t w e n t y
I wake. I didn’t know I was asleep.
It’s dark and I see the planes of Dexter’s back at the other end of the sofa. He is bent over his knees, hunched, motionless, and quiet. There’s moonlight outside, and lights in the next apartment. My mouth tastes gross.
I stare at his back. He isn’t moving.
“Dexter,” I say. He doesn’t respond.
I sit up. The couch creaks. I put a hand on his skin. It’s cold.
“You have the thingy tonight,” I tell him.
He’s breathing a little funny. After a few moments he says, “I’m sorry.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what he’s saying sorry for.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
Silence again. I rest my forehead on his shoulder blades. I don’t know if I feel safe with this man. I don’t know what I feel with him but I don’t feel it with Mikaela and I don’t feel it with Dr. Lemaiy and I don’t feel it with Aunt Evelyn. Perhaps it is because he can’t see me and that’s all I want from people.
He speaks, and his voice rumbles under his skin.
“It was a mistake,” he says.
He means what happened. Doesn’t he? He means fucking me was a mistake.
“Oh,” I say.
Maybe it was. Maybe fucking him was a mistake. Maybe letting him come in me without a condom was a mistake too.
I stay where I am. Maybe it was a mistake but resting my forehead on his shoulder blade feels nice. I can feel his little breaths and he feels solid and strong although he is everything but solid and strong.
“I just want – I’m sorry, Evianna, I shouldn’t have –”
I don’t know if he is crying. I don’t see why he should be.
He’s just saying I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have, over and over again.
“You didn’t,” I say.
“I did. And I shouldn’t have.”
I ask him why. My stomach is hurting.
He stays quiet and then he punches the arm of the sofa in front of him. His body jerks and I pull my face away from his back. I cannot see his face. I am very still because he looks angry and I don’t know why he is angry and I wonder if he will punch me next.
“I just want –just wanted to be able to fucking see you, when you – when you make that noise, or when you – I just, I just want to see, but only you, and…just you.”
Silence. He says again, “I’m sorry.”
I don’t know what to say. I do not love him so I’m not heartbroken and I’m not crying and I’m not begging him for a do-over.
“You shouldn’t want to see me,” I say.
He makes a weird noise and suddenly he is facing me and I see tracks down his face and moonlight in his eyes. And he is touching me, holding me, grabbing me, he is not kissing me, but he is seeing me in his own way, and even though I don’t want him to, I let him.
“You don’t understand,” he is saying feverishly, his breath on my mouth.
“I do. You want to see what you want to see.”
