Page 2 of Room Nineteen: Bulls in Her Court

We walk-of-shame it down the hallway to the foyer. Stopping in front of the little gold-metal, starburst mirror for a quick sec—and I have to get up on tiptoe, because all of Lance’s mirrors are hung way too high for my short stature to reach—I drag up my long, dark-auburn hair into a sloppy bun. It’s so heavy it flops to the side by the time we take the three extra steps to the front door.

I don’t want to get back together with Kieran. Everyone I know would judge me for it, not that that’s what motivates me. I didn’t go through the whole awful breakup and move in with my older brother’s best friend, Lance, just to turn around and get back together with Kieran. I don’t make awesome decisions, I think we have established that. But I’m not stupid either. And I’m not a masochist.

“So what is it you want,” Kieran asks, looking buoyant, and saddened, somehow all at once, “more excitement? What.”

I peer up at him through the sideswept bangs that fell out of my mess-bun and into my eyes. “I want to not get my heart trampled on,” I say softly.

Kieran gives me a heartfelt look. “Well, you’re trampling on mine.”

Oh. Gosh. Why does he always have to be such a brute, or a wounded puppy, with likenoin-between? “Babe—Kieran,” I self-correct. Fucking habits. They don’t die nice. “I amsosorry. I won’t…” I swallow my feels, which are dry and scratchy down my esophagus. “I promise, I won’t call you again.”

He visibly deflates. “Don’t say that.”

My emotions evidently go down fast and digestveryquickly and now I’ve lost my patience with him. He was right, he was a dick. So often that now, I find myself triggered by almost every word that comes out of his fucking nice-looking mouth. Trust. That’s the foundation of a good relationship, not comfort. And I don’t trust him. His intentions, his kindness, his meanness. It’s all always a game.

“Kieran,” I say his name pointedly. “I am telling you toleave. Now.”

But God, I didn’t want to end it like this. It was already over. Fucking count on me to rip the bandage open while the wound’s still festering just to smack at it making it ten times worse. And the worst part is now I’m out of band-aids.

It’s a metaphor, y’all.

I open the door. He slow-marches out. I start to close it, but then he twists his upper body back around. Typical Kieran, he’s always got to have the last word. This one is going to hurt.

“You know, this is just like you, Rom. You call me up, make me feel good. Invite me over, make me feel even better. Then you kick me to the curb like I’m a dog, like I’m dirt on your shoe. And you make yourself feel better by saying it’s for my sake. Like you care about me so much you don’t want to hurt me.”

That doesn’t even make sense. I would never kick a dog.

And I am one hundred percent doing this for me.

“But the truth is”—he pauses, looks right then left, all slow-like and dramatic, turning a little more toward me, then his eyes, I swear they aretooblue, come back to prick straight into mine like pins in a pincushion—“the truth is, you’re just a bitch, Romi. You’re a selfish, childish, insecure, manic-depressive, bipolarbitch.”

As each insult lands, I’m surprised by how little damage they do. Not zero damage. But noticeably, less. It makes me smile so much inside that I want to smile outwardly too, but I already know the most satisfying reaction I can give him is no reaction. It comes easy this time. Eas-ier, I should say. So I stand here like a statue. A hard, immutable, cold,gray rock.

He eventually wheels back around and gets into his car.

I heave a sigh as I watch him drive off. I turn away slow like I’m standing in a big vat of molasses. I trudge back down the obscenely lit-up hallway toward my room. I seriously do need better curtains in there.

Regret washes into me and drags me under. I just needed to come. I called Kieran over. We had good, vanilla sex. He’s comfortable. He’s a dickhole sometimes, but he was my dickhole, and he was comfortable. In spite of everything I think he really does still have feelings for me and it makes me feel horrible for taking advantage of him like this.

Yes, I feel truly, deeplyhorribleand I think that fact would make him feel better if he knew and believed it. So why do I let it bother me what he says or thinks?

I miss him. Immediately, I feel his absence. Or am I just lonely? There’s a word in Portuguese,saudade. It means a deep, profound longing, a melancholic state, a sense of utter incompleteness at the absence of a loved one. I do love Kieran. Like on a soul-level; my soul reaches for his but my body, myperson, absolutely cannot get along with his.

He got the job done and made me come but it wasn’t like, mind-blowing, out-of-this-world sex, either. Like the kind of sex I’m always reading about in my romance novels. Honestly I come easier when it’s just me and the scenes I play out in my head. The best part is there’s no one to answer to after the comedown.

I want to comehard. I’m twenty-three. I feel like I should be having the best sex of my life right now!

I realize I’m still just staring down at the bright, sunshiny hallway. My door is ajar at the end of the hall, a big rectangular opening bursting out orange. I blink twice. I bend down to stretch. Breathe in, breathe out. Shake off this feeling, now, girl.Get something done.

You know that saying about money doesn’t buy happiness, but it’d be better to cry in a Mercedes than on a bicycle? Yeah.

Not that I’mcrying. I don’t do that. But I am feeling mopey. And I’m feeling mopey inside a breathtaking multi-million-dollar apartment in the New Orleans South Market district, “the beating heart” of downtown New Orleans.

I look around from my current vantage. I can see almost all of it from this spot, it’s such an open, airy floorplan. Lance was so gracious to let me live here. He’s like family though. When I told my brother Dylan that I needed to move out of the townhome I was living in with Kieran but couldn’t see how it was possible to leave with rent prices so high, he immediately called Lance and basically told him I was moving in.

It’s a gorgeous space but he’s hardly ever even in it. Lance is always busy, and when he’s not working, he’s playing. It inspires me. Work when you’re working, play when you’re playing. He’s always only ‘off’ or ‘on’. Lance builds businesses and does real estate, basically has his hands in everything. He’s tried talking to me about investments but it all seems so daunting. I’m just trying to make a decent living and pay my rent, even though he’s not charging me rent. Yet. I want to start paying him soon. I just need to cover the basics right now and I’ll worry aboutmorelater.

Lance never said I couldn’t have guests over but I still feel like I needed to be quiet about getting Kieran out. I don’t think things got too loud at the front door…Is Lance even home?I peek into his room and it’s empty. I just needed to know if he would know Kieran was here in case I did have any explaining to do. Guess I don’t.

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