Page 10 of My Irresistible Enemy

Fuck, I wanted to sink into the ground. I tried to take a deep breath, but it came out shallow and sharp. Sweat beaded on my brow.

“The—the thing is, I—I didn’t mean to—it’s not even—”

Dammit, what the hell was I doing? I didn’t need to explain myself to this guy. I could just walk away. He was right—I didn’t know him, and there was no earthly reason to give a shit that a perfect stranger was biphobic, or just really hated pieces of flare.

This was the consequence of going off Xanax. The consequence of trying to live my life like anormalperson when I no longer felt like one. The consequence of not being strong enough to keep it together.

Time and time again, I found myself tripping over my tongue. I’d be desperate to say something smooth and calm and collected, but every aborted, botched sentence that came out of my mouth just served to paralyze me further.

It was sostupid. There was no reason for random encounters with strangers, in public, in broad daylight, to make me freeze up so badly. It wasn’t likethatwas the root of my issues.

Trauma manifests in strange ways, my therapist liked to say, which was good to know, I supposed, but was singularly unhelpful in turning me back into a functional human being.

“I don’t want whatever you’re selling, and I’m not interested in donating to whatever cause you’re promoting,” the man sneered.

“But I’m—I was just asking if you knew what they said on the—you know, the words they used on the—the—the radio…thing?”

Great. Now I couldn’t even remember the words for what I was trying to ask about. I wanted to bash my head against the pillar. What the hell was wrong with me?

I tried again. “Did you hear what the—the—the thing said?” I stammered, pointing up. “On the air?”

“I don’t have time for this.” The man pushed away from the pillar and stalked off.

“Announcement!” I said when the word came back to me. “On the loudspeaker!”

But I was talking to myself by that point. Too little, too late.

“Thanks so much!” I called after the man, pitching my customer-service voice at a slight yell. “Asshole,” I whispered a second later, just to myself.

I tried for another deep breath, tried the mindfulness exercise my therapist had taught me.

Notice the tang of the salt air, and its warmth on your cheek. Notice the cries of the gulls, and the way the water laps against the dock posts.

I tried to transcend self and merge with the sun and the sky and the oneness of the universe, but it was no good. I still felt like I was on the verge of passing out.

Ripping my mom’s button off my bag and shoving it into my pocket, I stumbled back to my car and sat in silence until the ferry finally arrived and I could drive onto it.

The ferry bellowed two long, slow blasts of its horn, then pulled away from the dock. I managed to stay in my car for a full ten minutes, but all too soon, I felt trapped. That was another fun thing that had started this year—an itchy sensation would come over me sometimes, this need to walk, to run, to get far, far away and never come back.

I got out and started walking. I didn’t have anywhere to go, really, but it felt good to move—right up until I saw the guy I’d talked to earlier walking in my direction.

Fuck. I didn’t think he’d seen me yet, but I wasn’t going to stick around and find out. There was a door to my right with a unisex restroom sign. I pushed it open, stepped inside, and froze.

There was a naked guy in the bathroom. Jerking off.

Well, no, not entirely naked. Only on the bottom. On the top, the guy was wearing a tight lavender T-shirt that emphasized his compact, thin frame.

He was on the shorter side, with blond hair and blue eyes and a distractingly cute face that was currently pulled into a glare. And his cock… Christ, I didn’t want to think about what his cock looked like. That was not a road I was going down.

“Well? Do you need something?” he snapped.

I opened my mouth to apologize—or maybe to point out thathewas the one jerking off in a public restroom, so I wasn’t sure it was fair to act like I was the one in the wrong here—but once again, my tongue wouldn’t cooperate. I just stood there, gaping like a fish.

“Or are you just going to stand there staring?” the guy added.

I could feel my face heating up, and I closed my eyes in frustration.

“I—I’m—I didn’t—” I stammered, feeling more and more like an idiot with each syllable.

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