Page 71 of Lotus

Sydney’s eyes flutter open, her body trembling on top of me, the chemicals buzzing and crackling, desperate to ignite. “We should get the movie started.” Her words are forced, false…fearful. With clammy palms clutching mine, she leans in to place a kiss to the side of my jaw. “We’re friends, Oliver.”

Her hair is like ice as it dances across my heated skin, causing me to shiver. Squeezing her hands in mine, I tug her back before she retreats, my lips reaching around to her ear and whispering, “I want to be more.”

The hesitation is evident in the way her thighs tighten around mine, the way her breath hitches, a quivering puff of air warming my neck, the way she melts into me for just a moment, just a magical, prolonged moment that I want to freeze in time.

But her resolve wins out and she pulls away like I just scorched her. “We can’t,” she says, the words coiled tight, almost painful. Sydney scoots off my legs, off the bed, pulling herself to unsteady feet. And then she changes the subject. “I made cookies.”

Pushing up until my back is level with her headboard, I grind my molars and lower my head, zoning out into the intricate pattern of the mandala bedspread. I promised her it wouldn’t be weird, that I wouldn’t wantmore, but it’s getting increasingly difficult to keep that promise. Everything she wants is in the way she looks at me, in the way she holds my hand when we go for walks, in the way she falls asleep on my shoulder as theRugratsplay across the television screen. It’s in her laughter, her jokes, the way her skin heats and pinks when I’m close. It’s in the way she’s standing beside me as I glance up to meet her eyes, her limbs still shaky, her breathing ragged, her lips parted and demanding to be kissed.

“I’m going to get dressed and head downstairs,” she chokes out, instead of saying all the things I know she’s hiding. “I’ll meet you down there.”

As she turns away, I call out, unsure of why these words break through, “I met a woman today. At the library.”

Sydney pauses with her back to me, head bowed.

This fact is completely irrelevant to our situation, but I feel compelled to share. “She was very pretty. Soft-spoken and kind. Her name was Tabitha—she was an abductee, like me.”

She spins in a slow circle, her irises glittering with an unknown emotion. “Tabitha Brighton?”

“Yes.” We stare at each other, and I realize I’m yearning for a reaction.Something. I don’t know why. “Are you familiar with her?”

A short nod. “The Matchmaker. He butchered eleven people, not far from here. Three survived and she was one of them. Cora Lawson and Dean Asher were the others. Clementine actually went to the same college as Dean. It was a horrible thing.” Sydney scratches at her upper arm, her jaw set. “There was a time I wondered if he was the same man who kidnapped you, but the MO didn’t add up. I’m grateful he wasn’t, considering the stories I’ve heard…”

The information courses through me, making me fidget and itch. My captor was never cruel or violent. I can’t even imagine what those people went through. “We’re going to have coffee next week. It will be nice to connect with someone who can relate.”

Sydney’s eyes swell, just slightly, gleaming with something resembling anguish. It flashes, then dissipates, as if it were never there at all. “That’s great, Oliver. I’m happy for you.”

I’m almost certain she’s lying.

And I can’t help but wonder if what I saw in her eyes just now was the same thingIfelt when I watched Sydney’s mouth on another man’s that summer evening. I never did tell her how my heart constricted with painful, sluggish beats, or how my throat closed up, my skin tingling with something strange and unpleasant. I’d discovered a new emotion that night on my front porch and it made me miss my sheltered existence, alone beneath the earth. “Yes, I’ll have to let you know how it goes,” I finally respond, unable to pull my gaze from hers. “I’m not so good at these things.”

The anguish returns to her eyes, tortured and turquoise, and I recognize the double meaning in my statement. But I don’t backpedal, and I don’t correct myself.

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.”

Sydney recedes with those parting words, pacing out of the room and leaving me alone on her bed. My head drops back against the headboard, my stomach unsettled and swirling with anxiety, my heart feeling worn and tired.

She just wants to be friends.

And I suppose, if this is how it feels to yearn for more, to desire, to becomeattached… perhaps Sydney has been right all along.

It tears people apart.

I already feel shredded, and it’s only been one kiss.

A few hours later, I’m walking up to my front door after watching a movie that was notThe Parent Trap. Sydney had a change of heart, so we watchedThe Big Lebowskiinstead. It was amusing, however, our minds were elsewhere. I could feel the distance between us, the distraction, the confusion swimming in the air.

We didn’t eat cookies. We didn’t cuddle close on the sofa. We didn’t laugh or tease or dance to her favorite music. We sat in silence until the credits rolled across the screen, and then I left.

It tears people apart.

Moving forward, my disheartened sigh trailing me, I place the key into the lock and push the door open. Traipsing up the stairs, I flip on a light switch and go utterly still, paling when my eyes case the room.

Destruction. Mass destruction.

Tattered sofa cushions, stuffing everywhere, chewed wood, scratched walls, streams of garbage, cereal scattered over the tiles, torn pillows, broken glass…

And sitting atop the kitchen counter is Athena, without a care in the world, chewing on a banana.

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