Ink and Lies

  I count down from twenty as I study my bedroom ceiling, hoping that by the time I reach one, the last five minutes will be less mortifying. I’m being liberal with five minutes. Maybe to Fiona, it’ll feel like more. Maybe like the best five minutes of her fucking life.

  “That was… interesting.” Nope. I was wrong.

  I turn to look at her, but she doesn’t move. Apparently, she also finds the ceiling riveting. “Interesting?”

  “Yeah. Um. It was nice.”

  “Nice? That’s even worse!”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? Sorry that you said sex with me is nice? Oh my God, Fi. I swear, this never happens to me.”

  “It’s fine. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress…”

  “I’m good. Like, really good.” Holy shit, I need to stop talking, but I can’t. My dick may have given out like a two pump chump, but apparently my mouth is the Energizer bunny.

  “It was nice, Rhys. Honestly.”

  “I’m not nice, Fi. I’m good. Great, even. Some say I’m the best they’ve ever had.”

  She finally turns to face me only to pin me with a skeptical cock of her brow. “Really?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! We’re doing it again. I’ll show you. Just give me twenty minutes. And let me stretch this time.”

  “No!”

  “What? Was it that bad? That you can’t even stand to try it again? Oh, fucking hell…”

  “No! I mean, yes. I mean, no it wasn’t so bad that I can’t stand to try again. But also, no, I don’t want to do it.”

  That sobers me. “What are you saying?”

  “Rhys…” She touches my bare arm, not with passion or lust, but in an act of comfort. Pity. “What we just did… it was a mistake. It should have never happened.”

  “Yes. Yes, it should have happened. It should have happened a long time ago.”

  “No!” She shakes her head and closes her eyes, as if trying to erase our reality. “We’re friends. We’re not…whatever this is. We’re not the kind of friends that sleep together.”

  “Well, apparently, we are,” I remark, motioning between our naked bodies, still damp with passion.

  “Oh, hardly.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Sorry. I’m just really freaked out, and I don’t know what to think right now.” She covers her face with her hands and rolls onto her back. “Oh, God, what have we done? I have a boyfriend!”

  “A boyfriend that cheats and lies,” I remind her.

  “Allegedly.” As if the thought of being naked beside me repulses her, she jumps out of bed, shielding her body with trembling arms and hands, and begins collecting her clothes. “I gotta go. I shouldn’t be here. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

  “Just wait a minute, Fi,” I insist, sitting up and tugging on my boxer briefs.

  She’s running around my apartment, collecting her panties, her jeans, her shoes, like it’s an erotic Easter egg hunt, and I’m right on her heels. “No! I need to get out of here! Don’t you see what we’ve done? We just ruined everything!”

  “Or we just made things right. You’re freaking out, Fi. Come back to bed and we’ll talk about it.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, August!”

  “Oh, so I’m August now.” In retrospect, it’s petty, but it still stings.

  She stills her search for her bra and shakes her head while running her fingers through her hair in frustration. Just mere minutes ago, I had that hair in my fists as I pumped into her.

  Well… it only happened for a second, but it still happened.

  Fiona looks up at me with tearful eyes, donning the same expression she wore when I told her about Joshua. “I didn’t want this to happen. You mean too much to me, and I can’t lose you. I’m sorry.”

  “But you won’t lose—”

  “This was a mistake!” she cries, all but running to my front door. I follow her, but she’s already halfway down the stairs when I reach the frame, and I’m still in nothing but my skivvies.

  “Wait, Fi!”

  “I can’t. I can’t do this.”

  “Let’s talk about this.” Mrs. Roswell from across the hall pokes her head out to investigate the commotion, but I don’t give a damn. I shoot her an apologetic grimace and try to stretch my nearly naked body over the stairwell, just in time to see Fi reach the bottom landing.

  “I’m sorry, August!”

  Funny how three words can sound like goodbye.

  I slink back into my apartment, leaving an amused Mrs. Roswell to gawk at my bare back alone. I had her. I had her where I’ve wanted her for so long. I didn’t even realize that this was what had been missing from my life until I had held it in the palm of my hand. And now she’s gone. Gone back to him as if all is forgiven and I’m left forgotten.

  Maybe she was right; maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I’ve been fooling myself into believing we could be anything more than Rhys and Fi, BFFs. Shit, now I’m not sure if we’re even that.

  My mind is clouded with confused chaos. My body aches with the ghost of her touch. I feel like I’m losing my mind, and the one person who made me feel grounded just walked out the door. I get it. The sex was bad. Really, really bad. And that shit just doesn’t fly in the world of romance. But this isn’t a novel. And this damn sure doesn’t feel like hearts and flowers. This feels like defeat.

  Her scent is madness on my skin. The taste of her is torture on my tongue. Every thought of her makes every part of me throb in turmoil.

  Disgusted with myself, I head into the bathroom to draw a bath. Usually, when I’m stuck on a scene or blocked, I like to take what I call a Brainstorming Bath. There’s something about soaking in a tub of hot foamy water that makes my thoughts more fluid. I feel serene and weightless within the safety of those suds. And right now, I need to wash away the dark and dirty. I need to cleanse myself of the doubt and fear.

  I sink into the nearly scalding water, allowing the heat to warm my tense muscles into submission. With my eyes closed and head propped on the tiled edge, I try to remember a time when Fiona wasn’t the first person I thought of when I woke up. Or after I completed Tears of Glass… she was the one who held my hand when I hit Publish. And when it crashed and burned, she was right there, enduring a long whiskey weekend complete with my favorite comfort foods. Fiona was the one to put the pen back in my hand when I wanted to give up on writing, and she’s read every word since. She’s been my therapist, my confidant. She’s shared my joys, my pains, my accomplishments, my failures.

  I once told myself that I wanted to write something that made Fi fall in love. And now that I see that it wasn’t the words I wanted her to hold so dearly that she couldn’t help but weep as she read. I wanted to write something to make Fiona fall in love with me. Not my pretty words or my pretty face or any of the other inconsequential bullshit I had deemed important. I just wanted her to love me, her Rhys.

  With a sense of clarity, I cup water with my hands and let it run over my face and chest. I have to do something to make her see—to make her believe—that what happened between us wasn’t a fluke. I jump out of the tub renewed in my conviction and get dressed. If she won’t come back to me, then I’ll have to go to her.

  I shouldn’t be surprised that she isn’t home, but for some reason, a pang of disappointment stabs my gut as I lay on the buzzer for the fourth time. I use my key to let myself inside, hoping like hell she isn’t actually in there… and occupied. However, I find her place quiet and still, albeit a bit messy, as if she was in a hurry to leave. This shit should not bother me, but I’d be a fool to say it doesn’t. A fool or a liar, and I’ve already mastered the art of the latter.

  I text her to let her know I’ve come by. I leave her a voicemail. Another text. I pace the floor until the wood laminate runs thin. I curse myself every single second I’m here, hating her for not answering, and loving her because I can’t fucking help it.

  It’s approaching midnight when I realize th
at I’ve spent an entire day pining and waiting. My only comfort comes in the form of scribbled notes on in my notebook. Even in my haste to get to her, I still managed to grab it on the way out the door. Old habits die hard. My sudden stimulus spark isn’t surprising. Nothing is more inspirational than real life angst. Genius is bred in the darkest, loneliest parts of our minds.

  I send one last text before I head home, asking her to meet me for brunch. She reads it, but she doesn’t reply. Still, she reads it.

  Some time after copious amounts of whiskey, followed by a vat of coffee to dilute the booze, I sit at our favorite table in our favorite bistro, waiting on a much-needed Bloody Mary from our favorite waitress. And while the tomato and vodka may start a riot once it hits the murky slurry currently simmering in my gut, I need something to drown the anxiety.

  “Rhys.”

  I hear her before I see her. I must have dozed off while staring at the words scrawled on the paper in front of me. I close my notebook and look up, hoping the mere sight of her would make this better. That she would make me better.

  “Fi.”

  She stares at me without a hint of recognition. We’ve somehow become strangers overnight.

  “Sit. Please,” I say, as if coaxing a kitten from a high ledge. I want to touch her, hold her. I want to take her away from here and make her mine over and over again, the way I should have done yesterday when I had the chance. What can I say? Anticipation is a bitch.

  On timid heels, she takes the chair across from me, and I swear I don’t breathe until her backside meets the Tulip Bentwood.

  “I’m glad you came.” A day ago, I would have never said something like this to Fi. I’m glad you came? I would have greeted her with a hefty dose of snark. She would have given me that stern, sexy teacher look. Then we would have fallen into a seamless, easy banter. That was our love language.

  Our server returns with my drink, temporarily relieving us from the overwhelming awkwardness. Fiona gives her a tight smile with her own order before reluctantly turning her eyes on me. I can see her battling the urge to flee. She’s uncomfortable here with me. Me. A guy shaved her, sniffed her dirty drawers, and made her shit herself, yet I’m the one who makes her uneasy. Un-fucking-believable.

  “Look, let’s stop tip-toeing around the big ass, sequin-studded elephant in the room, shall we? We slept together, Fi. And while it didn’t go as I would have planned, it happened. Now, I don’t know if it meant something to you, but it damn sure meant something to me.” I take a deep breath to conjure my nerves. If I want to make this work, I have to go there. I have to go to that place inside me where the vulnerability of truth hides. I have to drop the act and show her who I am…who I’m willing to be. For her. “Fiona, we’ve been best friends for a decade. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you and there’s nothing you can’t tell me. I don’t regret what happened. The only thing I do regret is that conflicted look on your face. Tell me what I need to do to fix this. Tell me what I need to do for us to move forward. Because I want this, Fi. I want what you’ve—”

  “He proposed.”

  “What?”

  “Joshua. He proposed last night.” She says it like it pains her to utter the words.

  “Wait… what?” She couldn’t have just said what I think she said. I refuse to hear it.

  “He’s moving his practice to Seattle, and he wants me to come with him…as his wife. When you saw him last night, you saw him celebrating with his new business partners. He was slated to appear at that seminar, but a last minute meeting with the investors came up. He said he had been planning to propose for a while, but that news just solidified his decision.”

  “Get the fuck out of here.” I shake my head and down half my drink in just two gulps.

  “And he told me how rude you were to him and his colleagues. He said you were out of control, and he’s never been so embarrassed before in his life.”

  “I was out of control. Wow. Ain’t that fucking rich.” The rest of the drink goes down, and I lift my empty glass to signal for a new one. I won’t even mention how Joshua and his colleagues tried to have a go at me. Tried being the operative word.

  “And even with your outrageous behavior, he said he forgives you. He was even oddly grateful that there was someone who looked after me so fiercely. He understood how things may have looked, and felt there was even a sliver of validity in your reaction.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me. It looked the way it was. Like he was being a fucking creep while you were gone, and the arrogant jackass didn’t think he’d get caught.”

  “No, August. You misinterpreted what was happening.”

  “So I guess the chick in the lace catsuit trying to jerk him off was just giving him a handshake to seal the deal, huh?”

  “See. There you go. You revert to being crude instead of trying to see both sides.” She lifts her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose, as if even trying to explain this to my daft ass is giving her a migraine. And that’s when I’m momentarily blinded by the small boulder resting on her left hand.

  “You said yes.”

  The fire in her glare dies to embers, and she quickly hides her hand under the table.

  “You said yes.”

  Fiona nods like she’s ashamed of the gesture, or maybe afraid of my reaction. “Of course, I did. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

  “But what about…” I can’t even bring myself to say what is so boldly etched on my heart.

  What about Netflix marathons and pineapple and ham pizza?

  What about Saturday night secrets over French toast and mimosas on lazy Sundays?

  What about make believe backstories and food truck fare?

  What about texting at three a.m. about absolutely nothing?

  What about bookstore treasure hunts that end with us reciting our favorite passages on the threadbare floor?

  What about listening to emo rock book playlists over takeout followed by whiskey-sponsored singing?

  What about history? Chemistry? Destiny?

  What about us?

  “You knew I wanted a life, August. I wanted a husband, kids, a house. I wanted someone I could grow old with, make memories with. Fifty years from now, I want to have someone to share a scoop of ice cream with in the park.”

  “You can have all those things with me.” I don’t even think. I just say it.

  Fiona shakes her head. “You don’t mean that in the same way I do.”

  “But, I do, Fi. I want what you want. And I want it with you.” I’m hanging by the tiny, thin thread of my dignity, exchanging the safety net of my denial for her heart. “What happened between us wasn’t a fluke. It was exactly what I’ve wanted since that day in your dorm room. It’s what I’ve wanted every day since, but was just too stupid and stubborn to admit it.”

  She goes silent for a moment, digesting my confession. However, when she meets my earnest gaze, none of the expected affection rests within her bourbon brown eyes. Not even a hint of tenderness, or even gratitude. Actually, she looks downright pissed.

  “This is so typical of you, August. You just couldn’t let me have this, could you? You just couldn’t let me be happy.”

  I grimace at the sting behind her words. “What? Of course, I want you to be happy.”

  “Really? On whose terms?” She throws her hands up in exasperation, nearly knocking over her still full mimosa. “For once, I’m not all about you. You’re not the center of my world. I’m not just August Rhys Calloway’s hopeless, loveless gal pal—his one-woman cheerleading squad. I actually have a life of my own, and you can’t handle it. Ten years, August! Ten years I’ve been at your beck and call, watching your revolving door of hook ups, telling you every detail of my relationship misfortune. And not once did you deem it appropriate to tell me your feelings before now. But that’s right… you didn’t know up until now, did you? Until a handsome, successful man that wasn’t you showed genuine interest in me. Tell me t
he truth, August: Had it not been for Joshua’s presence in my life, would anything have even changed between us? Would you have been honest about your affections for me?”

  I take a beat to consider my next words. I want to give her the truth, but not at the expense of what’s left of us. “Eventually, I would have…”

  “You would have what? Come to your senses to see what was right in front of you all along? Admit it, August. We would have been right where we were ten years ago. Me making myself embarrassingly available, and you seeing me as nothing but a pathetic sap that you hang out with when you have no one better to do.”

  “Bullshit,” I spit out before she can even complete the blasphemous sentence. “You know as well as I do that I always put you before any women I date.”

  “You date? Since when is fast food and meaningless sex dating? And considering your track record, what would make you think I’d be ok with being just a part of your rotation? I guess you would call me Brunch, huh?”

  If she were anyone else, I would have already given her a tongue-lashing so harsh that she’d be crying into her spiked OJ. “You’re being ridiculous, and you know it.”

  “Whatever. Maybe I am.” She finally takes a sip of her mimosa before pursing her lips in irritation. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like you’ll want to pretend much longer.”

  “Pretend? What the hell does that even mean? What the hell does any of this mean?”

  “Yesterday… what we did. Didn’t you say sex was your only objective when it came to women? That you had no interest whatsoever in anything deeper than that?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Then that’s it for me—for us. You got what you wanted, right? You came, you saw, you conquered. Someone like you wouldn’t have much use for someone like me anyway. And that’s fine. I’m not looking to be someone’s occasional nightly entertainment. I want substance, August. And while you have the ability to create magic, I fear that you are completely empty inside. And that…that is truly a tragedy.”