‘So, does pre-sex sleeping together include kissing?’ she asked.
Hell, yes, I thought. I have an almost naked, hot girl in my bed. Of course it includes kissing. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ I replied regretfully. ‘Kissing could shred what little self-control I have left.’
‘Maybe that’s okay,’ she replied.
My eyes adjusted to the dark. We looked at each other. ‘I mean, now we’re here the idea of sex doesn’t seem quite as scary.’
‘Not to you, maybe. I’m terrified,’ I admitted.
‘Why? Surely you’re not a virgin?’
‘Hell, no, I’ve slept with plenty of women, not plenty, a lot. I mean enough. This is going well don’t you think?’
She laughed. ‘Then what’s the problem? I get why I’m scared, but why are you?’
I turned over onto my side, wanting to reach over and touch her, struggling with the urge, and finally dropping my hand onto the mattress between us. Even in the pale light her beauty was obvious. ‘Anything I say is going to sound corny.’
‘Oh, now you have to tell me.’ She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at me expectantly.
‘I don’t want to hurt you. I never want to hurt you, and the possibility of that happening is vastly increased because of what’s led us to this point. So what if I do something wrong, or don’t do the right thing, or what if we have sex and you don’t enjoy it? There’s a lot of pressure to get this right.’
She studied me, then leaned across and kissed me lightly on the lips. ‘Who are you, Troy Messer?’
‘What?’
‘You’re always there when I need you, and you always seem to know the right thing to say. Somehow you know what I need to hear, or feel. It’s like you really are psychic.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Then what are you? I’ve met plenty of guys and you are not like any of them. Who are you, Troy?’
I looked at those lips, wanted to answer her with a kiss – with more than a kiss; my groin was uncomfortably hard, trapped inside cotton. ‘I’m just a guy who really, completely, totally likes you,’ I whispered.
She leaned back a little and searched my face for sincerity, seemed satisfied with what she saw, and leaned back in, the gap narrowed between us, her body dancing with electricity. ‘You know, you’re terrible at getting women to not have sex with you,’ she whispered, her warm breath caressing my face.
‘Who says I always say the right thing?’ I whispered back, and we kissed, closed mouths parting, tongues exploring gently at first, then with more urgency. Her hand rested on my chest, fingers dancing across my skin. I hesitantly placed my hand on her side, waited for a reaction that didn’t come, then used my own fingers to trace lines on her smooth skin. Our bodies moved instinctively, pressing against each other, and she rolled onto her back, pulling me with her, my body pressing onto her – and that’s when it started to go wrong. I felt her tense, freeze, shrink into the mattress, break lips, panting slightly from a beating heart, instantly changed from passion to fear.
Quickly I rolled off her, reinstating the distance between us. Neither of us said anything, hearts slowing, thoughts clarifying, frustration and fear coursing through me in equal parts.
Her body shook and I realised she was crying. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed.
I reached out and grabbed her hand. ‘You should be – you’re really bad at this pre-sex, sleeping-together thing.’
She choked a little, released my hand and punched me in the arm, before linking her fingers in mine again.
When she spoke her voice was light and natural. ‘What can I say? It’s my first time.’
‘You’ll get better at it,’ I replied.
‘I hope not,’ she said.
What did that mean? Did she regret staying or was she rethinking the whole relationship? I wanted to ask but couldn’t.
‘I’m going to sleep now, and tomorrow morning we’ll laugh about this.’ She sounded hopefully optimistic.
I squeezed her hand in reassurance. ‘I’m going to brush my teeth,’ I said softly. ‘Be right back.’ In the bathroom I did brush my teeth, but first I masturbated. I might be an understanding and sympathetic male who was happy to wait things out, but I also had a hot girl in my bed whom I wasn’t going to sleep with.
When I slipped back into bed I thought she was asleep. I closed my eyes and rolled onto my side.
‘You know, I could have cleaned your teeth for you,’ she said in an amused voice.
So much for subtlety. ‘Now you tell me.’
She laughed, the last sound I heard before drifting off to sleep. Such a good way to leave the day.
The one with Kelvin
I woke slowly, becoming aware of sounds and smells and light pushing against my closed eyes. I wondered how old I was. Some days it was hard to tell.
Eyes still shut, I moved first one leg, then the other. No pain. Flexed my fingers; they felt strong and supple. Finally I opened my eyes and looked at my hands. They looked young, wrinkle-free, yet slightly callused, with a malformed knuckle.
I became aware of a figure next to me. She lay on her stomach, long blonde hair draped across her face like a demure mask, her eyes watching me.
‘Morning,’ she said.
‘Morning.’ I grinned at her. ‘How long were you watching me sleep?’
‘A while,’ she said, reaching out and putting her hand on my chest.
‘Stalker,’ I quipped.
‘Are you real?’
‘What?’
‘I guess I’m afraid this is all a dream. A great dream, but one I’m going to wake up from. Tell me I’m not going to wake up.’ She rolled over and stretched an arm up, the sheet falling away from her firm breast.
‘God, I hope not.’
She laughed. ‘You idiot. I’m serious.’
‘So am I! Listen, lying here next to you, this is where I want to be, every day, so if this is a dream I don’t want to wake up.’ It would break my heart, I thought, shatter it into a million pieces under the weight of the moon.
‘Me either,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’
I looked at her questioningly.
‘For pointing me in the right direction, back to the real me.’
‘You did all the work.’
‘Take the compliment.’
‘Okay, then you’re welcome.’
‘I need to say something. Last night you told me you really, completely, totally liked me. I just want to say…ditto.’
‘Ditto? Wow, I’m overcome with emotion.’
‘Ass.’ She let out a breath I hadn’t been aware she was holding. ‘So what’s with the painting?’ she asked, and we both looked over to where the canvas leaned against the wall. She turned to me when I didn’t reply.
Finally I said, ‘It’s something I painted when I was a teenager.’
‘And you never finished it?’
Our eyes naturally drifted to the top left-hand corner, dull white, devoid of paint. ‘I haven’t got around to it.’
‘Fair enough. I guess you’ve been really busy for the last … what, ten years?’
‘You can’t rush perfection,’ I replied to deflect the conversation.
‘You also can’t achieve it if you don’t actually try.’
I reached across and put my hand on her thigh.
She squirmed, then removed the hand. ‘Keep your paws to yourself, you leech,’ she said primly.
‘Leech?’
‘It’s a word. Look it up.’ She removed herself from my temptation by climbing out of bed and walking over to the painting, although from where I lay that only added to the distraction. She picked it up and came back, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting the frame on her legs. Her hair hung over her face as she traced the paint.
The picture was of the top of a hill surrounded by green grass and small bushes. The middle of the picture was of the sky, cloudless and a dull blue. In the top right-hand corner, peeking in from the side of t
he canvas, was a sliver of the moon.
‘This is really good. What’s supposed to go here?’ she asked, pointing at the blank space.
‘The sun,’ I replied, surprising myself. This was the first time I’d ever told anyone.
She raised her eyes to meet mine. ‘So why isn’t it there?’
Her gaze looked past my façade, past the memories, all the Possibilities. It seemed natural to tell her. ‘The sun went away.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I used to see the sun and now I don’t.’
‘How long has it been gone?’
‘Ten years,’ I said.
She leaned the painting against the bedside table, climbed back into bed, and lay down in the crook of my arm. ‘That’s a long time to be in the dark,’ she said, her finger tracing my chest like a paintbrush.
‘Yes,’ I replied, lacking a better response.
‘Is that why you told me the story?’
I didn’t answer.
‘So which one are you – the moon or the sun?’
A pause.
She took my silence to mean that the deep-and-meaningful time was over. ‘So, does pre-sex sleeping together come with breakfast in bed?’
It did, and lunch as it turned out, but we parted in the afternoon since she had family things to do. Emily had wandered into the kitchen as I prepared breakfast, seen the two plates, and asked if one of them was Cat’s. When I said it was she’d nodded in satisfaction, like everything was going according to her plan, and disappeared back into her room.
Cat and I talked every day, but didn’t see each other again until the following Friday, which followed a similar pattern – dinner out (Thai food this time), then back to my place. The same result as the previous week: in bed together but no sex. This time I was expecting it, so didn’t need to brush my teeth, or get her to.
The next morning as we were lazing in bed my cell phone rang. It was my mother. I was going to let it go to voicemail but Cat insisted I answer it. Through a shaky voice Mum told me Kelvin had passed away. He’d gone into hospital for a routine procedure and never came out.
When I hung up the phone Cat asked me what was wrong and I told her. She wept tears for both of us while I fought the maelstrom of emotions inside.
So the first time Cat met my parents, again, was standing next to me in church. True to his word, Kelvin had written his own service. It was filled with laughter and nostalgia, and during the eulogy Kelvin’s son Grant read out a quote – something along the lines of, even when we think the opposite, God still gives us the tools to do his work. It was Kelvin’s way of getting in the last word.
Kelvin had wanted me as one of his pallbearers and I felt out of place amongst his sons and nephews. By the time we carefully placed the box down in the cemetery sweat had my hand slippery, and I felt moisture on my forehead despite the cool day.
Afterwards there were refreshments in the church hall. The last time I’d been in here was for Cat’s father’s funeral, a thought that sat uneasily, with her standing next to me holding my hand. Mum was firmly planted behind the refreshment table, dispensing soothing words and scones in equal measure.
‘You should go talk to her,’ Cat informed me.
‘Yeah. Want to come?’
‘Nope. I’m going to introduce myself to your father.’
‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Nervous? You should be,’ she said with a grin, before pushing me away.
I weaved through the crowd. Mum must have seen me coming because by the time I got there she was holding out a scone. A trail of strawberry jam had slipped down the side and pooled onto her finger.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said, taking the food.
She signalled for someone to take over and came around the table. ‘I’m glad you came.’
I nodded. ‘I liked Kelvin.’
She smoothed her jacket and fixed a non-existent stray hair. ‘He was fond of you.’
‘Even for a spy?’
She flushed and looked across the room to where Dad was deep in conversation with Cat.
‘Mum, it’s okay. And … I’m sorry.’
Her gaze snapped back to me. ‘For what?’
‘Being…’
‘Distant?’ she prompted.
‘A dick.’
‘Let’s go with distant,’ she replied primly. ‘So, am I ever going to find out why?’
My turn to look away. ‘Does it matter?’
‘It might.’
‘Nothing I say can justify hurting you, Mum.’
‘So you’re not going to tell me,’ she replied with a hint of frustration in her voice.
I looked at her. ‘Let’s talk about it this weekend. How about you guys come around for dinner on Sunday?’
She searched my eyes for something, then looked back across the room. ‘And will your friend be joining us?’
‘I’ll ask her.’
Mum patted my arm. ‘It’s a start,’ she murmured.
After everyone had left I sat alone in the church. I couldn’t remember a time when Kelvin hadn’t been part of this building. His character seeped out of the walls, his muted voice whispered from the altar. I sat in the front row, waiting for something, half-expecting him to appear from the back room, sit down next to me and pierce my soul with his eyes.
A single tear found its way down my cheek. Not only had I lost a friend, but also a confidante, perhaps the only real one I’d had. He was the only person who’d accepted at face value what I told him without considering me a candidate for mental assessment or exorcism. I pressed my body down hard on the wooden pew, suddenly afraid that I would float away, that I was less substantial without Kelvin there as an anchor. Everything seemed too difficult, a future with Cat slipping away like grains of sand through my fingers. Nothing was going to be enough to stop this crazy thing that was my life.
There was a rustling sound and someone sat next to me. A hand stole into mine and gripped it tight. Cat and I sat without talking for a long time.
The one with the freak-out
The following Friday we went to a movie, then back to my place. Emily was in the lounge, so we sat and chatted with her for a while. She’d been to a few counselling sessions now and was doing well, to the point where she had started talking about this guy from work, Austin, whom she thought was cute. I bit my tongue.
When I closed the bedroom door it was like a switch went off in Cat’s head. She started pacing, agitated.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I want to know what your end game is,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘No one is this patient. The first time I met you, you came to the door naked. Now for two weeks you’ve had me in bed, and stopped when I said I wasn’t ready. No man is that understanding. So what’s your end game? What are you hoping to get out of this?’
‘What…?’
‘Shut up. You’re too nice. There has to be more to it than this.’
‘That’s crazy,’ I protested.
She stopped pacing, the bed a barrier between us. ‘Why? Why is it crazy?’ she said, her eyes narrowing.
‘Because it is. I’ve never lied to you, Cat.’
‘That’s another thing. You don’t even use my real name. Why?’
‘I told you why.’
‘You told me some bullshit. Why do you call me Cat?’
‘Because you told me to,’ I said hotly.
That stopped her. ‘What? No, I didn’t. When?’
‘Do you want me to call you Elissa? I will, if that’s the problem. Tell me what the problem is and I’ll do anything to fix it.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I really, completely, totally like you,’ I said calmly.
‘Why?’ she repeated.
I stepped to the end of the bed. She took a step back. I took another step forward and this time she stayed put. ‘Because you’re beautiful, and smart, and confident, and quirky. Do you want me to go on?’
‘No…yes, keep talking.’
‘Because when I first met you, you were the sun. You were so bright I was afraid I would get burnt on you.’ I took another step forward, now at the edge of the bed, nothing separating us.
‘And now?’
I abruptly turned and walked out of the room, and came back with Emily’s handheld mirror from the bathroom. Cat hadn’t moved.
I held the mirror up to her face. ‘What do you see?’
She looked at me, then into the mirror. ‘What am I supposed to see? It’s my face.’
‘Is it a good face?’
She moved closer to the glass, moving her head from side to side to study the image. ‘I like it.’
‘What does it say to you?’
‘It’s a face, Troy. It doesn’t say anything, unless I open my mouth.’
I dropped the mirror onto the bed and stepped closer, raising a hand and lightly tracing a finger down her cheek. ‘Do you know what it says to me? When you cry it’s like the sun has gone behind a cloud, and when you smile…when you smile I can’t breathe and I like breathing, but I’d stop breathing forever if it meant seeing your smile’
She looked troubled, picking up the mirror and staring into it once more. ‘The sun, huh?’
I nodded.
‘Even now?’
I took the mirror out of her hands again and pulled her into my arms. ‘I see a face emerging from the clouds. I see the sun coming up again.’
‘No one has ever called me the sun before,’ she replied.
‘More fool them.’
‘What do you see when you look into the mirror?’ she asked. I tried to pull away but she held on tight. ‘Uh-uh. Answer the question, buddy.’
There was no easy answer. The thing is, I’d noticed changes over the past few weeks. The hatred of my reflection I’d felt for so long was dulled. I still thought of my face as dark and cratered, but I was coming to see something different as well. Something better. ‘I see the moon.’
‘Didn’t you say the moon hated its reflection?’
‘So you do listen to me.’
Troy’s Possibilities Page 24