by Ashley Logan
“Fun,” I reply, taking a bite of my own and chewing it slowly as I stare.
“Well that’s not unsettling at all,” he says, now trying not to smile. Taking a bite, he chews it happily as he watches Ireeni and Kat climbing out of a paddle boat. “Your friends seem really nice.”
Nodding, I swallow my last bite. “Yeah they’re pretty cool. More like family than friends.”
“Do you have any?” he asks before taking another bite and licking the mustard from the corner of his mouth.
“Any what?” I ask, distracted by his tongue as it darts out again.
“Family,” he says, swallowing and watching me. “Did I miss some?” he asks, using his thumb to wipe his cheek before sucking it into his mouth.
Feeling my temperature rising, I quickly look away, giving him a little shake of my head. “You got it.”
Sighing, I force my mind to recall his question.
“Family,” I say, rolling the word around in my mouth to distract myself from the thought of Serge’s tongue doing the same. Soured nicely, I continue.
“I have a basic unit of mother and step-father, but we’re not on good terms.”
“They’re in Indiana?” he asks, demolishing a hotdog in two bites.
“Sometimes,” I say dismissively, keeping my eyes to the ground to keep from staring as he catches a drip of sauce with his finger and mouths that off too. “They travel a lot and have several other bases.”
“Bases?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call them homes. A home is a place of love and belonging.”
“Oh,” he says. “I see.”
“Do you?” I ask, turning back to challenge his definitive tone.
“Not the whole picture,” he admits, “Just the family situation here.” He gestures to my friends. “I’m glad you found some.”
Relaxing, I nod. “Me too.” I watch them all hanging out; so different, but also the same. “You’re part of that too now, you know.”
“I am?” His head whips around, his wide eyes meeting mine.
Pressing my lips together a moment, I nod. “I think I’d miss you if I couldn’t see you again.”
Serge smiles so briefly, it barely registers. “That’s sweet of you to say, Vi,” he says, standing up and looking around as if trying to decide the best direction in which to run. “I have to go,” he says, looking at his last hotdog as if it’s a ball chained to his ankle.
“Take it with you,” I say calmly, staying seated to keep him from thinking I’ll chase him. “I’m sorry I scared you. You know where to find me if you get tired of pushing people away.” Turning away, I watch the other people walking through the park.
Sensing him leave, I risk a peek over my shoulder.
Walking back to the group, he swings his bag over his shoulder as he says something to Bruno and Nina and points in my direction. Quickly turning away again, I try to act natural, hoping they didn’t see me spying.
Forcing myself to wait several minutes, I slowly turn around to see Serge walking toward me with my bag. Setting it at my feet, he straightens and looks to the clouds moving in.
“I want the opposite of pushing you away and it’s scaring the hell out of me,” he says, unable to look at me as he speaks. “Would you like to come over and talk? Please? I’ll make sure you get to work safely.”
Pulling my bag into my lap, I clutch it to my chest. “Come over? To your place?”
Serge nods, his eyes closed and his expression troubled. “Just to talk. It’s not far, just up Main. We can jump on the metro and get off at Church Street Station.”
“That really isn’t far,” I agree as my heart drums inside my chest. Fishing in my bag, I pull out my phone to check the time. “I can’t stay for long.”
Nodding, Serge looks over his shoulder. “Nina says she’ll put you toward the end of the line up so you won’t have to rush, if that helps at all.” Setting his jaw, he meets my eyes. “But I’ll understand if you’d rather not be alone with me.”
He says it as if it would be reasonable for me not to trust him.
He has no idea it’s me that I don’t trust.
If he knew how badly I wanted to be alone with him, he’d probably run away again, when all I’d want is for him to take me on the spot. He’d regret it immediately after, of course, thinking he’d somehow betrayed Gina. That would cause my trust issues to explode in my face, meaning another extended period of recovery to get to this ‘ready’ stage again.
Looking up at Serge from under my eyelashes, I try to think straight. I don’t want to mess this up by revealing how I feel about him. He has this Gina situation clouding him and until I know how that works I can’t trust myself to do anything.
“Vi?” he asks gently.
Biting my lip, I stand up and sling my bag over my shoulder. “I think we do need to talk a few things through, but I need you to -” To what? Not be so fucking sexy? Closing my eyes I take a deep breath. “I need you to ignore anything my body does to invite you in,” I say in a rush. “If you can’t do that, then I can’t come, because -”
Fuck fuck fuck.
“Because I can’t control what it does. I’m fucked in the head and my mind is mostly at war with what my body says it wants.” Covering my face with my hands I shake my head. “Damn it, I sound like a sex-crazed weirdo.”
“A little,” Serge agrees, “Vi, I promise I won’t touch you.”
Registering disappointment at that, I scold myself. Lowering my hands, I watch his face. “Okay then. But I also need half a dozen of Sal’s mini-donuts before we leave.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SERGE
Vi didn’t say a word until they were inside his apartment. Serge watched as her eyes scoured the place, landing on him last of all. Her eyes softened then, losing their apparent disbelief.
He waited for her to ask why he hadn’t decorated anything, why the walls were bare and the furniture sparse, but she surprised him, as she often did.
“You like books.”
His eyes traveled to one of his only pieces of furniture; a wall length, wooden bookshelf, the home to his favorite books and his photo albums. They were his family, as the dancers were hers.
Nodding, he moved into the small kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?” he asked, out of politeness before he’d had a chance to check the fridge. “I can offer you... old milk, or water,” he said, frowning into the refrigerator.
“Old milk, please,” she said with a smile in her voice. Returning her smile, he took the milk from the fridge and set the bottle in the sink.
“Sorry. I only have really, really old milk. Water?”
“That’ll have to do, I guess,” she said, feigning disappointment as she left her bag by his and looked around for somewhere to sit.
“There’s a couch in the next room,” he said, following her with two glasses.
She stood in front of the couch, looking out the corner windows.
“Best light,” he said, hoping she didn’t think it was too weird that he had the only furniture in the room shoved into the corner.
“I bet.”
It was all she said and he felt himself breathe a little easier.
Instead of sitting on the couch, she crouched to peruse the pile of books and papers stacked on the floor next to it. “Did you enjoy this trilogy?” she asked, holding one up as she pawed over the others.
“Very much, but I liked his next book even better. His imagery brings to life everything he imagines and I get totally lost in the worlds he creates. It’s magic.”
She looked up, her smile providing more light than any window.
“Agreed.” Standing and swiveling in one graceful movement, she sat and sank into the couch.
“Oh my god! How do you ever leave? You must have thought our couch was a pile of garbage dumped on concrete spikes in comparison to this cloud of delight!”
“Quite the painter of word pictures yourself,” Serge said, laughing. “I have to admit, some nights
I don’t make it to my bed,” he added truthfully as he handed her a glass of water.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, meaning it. “Thanks for not hassling me about my lack of stuff.”
Violet looked around, as if she hadn’t even noticed. “I like it,” she said, her eyes moving back to his. “Uncomplicated.”
Serge could feel himself smiling, and took a sip of water to disguise how wide his grin was growing.
“If we’re going to talk, are you going to sit?” she asked, making sure he’d have enough room.
Perching on the edge of the couch, he regarded her carefully. “I’m not really sure where to start,” he admitted.
“How about the beginning?”
“The beginning of what? Me?”
“That’s as good a place as any,” she said, nodding. “Probably the best place. Did I see some albums on the shelf out there?”
Blushing, Serge followed her pointing finger. “I’m not sure I want you to see those.”
“Ooh, why not?” she asked, perking right up. “Juicy? Or are there nude-y baby pictures and you don’t want me to see your winkie?”
Scoffing, he righted his glass before he spilled. “I don’t think there are any pictures of my winkie,” he said firmly. Sighing, he stood and went to retrieve the albums. “Just, don’t laugh, okay?” he said, holding them close to his chest until she agreed.
“Why would I laugh?” she asked, immediately even more intrigued. Holding her hands out for them, she waved her fingers at him to hurry up. “What are we talking? Lazy eye? Bad haircuts? Secret vagina?” she asked in a whisper as she grinned devilishly.
The familiarity of her words was not lost on Serge, and he began to feel the heat in his cheeks. Pushing the albums into her hands, he left to refill his glass and get his urges under control.
“Who’s this person?” she asked when he came back. Tilting to see who she was pointing at, he sat next to her.
“That’s Poppa Novak. Ma’s father. The shoemaker turned teacher. And this is my Nan, Liza,” he added as Violet’s eyes moved to the next picture.
“They look like good, honest people,” Vi said as she studied the pictures.
“They were.”
“That’ll be where you got it then,” she said as if solving some mystery. Turning the page, she gasped a little, and Serge wondered what she was thinking. “Oh, Serge, she’s beautiful.”
“She was,” he said quietly. “Angela. She was Nan and Pops’ only angel.”
“You have her eyes.”
“Yes.”
“How old were you when -?”
“Ten.”
Sniffing softly, Vi nodded and turned the page. “Oh. Look at you! There’s no winkie, but look at that little tush!” Chuckling quietly, Vi’s fingers traced the edge of the photograph. “So cute and pudgy! Makes me wanna go back in time and pinch your little cheeks.”
Serge took a steadying breath. “Keep going.”
She turned each page, making smart comments about his old-fashioned outfits and how things worked in the ‘olden days’ when she spotted outdated technologies in the backgrounds. She asked him about his sports teams as she ran through the photos of him playing soccer, and asked about the kids in the pictures of his birthday parties. Turning the page again, she stopped.
There were no more light-hearted questions as she flipped through the pages dedicated to Sergio Moretti aged ten to fifteen. The fat boy in the pictures looked as sad as his elastic-waisted pants. He wasn’t worth knowing about.
Vi remained silent as she turned the page again to see Serge at an athletic competition as a senior, trim and even a little buff. He’d literally worked his ass off to get there, inspired by the pursuit of a girl that was out of his league. Hormones had saved him from eating himself to death.
He watched Vi’s face as she turned each page to see him in uniform, standing with his colleagues; with Pops and Nan before they’d gone; with Sadie. Vi looked at that one quite a while before she turned the page and saw the picture of Serge, Sadie, Gina and Rick raising their glasses to each other under an engagement party banner.
“It was a joint celebration,” he said quietly. “I thought we were all happy.”
Vi said nothing; just turned the page. Fat Serge was back again, looking as miserable as ever at the Annual Police Picnic.
“I’d lost Pops and Nan two months apart. Not long after that I came home to find Sadie bent over the kitchen table being fucked by some guy in leather as he choked her with my belt. That was an awkward situation once I’d knocked him out and Sadie confessed she’d asked him to.”
“I bet,” Vi said as she turned the page again to see him crossing the finish line of last year’s New York Marathon with Gina, huge smiles on their faces as they held hands up high like winners. It was the last page in the book of Serge. He’d wanted to throw it out so many times, but had always stopped himself, fearing the need to remind himself again of how low he could go.
Closing the album, Vi stroked the cover tenderly. “Thank you for showing me,” she said quietly, not looking up. “Do you think I could have some more water?”
“I’m fairly certain you can,” he said, taking her empty glass to the kitchen. When he returned, she was wiping her eyes.
“Why would you think I would laugh at that?” she asked, sniffing slightly.
Serge shrugged. “I didn’t really think you would, I was just trying to make light. I know my life’s a fucking train-wreck.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. There is some pretty inspirational shit happening amid some seriously dark moments, Serge. Did you want to talk about some of this? Is that why I’m here?”
“Honestly? I don’t know,” he confessed, running his hands through his hair as he regarded her caring eyes in the early stages of puffing. “I don’t know what I wanted to talk about, I just needed you to know that I’m trying really hard not to push you away, because you’re starting to mean too much to me and that I’m struggling with the idea of what that even means. I feel like I’m at this crucial point where there’s a fork in the road, but both ways are loaded with risk and pain.”
Standing, Vi handed him her empty glass. “I appreciate your honesty. I’m not going anywhere, Serge. Apart from work, shortly. I don’t know what you’re expecting me to do to hurt you, but I don’t mean you any harm. Though in saying that, I may say things that piss you off, but it will be coming from a place of caring.”
“Like what?” he asked, frowning.
Letting her breath out in a whistle, she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth.
“Do you think you love Gina because she saved you?”
“She did save me,” he said, matter-of-factly.
Violet nodded. “But is that why you love her?” she asked again, making him pause. “Or do you love the way she moves? The way she twirls her hair, or the way she cries in movies? Do you love the same music, or the same food, or do you love that she bites her nails and hates high heels? Do you love her, or the idea of her, because she was there when everyone else was gone? Because you’d cut everyone off and she forced her way in and dragged you back to the land of the living?”
“Why does it matter why I love her?” he asked, feeling his defenses rising.
“Because I think that maybe part of you would rather stay in love with an unattainable woman and suffer, because it keeps her at a safe distance. Do you want to succeed and win Gina’s heart, or do you want to keep torturing yourself and using her as an excuse to avoid all other opportunities of love, because you can’t control how those end?” she asked, advancing on him.
“You think I don’t want to be happy?” he asked, not backing down as she pushed. “You think I like living alone while I watch her being happy without me? Do you think that being conflicted about every urge you have is enjoyable? That it doesn’t confuse the hell out of me when I meet someone I feel connected to, and attracted to, and I have all these other feelings that don’t bel
ong anywhere and I don’t know where to put them? When I can’t trust myself not to muck it up, because I don’t even know if I’m imagining the whole thing. I don’t know where I stand on any front and I am hopelessly frustrated.”
“Are you talking about me?” she asked, watching him with careful eyes, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Serge tried not to stare. Did the girl never wear a bra?
“Do you want me to be talking about you?” he countered, not wanting to admit anything if it would have her running out the door.
“I don’t know! I’m as messed up as you are!” she cried. “More, probably.” With her hands in her hair, Violet turned from him, hiding her face.
“Yes,” she whispered softly.
Serge took a step closer. “Yes?”
“Yes. I do want you to be talking about me when you say those things, because I’m feeling them too.” As she lifted her eyes to his, he saw the vulnerability embedded there. “And I’m just as confused, because I can’t trust myself. I like you. A lot. But I don’t know if it’s because you feel safe to me, or because I can’t have you, or because it’s been so long since I’ve been with a guy that I’m caught in a spiral of lust and I’m imagining it.” Her huge brown eyes sought answers, and Serge’s blood began galloping through his veins.
Was this crazy, beautiful girl saying she wanted him? The same way he wanted her - tangled in a mess of complex emotions. The only clear thought in his head was the need to pull her in and kiss the enticing lips that only ever spoke the truth, but Serge restrained himself.
Lost for words, he stared at her, trying to catch his breath. Sultry eyes looked up at him through dark lashes as she tilted her head slightly. A lock of long, dark hair fell against her flushed cheek and Serge wanted desperately to tuck the shiny tendril back behind her ear.
He swallowed hard and ignored the sensation building below his belt. “Vi?”
“Yeah?” she asked, her lips stayed parted just a little after she spoke and Serge wet his own as he imagined what it would be like to run his tongue over them.