Quirks & Kinks

by Laurel Ulen Curtis

  Yet, despite Larry’s newfound flare for pomp and twinkle, neither of us said anything.

  My rapidly closing throat made speaking impossible, and even breathing wasn’t a guarantee.

  “Jesus. You guys are the worst at reactions. I don’t know why I bother.”

  Easie still had the ability to talk, though, and managed to edge out one distinctly uncreative word. “Vegas?”

  “Vegas,” he confirmed, happy to have any kind of interaction. “We’re doing a huge show. The top 10 most popular kinks. You know, really try to swing it to the common ground, win over the every day crowd.” The size of his forehead shrunk with one quick pop of his eyebrows. “And where better to do it than in Sin City?”

  I couldn’t speak on the reason for Easie’s silence, but I knew the reason for mine.

  I didn’t know how I would keep the rest of my schedule. Vegas didn’t fit into my routine.

  Vegas didn’t have my basketball league or my paddle boarding or access to the ocean to surf. In fact, it was pretty much lacking in every last one of my normal activities.

  And in that moment, I had not one idea how to deal with it.

  Easie was feeling loose tonight, having let me talk her in to drinking something stronger than lemonade on my dime. I actually felt kind of shitty about it because, as much as I truly did want her to have a good time, I knew part of it was done out of desperation to make her less sensitive to my contemplative mood.

  I hadn’t quite been able to shake the news of Las Vegas, and with each hour that passed in the depths of that anxiety, I only grew more angry with myself.

  I couldn’t let it go. I kept trying to talk my brain around, but it was like some little part of the train tracks was missing, leaving a gap I could not traverse. Through this experience, I could honestly say that wanting to change and not being able to was one of the most frustrating, self-hate-producing circumstances of my life.

  But, right now, tonight—in this moment—Easie sure did make it hard to think of anything but her.

  I found pleasure in watching her happiness change phases, starting as sound as laughter bubbled out of her mouth and ending as a light in her eyes. The blue pools of her irises sparkled, shooting bolts of midnight to the rim and lining it there and making the surrounding white stand out through the glassy laziness three lemon martinis had produced. Meanwhile, while her long legs stretched out from her stool-perched feet and surrounded me in their cocoon, bouncing along to the music. Her hair was wilder than normal, and a rosy blush stole the show across her high-boned cheeks.

  She looked alive from within, and the energy that produced made her seem two feet taller than she was.

  “Get up there and sing again!” she pleaded, inclining her head and tweaking her knee so that it settled into my side.

  Chuckling, I pushed the falling hair out of her face and settled my palm on her jaw. “Sorry, baby. Gig’s done for the night.”

  There was no fucking way I was getting up there again. I barely got through once every week.

  “You’re crushing my soul right now, you . . . soul crusher,” she drunkenly pouted, leaning her face into my hand, resting her hand on top, and weaving her fingers through mine.

  “Easie,” I murmured, smiling just before touching my lips to hers.

  “How about we go home and I put on a solo performance for a one woman audience?”

  “Ooo!” she squealed jerking her head up and settling our linked hands on her thigh. “Tell me it’s Magic Mike inspired! Can you gyrate as well as Channing Tatum?”

  I barked a laugh. “I seriously doubt it.”

  “Wait . . . how do you know how well Channing gyrates?”

  “His skill level was implied by your question,” I covered.

  “Yeah, right. You’re a secret Tatum Totter aren’t you?”

  I shook my head in confusion. “A what?”

  “A Tatumite. A Channleader.”

  Perplexed, I just stared. She slapped my thigh with her free hand.

  “A super fan!”

  “Like a Belieber?” I asked and then immediately regretted it. God, did I regret it.

  She was incredulous. “Channing you have no idea, but Justin Bieber you’re in the know?”

  Cue backtracking damage control. “I’m not in the know.”

  “You so are!” she yelled, jumping up to stand on the bars of the stool. I reached out to steady her, and for the first time in our relationship, had to look up to meet her eyes. “You’re a Belieber.”

  “No,” I denied, shaking my head and waving my hand—basically using any body part available to dispute her claim.

  “Ah,” she breathed. “The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.”

  I shook my head in wonder, squeezing her hips and lifting her down from her precarious perch to the safety of the ground. “I’m kind of appalled that you just used Shakespeare to argue a point about Justin Bieber.”

  “Really?” she laughed, her face absolutely beaming. But beyond that, it was breathtaking. “I kind of think it’s awesome.”

  So did I. So did I.

  Once Easie fell asleep, I unwrapped my limbs from hers, climbed slowly and carefully out of the bed, pulled on shorts, and crept on silent feet down the hall to the living room.

  Taking a deep breath when the cabinet came into view, I didn’t waste time getting over to it, opening the door, and pulling out my most familiar envelope.

  For the first time ever, I wasn’t completely happy with my decision to get out of bed and spend some time with Evan. Warm rather than cold, my sheets were occupied, scented with the rich, welcoming aroma of Easie’s sweet skin.

  Shaking out the envelope onto the table, the papers scattered. Usually handled with the utmost of care, that had never happened before, and I found myself cursing my hastiness while scooping up my mess and putting it on the table in front of me.

  “Shit,” I mumbled as I sorted, cringing at the sight of my carefully cared for treasures askew, rumpled, and out of order.

  Once I had them back as they should be, arranged correctly and carefully placed, it was easy to find the one I wanted. I’d spent so many years reading them, that I knew exactly how many there were and the precise order in which I’d received them.

  Instead of dwelling on the others, I focused on those specific words. Each one talked me off the ledge and prepared me for the trip to Las Vegas. Evan would have wanted me to go, to take a break from all of the other things. He would have loved to have gotten to the point where he had an opportunity for this level of success.

  Tracing his signature, I kept telling myself that.

  “I hoped so much that I wouldn’t find you out here tonight,” Tammy said quietly, startling me despite the gentle delivery. I wasn’t expecting her, and that was enough.

  “Don’t start,” I warned, but she ignored me.

  “She’s going to get tired of being with someone who doesn’t have any time for her.”

  I rolled my eyes even though the darkness hid them from her view. “You’re starting to sound a lot like a broken record.”

  “If the song still rings true . . .”

  “She’s been doing stuff with me,” I defended.

  “You are completely missing the point.” Two steps forward creaked through the old, worn boards of our floor. “I don’t mean time with her. I mean time for her. For her needs, her wants. There’s a difference between letting someone spend time in your life and making them become a part of it.”

  I wasn’t missing the point, but I was finding it extremely annoying that Tammy was so good at making it. I just . . .”I’m not ready to let it go.”

  I wasn’t ready to let him go. And I didn’t know what, if anything, would eventually make it so I could.

  She sighed deep and long before walking the few steps that separated us and putting a friendly hand to my shoulder. I thought she would lecture me, but she didn’t. Instead, she gave me some of the best advice she’d ever given.

&nb
sp; “Go to bed, Andy. Deal with the rest tomorrow.”

  I clenched my jaw but nodded, and as if her permission held authority, pure air rushed into my lungs as the ever present weight lifted off of my chest.

  She gave one quick pat before turning and heading back to her room, and I made sure to work quickly in her leave.

  Folding the letters back into themselves, I scraped the contents from the top of the table up and dumped them back into the envelope. Sealing it as I walked, I worked to get back to Easie faster, sliding it into its place in the cabinet and closing the door.

  Soft carpet smushed and swirled under the balls of my feet as I walked between the coffee table and the TV, and the hum of the air conditioning blew a steady stream of hair-raising chilled air across my bare skin. I hadn’t bothered with a shirt when I’d left the bed, and with the promise of Easie’s naked body calling to me from just beyond my door, I wished I hadn’t put on anything.

  I suddenly couldn’t stand the fact that I’d left in the first place, so I moved even faster, shucking my shorts and opening the door at the same time. As soon as I cleared the threshold, my shorts were gone, and two quick jumps and a skip had me diving into the bed and pulling the covers down just enough to climb in.

  Easie didn’t budge despite my intrusion, and knowing her tendency to sleep deep, I didn’t measure my movements.

  Wrapping my arms around Easie’s tiny body and pulling her close, I absorbed her warmth and scent, feeling for the first time in a long time like everything I needed was right there in within reach.

  I knew it might not last, but for then, it was perfect.

  She was perfect.

  We were perfect.

  “The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are. You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask. There can’t be any large-scale revolution until there’s a personal revolution, on an individual level. It’s got to happen inside first.”

  ~ Jim Morrison

  FLUTTERING EYES PULLED THEIR way out of a deep sleep, taking in my surroundings in beats and flashes. White linens lined the pillow at my ear, and the warm, tan flesh of my huge male counterpart glowed in the early morning sunlight.

  Anderson.

  His back was to me, and the sheet sat precariously at the very top of his tight, muscled ass. I’d had it in my hands the night before as he sank inside of me repeatedly—something I’d not only gotten used to, but feared I’d no longer be able to live without. He made me feel alive and active, and I was healthier than I’d been in years.

  Quitting smoking had taken a ton of will and ambition, and to this day, Anderson still hadn’t mentioned it. I saw him watching me though, so I chocked his silence up to an effort to keep the peace. No matter the circumstances, smoking always seemed to turn into a festering sore spot with pus, and infection, and undeniably hurt feelings.

  Ultimately, I’d decided he was important enough to me that smoking wasn’t anymore. And with how active he had me, I hardly needed it as the main staple of my diet plan.

  Stretching and yawning, I tested my sore limbs, lifting myself up to sitting and shaking the bed a little in the process. Anderson was obviously tired, lying there undisturbed despite my motion.

  An idea took hold, and I jumped from the bed to take advantage. I wasn’t normally awake before Anderson. In fact, I didn’t think I ever had been.

  But I knew he had food in the refrigerator and a showing of breakfast in bed could never be a bad thing.

  Pulling his discarded t-shirt over my head, I walked quietly on careful feet out his door, clicking it shut behind me in order to keep from waking him.

  The coffee maker blinked with its automated setting, and a brew started up just as I entered the main living room. I loved a man with a programmable coffee machine.

  Wait. I mean, I loved anyone who had a programmable coffee machine. That’s what I meant.

  Right?

  Shaking my head, I put it out of my mind and skated on shuffling feet toward the kitchen. Unfortunately, I missed the transition to the rug, tripping and slipping and just barely stopping myself before falling to my knees.

  There on the floor, an upside down picture sat out of place, obviously dropped in transit by Anderson or Tammy.

  Too curious to leave it be and not wanting it to get damaged—yeah, right—I picked it up and flipped it over with a burgeoning smile on my face.

  Like the fiery meeting of two speeding cars on the freeway, my smile died an instant but painful death.

  Glassy green eyes stared deep into mine, a younger, completely different Anderson lazily smiling with an arm around Tommy. They were obviously young and celebrating, the waylay of a college party swirling in the background.

  And in the fingers of Anderson’s ringless hand sat the straw that would ultimately break the camel’s back.

  A fucking burning cigarette.

  “Morning, Easie,” Tammy called, stepping out of her room casually until she saw my face.

  And the picture in my hand.

  “Shit.”

  “What the fuck?” I asked, not giving her a chance to prepare or evade. I shook the photo before turning it around and holding it up for her to see.

  She didn’t even need to look.

  She approached me slowly, her hands raised in plea. “Give him a chance to explain, Easie.”

  This was about so much more than a stupid picture, and Tammy’s reaction only solidified that. She wasn’t surprised at what was playing out in front of her. She’d more than seen it coming.

  “A chance to explain? What the hell do you think our whole fucking relationship has been?” I shrieked, no longer measuring the volume or timbre of my voice. “A chance to goddamn explain!”

  I knew everyone had pasts and that people changed. But this wasn’t that. The guy I knew—the guy I’d let my heart swallow up nearly whole—would never be in a picture like this. And if he had been, he wouldn’t have kept it from me.

  “I know.” She nodded her head, resigned.

  “What’s going on?” a sleepy and shirtless Anderson asked, stepping out from the mouth of the hallway. The commotion had obviously woken him.

  “What the fuck is this?” I yelled, unquestionably handling the whole situation in the most immature way possible.

  But come onnnn.

  The dude was fucking smoking.

  Browbeating and nagging me before he even knew me. Condescending looks when he did. Mr. High and Mighty himself was hypercritical at best and a complete fucking liar at worst.

  I felt like the sky was shattering above me and falling, and the ground, unforgiving and unyielding as it was, was shoving me higher and serving me up to the spiky shards—when all I wanted was for it to swallow me up.

  “Easie—”

  “Jesus, Anderson. I feel like I don’t know you at all.” He stepped toward me, but I threw up a hand, bringing him to an abrupt stop as though I’d encased his feet in cement. “Honestly, I feel like you’ve ripped the rug right out from under me, stolen the goddamn magic from my carpet.”

  “Easie—”

  “I was fucking falling for you, Anderson!”

  He sucked lips into his mouth before reaching for me again. I stepped back out of reach. His speech broke. “Was?”

  My voice was no more than a whisper. “You can’t fall for someone you don’t know.”

  “You know me,” he insisted, stepping forward and grabbing onto my hip before I could stop him. His touch felt like home, sweet and welcoming and cozy in a way that nowhere else was.

  My heart sped up, beating at triple its normal pace as I stared into his soft green eyes. They pleaded with me, begging me to see him for what he was, but no matter what I did, I couldn’t rationalize the person I thought I knew with the guy in that picture. Everything I knew about him, everything I thought he was, said he would never have been that guy. That he was too good for that life and th
e mistakes that it brought.

  He never treated my smoking like a habit he’d overcome. Never.

  And the more my heart broke, the more questions there were that filtered through the cracks.

  He’d never done anything I’d invited him to, despite the numerous things I’d done with him. Why was that? What the hell else didn’t I know?

  Going against everything I knew, I gave him the second chance, the opportunity to make it right.

  “Blow off your gig tonight. Take me to dinner, come to my apartment and explain.”

  Tammy stayed standing to the side, waiting to see how it all played out, but I only had eyes for Anderson.

  His face went through a rainbow of emotions, cycling through relief, happiness, and anger and eventually landing on dismay.

  I knew his answer before it even started to leave his lips.

  “I want to.” I didn’t even wait, starting my embarrassingly underdressed walk to his bedroom to get my shit and get the hell out of there.

  “Easie.”

  “Don’t,” I said, shaking off his hand on my arm.

  “But—”

  I turned to him in a flash, pointing one angry finger directly in his face. “If you’re going to say anything other than yes, I don’t want to hear it.”

  The silence that followed probably hurt the worst of all.

  With shaky hands, I whipped off his shirt, unable to get out of it fast enough, feeling the fabric burn through my naivety and set my heartbroken skin on fire.

  I thought I’d known better. I thought I’d been prepared to protect my heart from someone I knew would break it.

  I was wrong.

  Anderson seemed distraught, the roots of his fantastic hair nearly pulled all the way out with his tugs, but I tried my best to ignore him. He got lost in himself too, pacing and mumbling and even dropping into the occasional distressed squat.

  It didn’t take me long to gather my things, and once I finished, I didn’t look back.

  It wasn’t to be cruel or to make some kind of statement.

  It was because I couldn’t.

  Scooting out of the bedroom and down the hall, Anderson followed me, but he did it silently. No explanations were offered. No pleas to get me to stay were made.