Page 61 of Perfect
SheknowsI’m watching. Isthisher asking?
Theo, 10:15 PM:
Do you need help?
Pleasesay yes. I watch her flinch when she hears the text, and it seems to ruin it for her.
It’s definitely not her asking.
She grabs the phone, puts it on silent, and starts again. She gets close, but after a few more minutes, both of us realize it’s not going to happen for her.
She hasn’t masturbated since we started dating, and I know she wants to have sex with me, but she’s fucking stubborn. I don’t want to have sex with her until she asks, which means my life is about to get a whole lot harder.
Ineedher to know that she can trust me.
As I watch her, I realize that I need her to trust me sooner rather than later. She’s lying in bed under the covers, curled into a ball and shaking a little bit, crying so quietly that I can barely hear her. She’s trying to hide it from me, and I’m starting to get concerned about her.
I wish she’d just let me in.
19
ALEX
TUESDAY, OCTOBER 10
Theo’s taking everything away from me.
I can’t come from masturbating anymore. Danny’s voice isn’t popping up, but every time I get close, I start thinking about Theo, and I refuse to come while thinking of him.
I have no desire to paint. I want to cry whenever I look at the paintings hung on my walls because I miss expressing myself. Theo’s asked me why I stopped, but I can’t tell him. It feels too personal.
Exercising is no longer a release since he’s started joining me on my long runs and showing up at the track whenever I sprint. The only reason he doesn’t take the fitness classes at the reccenter with me is because he doesn’t like them, but I know he’swatchingme.
He cooks every meal for me. He puts things away in my apartment where he thinks they should go. My planner, which I’ve started using again, is covered in red ink. I’m only alone if he wants me to be, and he really doesn’t want me to be.
The only things I have left to myself are work and my friends, and it’s only a matter of time before he ruins those, too.
***
I can’t keep ducking Suzie forever, so I let her take me out to lunch. Since she hired me, I’ve been friendly but distant, and I'd like to keep it that way.
Suzie and I walk down to a brewery nearby that has good pizza, and when we order food, she orders a beer and winks at me, so I order one, too.
“The best part of being a lawyer in the eighties was the three martini lunches,” she jokes. I force a smile. I used to have six martinis for lunch sometimes, but I don’t think she needs to know that about me.
“How’d you get anything done?” Suzie taps the side of her nose, and I laugh.
“You’re joking, right? This sounds like a bad stereotype.” She shrugs, sipping her beer.
“Stereotypes occasionally have a basis in reality. I moved away from that a long time ago, though, so I’m not really sure what they do now.” Suzie smiles and shrugs. “So, how are you settling in, Alex? We haven’t had a chance to catch up lately.” I fix a smile on my face. I can tell she’s worried about me, but I can’t tell her about Theo.
“I’m good. The apartment is working out, I have a routine, and I’m making friends. I love the job,” I say, smiling warmly.That’s not a lie. “I love Astoria, too. It’s so different from B…where I’m from.” Suzie blinks but otherwise doesn’t seem to register that I almost revealed something personal. I smile again, and she smiles back, but hers is subdued.
“How are you doing? You’ve seemed a little on edge the last few weeks.” I try to keep my face neutral, but over her shoulder, I watch Theo walk into the brewery.
“Uh, I’m good, honestly,” I say, taking a sip of my beer to hide my expression. “I mean, not everything is perfect, you know? I’m still pretty nervous about being here sometimes. I don’t want to be found.” Her eyes widen the slightest bit, and I realize that Theo threw me off enough that I revealed somethingverypersonal about myself to Suzie, who now looks concerned.
I look briefly over her shoulder at where Theo is sitting at the bar, watching me with a somewhat blank expression. He’s probably here to make sure I don’t ask her for help.
