"You want coffee?"
"Yeah."
Walker's walls are covered in Star Wars posters.
"You okay?" He spoons coffee into a reusable filter.
"Saving the planet?"
He cocks a half smile. "You just figure that out? I talk about saving for a Tesla every fucking day."
"It's flashy."
"True. It's gonna be awhile now. All that money is going to Inked Hearts."
"You regret that?"
"Fuck no."
"It's a lot. But it's..." I want to say it's perfect. It is. It's everything. But my head is a mess. Kay read my journal. The betrayal of that stings. But it's not what has me all fucked up.
It's thinking of her poring over the pages.
She knows every dirty thing I want to do to her.
And she's still around.
She fucking wants it.
Kay, the sweet girl who can't cook anything but almond butter and jelly sandwiches, who chooses vanilla ice cream, who owns a fucking rainbow of cardigans—
She wants it rough.
"Earth to Brendon?" Walker asks.
"Yeah?"
"You okay?"
I don't say anything.
"You don't look okay," he mumbles.
"I'm not." It's all I can get out. This is such a fucking head trip. I can't sew my thoughts together. I can't reconcile the two versions of her in my head—the virgin who blushes at the mere mention of sex and the dirty girl who wants to be tied to my bed.
"Fuck." He laughs. "That must be bad."
Yeah. It must. I've known the guy for ten years, and I've never admitted I'm not okay.
"Go." He motions to the couch. "Sit. I don't want to watch you mope while standing." He tries to play it off as a joke, but concern seeps into his voice.
I plant on the couch. Tap my fingers against the armrest. This is a nice apartment. Leather furniture. Sleek appliances. Framed posters all over the walls. A bookshelf overflowing with DVDs. Mostly sci-fi.
I motion to the box set of Star Trek. The Matrix trilogy. Japanese films I've never heard of. A whole row of action movies. "How come we never watch this shit together?"
The coffee maker drips. Walker moves forward. Rests his ass against the kitchen island. "You know you can just ask for help."
I say nothing.