Page 11 of Magic or Madness

They all laugh, Fallon included, and the small talk shifts back to what they usually bicker about, taking the spotlight off us.

A big smile is painted on her face, and I watch intently as her eyes dart to each guy in the room, listening as they talk. I notice the freckles that span across the bridge of her nose, and she has a small beauty mark near her lower lip that could be easily missed unless you were studying her closely enough.

“Come on, Bambi. Let me give you the full tour,” I say, cutting through the noise with all eyes landing on us again.

I take her hand and she waves at the boys, saying goodnight as we head toward my room.

“This is insane. You guys made a car dealership into a home,” she laughs as I escort her into my office.

“We always make do with what we have,” I say, pulling her backside against my chest, keeping her close to me.

She looks around the room, taking in my less-than-stellar decor, her eyes trailing the unmade king-sized bed in the middle of the floor. Now that I see my room through her lens, I realize how terrible it looks in here.

Old car posters hang on the walls, and the desk used by some sleazy salesman is pushed against the corner, littered with my pocket change, and random trash.

Before I can speak up or apologize for the mess, she breaks the silence, and places her hand in mine.

“Ozzy … I still can’t wrap my head around this. I’m so drawn to you … it’s fucking scary. But I don’t know anything about you. It feels like I’ve known you for years, but in reality, we are strangers,” she says, leading me to the bed, our bodies bouncing against the mattress as we flop down together.

“I know, I’ve struggled with the same thoughts. I’ve never been consumed like this before. This is new to me, too. One night, right?” I ask, and she nods, her eyes fluttering shut as she releases a deep sigh.

“One night.” She lays flat on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and I rest my head next to hers. “Twenty questions?”

It’s the most basic way to get to know someone, but it feels silly when we’ve already traded some of our most vulnerable thoughts, and now, the scary part begins — letting someone in.

I’m a closed book, never telling my origin story, but something makes me think that Fallon is about to get my full memoir, and I’d be honored to let her know an inkling of where I came from.

“Last name?” She shoots, and we both laugh.

“Micheals, you?” I counter, and she tells me hers is Mariano.

A step in the right direction.

“Did that boyfriend ever make you finish or have you screaming his name?” I bite my lip, my curiosity getting the best of me, and she smacks my arm.

“Ozzy! Of the twenty questions you have to ask me, that’s your first?” She laughs, but I cock my eyebrow, not backing down. “No, and no.”

Her cheeks flush, and she looks into my eyes, a devilish smirk on her face.

“Hmmm, very good to know. Your turn,” I say, relinquishing control.

“Well, I won’t hound you about your sex life, at least not yet. Favorite food?” I place my hand on her cheek, turning her face so we’re looking into each other's eyes.

I gently kiss her forehead, watching as she slowly closes her eyes and draws in a long breath.

“My favorite food is steak. My favorite color is red, and my absolute favorite scent is the vanilla perfume you wear, which sends my body into a spiral whenever our lips meet. I’m an only child, and my mom is dead, she overdosed. I’ve never had a real job. I lie, cheat, steal, and sometimes hurt people to get paid. I’m an open book, Bambi. You can ask me a million questions,” I confess, and her eyes are the size of saucers.

Maybe the blunt way I came across was too much for her because she swallows hard, almost as if she’s choking back tears.

“My mom is dead too,” she whispers, and the tears start falling down her cheeks.

My heart breaks into pieces instantly, knowing that she shares the same pain that I carry within me.

“I’m so sorry, Fallon. It’s not a fun club to be a part of.” I stroke her cheek gently, taking my free hand and lacing her fingers through mine.

“She was a drunk. She literally drank herself to death. I … did my best to save her, but when it came down to it, the disease won, and I lost my mom,” she cries, and I feel her body shaking.

This is raw, like a stitch being reopened, and I fear that this happened recently, something she hasn’t fully processed.

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