Page 19 of Someone Like You

While Jordan snored across the room, I found the unknown number that I’d saved in my contacts as Brody and started a new text conversation.

Me:

Hey, what time did you want to meet today?

And then I waited. While I waited, definitely not checking the time every thirty seconds and wondering with each passing minute why he was taking so long to get back to me, I tried finding Brody on social media. Then I realized I didn’t evenknow his last name, and stalking Jamie’s friends lists didn’t turn anything up because they weren’t friends in real life, so why would he be friends with him in the virtual world? Giving up on finding him online, I opened my Kindle app and tried to read. But my mind kept wandering, my eyes kept checking the time—still no response—and so I gave in and let myself think about what I’d been trying to avoid and ignore since I met Brody: this weird, inexplicable attraction I felt toward him. And why. And how.

The only way I could explain it was that I’d been starved of any kind of sexual contact since, well, ever. Excluding what Ethan did to me when I was fourteen, that is. But what happened back then had such a profound impact on how I approached sex—meaning it was incredibly traumatic—that I ended up…not approaching it at all.

I tried once. There was a really sweet guy I met freshman year of college. He was a junior, and we were in the same Lit class. He asked me out, and, feeling particularly brave that day, I caved. Over the course of a few months, we spent a lot of time together, and I started feeling somewhat comfortable with him. I told him I had issues with touching and consent, and he respected whatever I asked for. I didn’t let him touch me, and I didn’t touch him, not sexually, but there was some…cuddling. It was all I felt I could handle. But there was no judgment from him, and when he finally asked if maybe I wanted to try something with him, I panicked and ended things.

I couldn’t do it. The thought of having someone inside me again, the fear that it would be excruciating like that first time, the possibility of reliving that pain…I wasn’t going to go through that again. The guy was just as understanding as he’d been all along. There were no hard feelings, no uncomfortable moments in class; it was as if our time together had never happened.

But ever since then, I’d really retreated into myself and refused to even consider doing all that again. It was humiliating, honestly, and I’d rather save myself from all that shame and embarrassment. Why go through it when I didn’t have to? Plus, it’s not like I was really missing out on anything.

So I wasn’t sure why Brody, of all people, had caused this intense ache, a deep yearning for things I hadn’t wanted in a long time.

And I wanted him. Bad. It was getting to the point that every time I saw him, I seemed to get painfully hard. But it wasn’t just physical, and that was the worst part of all this. I could tell he was trying to respect my wishes, that he was actually sorry about triggering me, and the way he’d calmed me down…I couldn’t think of another time in my life that anyone had cared enough to do that. Usually, whenever I’d have those kinds of episodes in high school or even the few I’d had since starting college, people tried to get as far away from me as possible. They didn’t hold me. They didn’t rub my back. They didn’t whisper soothing words while I sobbed uncontrollably. They didn’t wait it out with gentle hands and patient whispers.

They didn’t see right past my prickly front and find it amusing. They didn’t try to talk with me, ask me questions. They weren’t patient and kind and funny.

Besides that first day at the vending machines and later at the party, Brody had been unerringly considerate and aware of my needs. That just didn’t happen in my life—outside of that one guy who’d been really nice but I hadn’t felt anything truly genuine for—and I found myself wanting more of whatever Brody had to offer. I thought about him way too much, like right now.

Glancing at the time again—how had an hour already passed? Was he still sleeping?—I looked at Jordan, who was snoring away even though it was almost noon, just a big lumpunder the covers, and got dressed as quietly as I could. Then I grabbed my keys and was out the door before I could chicken out.

I sent Brody another text, telling him I was coming over, then started driving.

When I got to Brody’s house, I didn’t see his big black truck on the street. But I still made myself knock on the door, and when no one came after the first round of knocks, I tried again. After my fist started to go numb, the door was ripped open and Jamie was standing there like a vampire who’d never seen the light of day before.

“What the hell, Isaac? Why are you here so early?”

“Dude, the day is already half over,” I pointed out.

“Tomato, potato,” he grumbled. “What’s up? The party doesn’t start ’til four.”

Four? What was he gonna do, just wake up and start drinking? “Is Brody home?” I asked.

Jamie scratched his stomach while yawning, then blinked rapidly. “Um.” He looked out at the street, left then right, then scratched his head. “I don’t see his truck. I don’t think he came home last night.”

Uneasiness started to slither through me. “Oh. Are you sure?”

“No. I was pretty drunk, so…”

Right. “Okay, well, thanks,” I said. “If you see him, could you tell him I stopped by? Or, no, don’t tell him that. Just tell him that my time is precious and if he misses a day then I’m not making it up another time, deal or no deal.”

“My guy, that’s too many words. I haven’t even had coffee yet.”

“Fine, tell him whatever you want. I’ll see you—later,” I said to the door slamming in my face. Irritation was starting to build now, but I couldn’t shake that strange apprehension thatsomething was wrong. I had a history of ignoring gut feelings that turned out to be spot on, so instead of going home, I drove down to Big Boone’s even though that was the last place I wanted to be. But Brody’s truck was sitting in the lot, and a rush of relief quickly doused any annoyance that had been brewing. He wasn’t ignoring me, he was just working.

Bri was behind the counter when I walked in, and that uneasiness—which hadn’t dissipated, despite seeing Brody’s car—only grew when her evil eyes didn’t light up with malice when she saw me. Instead those eyes were swarming with an emotion I couldn’t figure out.

“Hey, Isaac,” she said. Her voice was flat and almost sad, and I didn’t like that. “Your car already falling apart again?”

“Um, no, not yet. I was actually looking for Brody,” I said. “Is he here?”

“No,” she said.

I waited, but she just kept staring at me. “So…uh, do you know where he is then?”

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