If I’m done? If I’m done? Oh, I’m so far from done. The next time I kiss Ellis, she won’t mistake it for pity, or the curse, or hunger, or whatever she said. How could she have thought it was hunger? We ate before we left, and I don’t get hungry that fast…whatever. Whatever she thought this was, I’m going to make sure that next time, she knows I’m genuine.
I’ll be kissing her for her. Because she’s Ellis, she’s beautiful, and she’s stronger than I could have ever thought possible. Because she’s lonely and needs someone on her side. And because life seems to have thrown a lot of shit and asshats her way, and what she needs is a non-shitty nice hat. Somehow, and for some reason, I want to prove to her that I’m not an asshole. Kissing her might not be the best way to go about it, but I’ll worry about that later.
If the time comes.
When the time comes.
CHAPTER 11
Ellis
Oh, boy. I locked myself in my room this morning and worked on typing out something that passed for an article since I know my boss is going to expect something soon. At least, that’s what I was supposed to be doing. I ended up just jotting down my feelings. Kind of a running journal of what’s happened the past few days and an external monologue about my internal fucked-upness.
My stomach finally rumbles loud enough to send bricks crashing down around me, but still, I don’t leave the spare room until Ash knocks on the door, which is sometime after lunch. After last night’s massive bombshells, dropped one after the other in a fit of what the fuck was I thinking? I’m not surprised he’s given me pretty much the whole morning to cool off. Or rather also known as coming up with a plan and getting used to the idea of him trying to talk my dad into going to a therapist.
Whatever. Maybe he didn’t think about me once. It could be that he assumed if I wanted to come out, I would come out. I’m an adult and can feed and fend for myself, and Ash knows that. Maybe he locked himself in his studio, painted something horrendous, and lost track of time.
I pull open the door since this is about my dad and not me. Also, I can’t stay in here forever listening to my stomach thundering like a violent summer storm.
“You ready?” Ash is wearing a t-shirt and jeans. They’re regular-looking clothes, which makes him look like a regular guy.
Ha, who am I kidding? Not my ovaries or my lady cave, which feels as resoundingly empty as my stomach. If by ordinary, I meant insanely cut, then I guess Ash looks ordinary. And if by ordinary, I meant hot enough to melt globs of butter off the abs showing through his t-shirt and the biceps, triceps, delicious forearms, and veins of his arms, then yes, I suppose that would be accurate. Good, merciful god, now I’m thinking about licking melted butter off of Ash like he’s a big piece of popcorn.
The scent of pine hits me full blast. Why does the guy insist on smelling like an entire store full of pine-scented air fresheners?
Jesus, someone should come in here and hose me down before I spontaneously combust. Is it possible to have an orgasm just by looking at someone? That’s a stupid question. Don’t answer that. What about smelling someone with a blindfold on? That would take things up a few degrees.
“Ummm, Ellis? Have you changed your mind?”
What about just hearing someone’s voice?
“N…no.” Ash frowns at me, and I frown back. “No, I haven’t changed my mind.” I remind myself that I’m doing this for my dad. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me. I should have come out last night and told Ash everything. I just about did. I almost told him that my dad’s depression is his fault in the first place. But then I didn’t. I just couldn’t. It was like my tongue was all tied up when it should have been smooth and smooth when it should have shut the heck up. Like when I blurted out my life story.
Who tells someone they have no real friends? Ash must think I’m a real prize now. No friends, no plants, no cat, and a dad who is so depressed, he never even leaves the house. It’s so abundantly clear my life went to shit after losing my mom, and I’m still not really over it the way I probably should be. Maybe Ash wants me to see a therapist too. Geez. If things keep going the way they’re going, I might not refuse.
“Should I drive?” Ash asks innocently. I can tell he’s trying not to upset me, to be sensitive and stuff. Right, so maybe he’s not the one who’s terrible at emotion.