Page 12 of Win You Over
I hand him another note, bringing us back to the reason I'm here.
Have you thought about which poet we should focus on?
“You have nice handwriting,” he replies instead of answering my question. “My handwriting looks like a doctor's. Here, let me show you.” He rolls onto his stomach, pushes off the bed and moves to the desk, leans over me and takes the post-its out of my hand. His arm brushes my chest, and like that night in the pizzeria, I catch a whiff of his expensive cologne. I know nothing about fragrances, but I think there is something citrusy in it. Underneath it is a subtle hint of grape.
Remington writes his own name and what I think saysWalt Whitman,but he’s right, his writing is terrible, bordering on illegible.
I tap my pen on the poet’s name and nod my head. Remington grins.
“Good.” Then he flops back onto his bed. He’s rolled the note I gave him earlier into a little ball and is throwing it into the air then catching it, alternating each hand as he does.
“I have loved many women and men, but I love none better than you,”Remington recites the line from Whitman’s poemTo You,his voice soft and lyrical. I find myself drawn in by the cadence of his voice, entranced as he recites the poem word for word. I’m finding it hard to reconcile this man from the cocky one I meet in the ring, the one who openly jeers with his friends, sometimes at the expense of others.
I wait for the inevitable panic to hit, for my fears of being alone with him to surface, but they don’t. There’s a current of comfort that runs through this entire house that makes me feel safe. Maybe it’s ill advised, but I relax back in the seat, listening to him as he concludes the poem. There's something aboutthisversion of Remington that I don't hate.
“Good memory,” he says, tapping his head. “And I have a knack for words, which is why I’m studying English. I love poetry and the classics.”
I open my mouth to tell him that’s how I feel, not sure that I’ll manage to get the words to pass my lips, but feeling confident enough to try. I don’t get the chance though, as his bedroom door flies open, startling us both.
“Remington,” Finn groans, drawing out the last letters of his name. “I’m so fucking horny, dude.” It’s only once those words are out of his mouth and Remington is shooting up on the bed that Finn notices me at the desk.
“Ah, it’s the fucking loser.Again.” He sneers. “What’s he doing here?” Finn directs his question at Remington, a hint of accusation in his voice, but doesn’t take his eyes off of me. There’s a hardness to his posture. A silent warning, a bolstering of his feathers that tells me to stay away fromhisfriend.
“We’re hanging out,” Remington replies, his lips twitching into a grin, like he’s enjoying his best friend's obvious peacocking.
“Watch out he doesn’t steal your mom’s jewels,” Finn snickers, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. “Maybe we should check his bag before he leaves.”
Remington rolls his eyes, but he says nothing. Not afuckingthing. Remington, I decide in that moment, isn’t a bully. He’s a bully-by-proxy, which in a way is worse because he has the ability to put a stop to all. He could tell Finn to stop. To shut up. He doesn’t though. He acts like it’s all one big joke. Like words don’t have the capacity to hurt like a punch to the gut.
I jot down a note, then cross the room, passing Finn, and shove it at Remington.
We are not hanging out. Is he going to leave so we can work?
Remington looks from me to his best friend and back again. The indecision clear on his face. Heaven forbid everyone’s favourite golden boy tell one of his minions to fuck off.
I scribble out another note.
I’ll go, and we can do this another time. When you’re not busy.
“What’s with all the notes? God, it’s like you’re some schoolgirl with a crush,” Finn mocks. I keep my eyes off of him, that earlier calm I felt in Remington’s presence now a burning inferno of anger and frustration. I knew coming here was a bad idea.
“Finn, dude. Go down to the den and play on the Xbox. Holden and I have work to do. Give us an hour, then we’ll heat up dinner.” Remington’s words are delivered with an air of finality, leaving no room for arguing.
If I was that way inclined, I’d be the one showing off my feathers now.Fuck you, idiot, I won.But, I don’t because I am better than him.
Never stoop to their level and never show them how much they affect you. That’s how bullies win.Mum’s words come to me as I stare Finn down.
Finn’s nostrils flare. “Yeah, whatevs,” he remarks before trudging out of the room, his footsteps silent on the soft carpet.
I watch the door where he’s just left before turning to face Remington. He shrugs.
“He’s not a bad guy. His dad’s a proper dick and maybe it’s rubbed off on him a bit.”
Maybe?I scribble on a piece of paper.
“Ha! But seriously, he’s a good guy.” I can’t help but roll my eyes. I’m not asking Remington to take sides or to defend his asshole friends. I couldn’t really care about any of them. I’m only here to get this project over and done with.
My pen scratches over the paper as I write out another note.
