Page 30 of Ms. Lead

I go to the kitchen to wait her out, opening the fridge primarily out of the need to have something to do, but after seeing her apartment, I am curious about what might be in it, if anything. I’m greeted with a bright light that bounces off the empty glass shelves except for a small carton of almond milk. There are two cans of Diet Coke and a half bottle of siracha sauce in the door. Definitely not the makings of a meal of any kind.

Glancing next to me, I note that the stove appears brand new. I would bet good money that it’s never been used, regardless of how long Bianca has lived here.

“Are you ready to go?” She asks with a heavy sigh from behind me.

I turn and find an impatient woman, anxious to get something over with. Not a woman who just enjoyed a fantastic orgasm at the hand of the man in front of her who is also about to take her to dinner.

What am I expecting exactly? Applause? Thanks? A pat on the back? Congratulations? Of course not. But I would think some sort of acknowledgment would be forthcoming.

I shut the fridge door, and cross my arms, leaning back against the counter.

“No. I’m not.”

Her head shoots up, shocked at my answer, her dark locks swaying with her movement. Eyes narrowing, she mirrors my stance and crosses her own arms, leaning against the door jamb.

Lifting a gorgeous eyebrow, she asks, “Why not?” She’s still more perturbed than curious.

“Can’t you guess?” I tilt my head, searching for a sign from her as to why she’s acting this way. She is stone-cold and impossible to read.

Her arms drop to her sides, hands balled into tight fists. “I don’t want to play games, Oliver. I just want to go to dinner.”

The tether between us is vibrating. I can feel it rattling around in my chest. It’s a mythical object of my own overactive imagination, yet I literally feel it pulling me toward her. I go with it, allowing the force of it to guide me to her.

She must feel it too because she stiffens as I approach but wraps her arms around herself as if trying to hold something in. Or maybe it’s to keep something out, like me.

“I don’t want to argue, Bianca,” I say, reaching up to run a finger lightly along her jawline. Trying to see if her skin feels any different after I’ve kissed it. My mind tells me it’s softer, but I know it’s a trick. “I just want to know what is going on in that brilliant head of yours.” I gently tap her temple, which gets a slight lip twitch from her. “You can talk to me.”

Hesitantly, she glances up, only briefly meeting my eyes before stuttering, “I’m…I’m not sure I want to just have fun with you, Oliver.” She shrinks away from my hand and takes a small step away.

No. No. No. Don’t do this.

“You sure seemed like you were having fun a few minutes ago.” She can’t deny that much, and I need to salvage this. But I need to know exactly what the issue is, and she’s not being clear. “What’s changed in the last few minutes?”

“Nothing. Everything. I don’t know.” She brushes past me and starts pacing the length of the kitchen. Her floral perfume follows her and hypnotizes me.

“That’s not helpful.” I can’t fix this if I don’t know what is broken. I’ve been with my body the entire day and don’t remember breaking anything. I would have remembered that much.

She stops short in the middle of the kitchen, hands now on her hips, and an accusatory glare sent in my direction, but behind the bravado is pain. Pain that I recognize because I feel it too. But she’s about to put words to it, and I can’t stop her, no matter how much I don’t want to hear it.

“I can’t just have fun with you, Oliver. I thought I could, but I can’t.” Her hands cover her face, hiding from me, and I’m thankful for it. I don’t want to witness this. “It was great. Fantastic, actually. And then it wasn’t. It was horrible. And cheap. It made me feel cheap. And very much not like me at all.” The tears start, and I completely freeze. This is exactly the situation I wanted desperately to avoid.

I can hear it. I can actually hear my heart break. It starts with a slight cracking sound inside my head, then splinters into a million tiny shards. Each piece rends what’s left of my soul into wasted shreds. After cutting almost everyone out of my life over the past year, there wasn’t much left to begin with.

How can I do this to her? To myself? I’m about to reach for her but stop, remembering what has gotten us here in the first place. The tears she’s crying now are nothing compared to what she would face if she stayed with me.

I need to keep her future in mind and what’s best for her in the long run, even though it hurts like hell now. She can’t see it, but I can. I need to be stronger, much stronger than I have been. What the fuck was I even thinking?

Oh, let’s just have some fun. Nobody will get hurt. Bullshit. I should have known better.

“I’m sorry, Bianca.” It’s all I can say, and even that is a poor excuse for comfort. It does neither of us any good or make either of us feel better. But it’s true. I am sorry that I’ve let us get to this. That I thought we could handle something only physical. That I hurt her this way.

And now I’m staring down an entire month of being around Bianca and not being able to touch her again or even be close to her. I don’t think I can live with that, either. Not now that I’ve felt how incredible it is to be with her. If I think logically about it, I’ve really only got a little over three weeks left with her.

Surely, in that time, she’ll realize on her own that a relationship with me wouldn’t work. After all, I’ll be leaving the damn country, and it doesn’t sound like either of us is willing to expatriate. I could follow through with this and just let nature take its course. That way, neither of us is to blame, and no one will get hurt.

She’s dropped her hands from her face and is looking at me expectantly, wanting me to have all the answers. If only I did. All I can give her honestly is a temporary fix.

“Bianca, this is more than fun for me, too,” I say, taking a deep breath. I don’t know if this is the right thing to do or not, but it’s one I can live with. “Let’s just see where this goes, okay? We don’t need to have expectations put on each other or call it anything. It can just be what it’s going to be.”

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