "Care to share?"

  "Hmm?" I polished off the last of my burger and raised an eyebrow, hoping I hadn't heard him right.

  "You're either having a mental conversation or you're conducting our singer quite poorly." He gestured to the fry in my hand.

  Flustered, I dropped it on the plate and took a sip of my lemonade.

  "Talk to me, Charlotte. I won't judge. I promise."

  A flash of anger seared me. How many times had I heard that? Lies, every single time.

  "I was thinking that my life would be easier if you just wanted to fuck me. Instead, I have no idea what to do with you. Therefore, I'm tempted to just go ahead and have sex with you, so I can fit this whole thing into a box I understand."

  I flung the words, a verbal gauntlet daring him to renege.

  He flinched and turned a deep shade of pink before breathing out a stunned, "Bloody hell," right as our waiter reappeared.

  * * *

  The two minutes it took for our waiter to clear our plates and take our dessert orders seemed endless. When he finally left, the silence stretching between us was almost tangible.

  Henry, who'd been fidgeting in his seat finally said, "Have people always wanted something from you? Has no one ever just been your friend?"

  Did he have a lifetime for that response? Rather than launch into a diatribe, I said, "Can you honestly say you don't want to fuck me?"

  He startled me by leaning over the table so abruptly I felt the displacement of the air. His whisper was harsh, "Bloody hell, Charlotte, can you stop talking about me shagging you. I am male and not dead. Popping a stiffy in a restaurant is not pleasant."

  I couldn't help myself. I laughed.

  "I see you find my discomfort amusing," he grumbled as he discretely rearranged himself.

  "I'm sorry," I had to wipe my eyes, I was laughing so hard. "It's not that. It's just that, here in America, shag is really ugly carpet. That created the most absurd mental image."

  He didn't smile and I felt suddenly awkward. I was grateful for the arrival of our cheesecake and Irish coffee. I concentrated on the creamy sweetness of the cheesecake as strains of Patsy Cline's "Crazy" filled the space around us. It fit. I felt a little crazy right then. Henry took a deep breath and I steeled myself for what was coming.

  "Charlotte, look at me, please." I did. His eyes told me nothing. They weren't flat or cold, I just didn't understand what I saw. "Despite the fact that I just proved my biology still works, my purpose is not to have sex with you. For one, I'm too old. It's not a stretch to think if I did the maths that I could easily have been your father."

  I started to protest. He had silver hair, sure, but he didn't seem old. He was making it out like he was ancient.

  "Let me finish," he said gently. "The longer you live, the more you realize that sex is one small part of life. You're quite attractive, of course you can get a reaction from me, but I'd rather get to know you. I'd rather find out what your mind is like than what's between your legs."

  Letting Henry into my brain was more terrifying and intimate than letting him into my body. In the end, I said the only thing that came to my mind because, for whatever reason, Henry was my Kryptonite.

  "That terrifies me."

  He smiled his bottomless smile, took my hand in his saying, "I know, but I promise, you're safe with me."

  "We'll see," I said.

  This was too good to be true. Even still, I didn't let go.

  11. Invasion of the Body Snatchers

  AS I CLIMBED THE STEPS to my apartment, I was still feeling discombobulated. Lunch with Henry had been a surreal affair and, as I'd sorted through my various responses, I still had no answer for what this was.

  Was this what friendship meant? Accepting each other as they were and placing no expectations on it? Was I supposed to trust that he meant what he said and just go with it?

  What clues did one use to calculate the appropriate response under those circumstances? How would I know if I was doing the right thing to keep him in my life? What if I exposed myself to him, went all in, and he used it against me?

  My mind spun with questions that nothing in my experience provided answers for.

  As I reached the top step, I saw Gerald coming out of his apartment. Remembering my promise to Lump—, I mean Louis, I called out, "Hey, Gerald. You got a minute?"

  "Hey, Lady C. What's up?" He smiled and it transformed his face. He was a late bloomer remaining in that awkward stage just before boys came into full manhood. But, when he smiled, the man he would become showed through.

  "I ran into your brother the other day."

  His smile faded and I found myself disappointed. I swear it was like invasion of the body snatchers with me lately. Nothing about me was responding in a way that made sense. Maybe I needed an MRI or something. I'd read once that a brain tumor could change your whole personality, and I no longer recognized myself.

  "He's worried about you," I continued.

  Gerald shook his head, denying my words, "No, he's not. He just w
ants to control me."

  That didn't mesh with my read of Louis's behavior, but, then again, what did I know of their relationship?

  "Look, clearly, I don't have all the facts, but he seemed pretty worried to me and he just wanted to know that you were alive and kicking."

  "Thanks, but you just don't understand."

  Yup. I definitely needed my head examined. Gerald looked so forlorn, I found myself inviting him inside to tell me all about it.

  He did.

  In a torrential outpouring, Gerald told me his life story. He talked as I fed Hugo and put on his leash. He talked as we walked to the park where Hugo chased both birds and his tail. He continued to talk even as I rounded up Hugo to start back home.

  I had never known anyone to have so much to say in such a condensed manner. Even more fascinating was that he held my attention the entire time. I rarely last longer than three minutes when someone is talking. I'm thinking ahead to whatever tasks I have planned. I give the perfunctory "mm-hmms" to make my companion believe I'm listening and tune out. My brain tumor had to be acting up, because I found myself listening, asking questions, and looking for ways help the brothers.

  "I don't think you're giving him a chance." I said as I deposited a bag of poop into one of the many bins studding the park.

  Gerald jerked to a stop and I'd made it about ten steps before I realized he was no longer with me. He stood on the pathway gaping at me and looking betrayed.

  "You'll catch flies like that," I said, trying to lighten the mood.

  I got nothing, though he did close his mouth.

  Sighing, I walked back and, taking his arm, pulled him over to a bench. Hugo flopped at our feet. It boggled my mind that being affectionate and letting him run and play had effected such a radical change in our dynamic. I didn't understand it, but I was going with it.

  "Listen, G," I said being careful not to call him Gerald and—yes, this is a quote—"honor his choice of appellation to define his true self." Cue the eye roll, but hey, it was his thing. "I get that Louis is your brother and not your father, but he's been your de facto parent since you were eight. Hell, he was only eighteen. Now, you're what? Twenty-one?"

  I waited for him to confirm. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, "Twenty-two."

  "So, you're still a baby."

  He scowled at that. I put a hand on his arm in placation. "Listen, at twenty-two you think you know about life, but you haven't got a clue yet. Your brother has been raising you for almost fourteen years. He's supporting you, paying your rent, and, with a job like his, he's probably scared shitless by what can happen to you. I'm sure he's seen a lot of really ugly stuff."

  He didn't reply right away. We sat in silence, watching the children on the nearby swing set. After a while, he said, "I never thought about it like that."

  I smiled, "You're twenty-two. But, Louis still needs to back off some and let you find your way. He can't make your decisions for you either."

  "Exactly!' he exclaimed so loud Hugo leapt to all four paws. "That's what I've been saying.

  "Yeah," I said, "to me. Have you said any of this to him or have you just shouted at each other and then avoided your brother?"

  His embarrassed flush was all the answer I needed.

  "Come on," I patted him on the knee. "Let's go. I'm getting hungry."

  We left the park and entered the flow of pedestrians. G turned to me and said, "Thanks, Lady C. You're good at this."

  I just laughed and shook my head. "No, G, I'm not, but I like you. Go figure."

  He smiled and we said no more as we followed Hugo home at a leisurely pace.

  Rounding the corner of our shared block, none other than Louis himself was coming our way. It was disconcerting to have the man we'd just spent over an hour discussing appear before us. I was struck by the appropriateness of the euphemism: speak of the devil and the devil appears.

  "Gerald!" Louis shouted. Now that I knew him a bit, I no longer thought of him as Lumpy. I'm sure there was a lesson in that, but I wasn't there yet.

  Louis wore a suit which made him look more like an underpaid teacher rather than a cop. He looked worn and tired, but his eyes almost glowed with anger as he bore down on us.

  Beside me, G stiffened. His entire body lengthened, causing me to wonder if he'd tip backward like the unsupported beanpole he appeared to be mimicking. On the back of that whimsical thought, I realized he was trembling. I couldn't tell if he was afraid or just intimidated, but I didn't care. Louis could be frightening to behold. I should know.

  I put my body between the men and held up my hand saying, "Hold up there, Detective."

  Hugo proved just how much of a whore for affection he was by wagging his tail so hard his entire body shook. He even butted his head under Louis's hand once he drew close enough for Hugo to reach him.

  So much for my guard dog.

  Louis gave Hugo a scratch which sent the dog flopping down and exposing his belly for more. Looking at me, Louis scowled and said, "So, you do know Gerald."

  "He'd like you to call him 'G' now," I said before adding, "Besides, I never said I didn't know him."

  "Well," he ran a meaty hand through his hair. "Either way, this is between Gerald," he made it sound like a sneer, "and me."

  Behind me, G went from ramrod straight to melting into a puddle. He seemed as boneless as a person with a full skeleton could.

  A deep burning pain ricocheted around my chest in response to Louis shredding the kid's confidence with a single act of disregard. I knew what it was to be treated as if you were invisible, as if you didn't count.

  Before I realized my intent, I had my arm looped through G's and squaring my shoulders, said, "I think we'll let G decide. Frankly, you two need a mediator."

  In that moment, I felt like a spectator in my own body. I didn't get involved in other people's lives. Once you did, they expected things from you. Then you had to be nice and available and responsible.

  I had made a mistake. I was being foolish. Time to extricate myself from this.

  Just as I opened my mouth to speak, G placed a trembling hand over mine and said, "Please, Charlotte."

  It was the use of my given name that did me in. The kid was terrified.

  Looking at his young, hopeful face, I felt that burning pang again. "Okay, G."

  Tugging on Hugo's leash, I led the way making a mental note to schedule a doctor's appointment ASAP.

  * * *

  Blog Post: I Think I'm Losing My Mind

  Life Inside the Echo Chamber

  Well, dear readers, I think I've finally gone over the edge. The last few days have left me feeling like I am trudging through a Dali landscape. My perceptions and reactions are all just skewed enough that I am wondering if I need to have my head examined. No joke. Like, I seriously wonder if I have a brain tumor, because I don't understand what is happening to me.

  First, I cried like a baby after reading the thoughtful and supportive comments I received on my recent posts.

  I can only say this because this blog is anonymous. I don't think I could admit it to your faces. Anonymity has given me a strange courage, much like the way I can be completely honest with total strangers, yet am unable to be straight with people close to me.

  That's been the weirdest thing. Lately, my filter is completely gone. I'm saying exactly what's on my mind and no one is getting pissy or telling me how to act or threatening to leave me because they don't like what I have to say.

  Before, I get into that. Many of you requested an update on the pit bull. Well, I'm happy to report, his name is Hugo and he now lives with me. I found him at the Rescue League and adopted him. But, I've got to tell you, Readers. It was touch and go there for a while. He wouldn't listen, he was destructive. Generally speaking, he was just too much for me to handle.

  I'm ashamed to admit, I lost it. I had a full-fledged temper tantrum over the dog and scared him. I've never felt more like a shit than I did right then. I knew none of
this was his fault but I wanted to hurt something, someone, anything. Now, before you jump to conclusions I did NOT hurt the dog, but I did throw things around and scare him. Then, I tried to give him back.

  You see, I'd only wanted him because I was scared of my neighborhood and this one guy I saw hanging around in particular, so I wanted a guard dog. Which, by the way, pit bulls suck as guard dogs. They want to love you too much; so they wag and lick, they don't guard.

  Anyhoo, I adopted Hugo. He wouldn't listen. Turns out my bad guy is a cop. I have a meltdown and try to give the dog back.

  But, as luck would have it, the shelter was closed. Enter you, dear readers. Your comments had me so twisted up inside I cried like a baby and Hugo lay down with me and licked my tears. I ended up spooning with the dog! Can you believe it? Well, I couldn't give him back after that and we've made lots of progress now.

  But, that was just the start of my entrance into Salvador Dali-land. Next, I find myself mediating between my neighbor, the DJ, and his brother, the Cop. You have to understand something. I don't get involved. Period.

  Remember what I said about disconnection? Living in a glass box? Well, that means that other people's problems are their problems. Not mine. I don't put myself out as a general rule. This kid, though, the DJ, he came knocking on my door during my meltdown … just to check on me and see if I was okay. I mean, who does that? He didn't know me from a can of paint.

  Turns out that he and his brother needed some help seeing eye-to-eye and I volunteered to help them sort it out. I'm pretty happy about my results, too. The Cop is going to let the DJ try his hand at a music career (it was a typical brother-cum-dad situation because the parents died when the DJ was young and the Cop raised him.). So, the Cop needed some help letting go and the DJ needed some help asserting himself. Enter me, the least experienced person in the world to try and negotiate an accord.

  *shaking my head*

  But, the thing that's really freaking me out is sex. Geez, Louise, people, get your mind out of the gutter … I'm not having sex. I almost did, but I didn't and you see, that's where this is really weird for me.