Sometime in the duration of Valerie’s speech, he had steepled his hands in front of his face and commenced with staring her over the fingertips, trying so hard, trying so fucking hard, not to emote, not to react, not to do anything that would stop her from saying what was on her mind. More than anything, Brian wanted to hear her out and get a full understanding of what brought her to his apartment in this kind of state.
When she finished, the noise Brian made wasn’t quite human.
“Ehhhummm…”
He stuck his tongue in his cheek and looked away.
“Yeah, I need a minute.” He stood up. “Sorry. Just… wait here. Please.”
On uncertain legs, Brian went to the kitchen, where he stood underneath the faintly buzzing light and looked around. This was surreal. It was the kind of conversation people had in porn, or the kind that dudes daydreamed about. A beautiful girlfriend comes home one day and says she’s feeling experimental, and would you mind very much if the two of you found a pretty girl to touch together?
Only this had people’s feelings attached to it. It wasn’t a joke, it was life, it was Valerie, and she was crying on his couch.
Brian opened the refrigerator on autopilot and stared at its contents. A tub of butter. A jar of mayonnaise. A few vegetables he tossed in the drawer without washing. He opened the freezer instead and reached past the mounds of frozen hamburger for the bottle of vodka he kept in the back. The cap was cold, so he used his shirttail to unscrew it. He took a burning sip out of the neck before going back to the living room, where he held it out in offering to Valerie. “Here.”
He sat down on the table again.
“Before I— ”
He broke off and second-guessed himself. Then tried again.
“Before I get to… that… I want you to know I’m not, I mean I don’t have a problem with… I mean I’m not anti-gay.” Fuck this was not poetic, but it wasn’t a conversation he found himself having often so it was rough around the edges. “I’m not mad that you think about this stuff. About girls. I’m not mad, period. But I don’t know if I could do that.”
Brian’s eyes zoned out on her shirt, not really seeing it. He squeezed them shut.
“If I didn’t know you, maybe. Six months ago, if I was backstage and I was popping pills and two girls came up to me, who knows? I know that makes me sound like an asshole. Like if it was just sex, it’d be okay, but since it’s more than sex, it’s not. I never used to think of myself as a romantic but I don’t know if I could stand to watch you be with someone else. Even if I was there. It might hurt too much. And I don’t think I’d want you to watch me be with someone else.”
He rubbed his forehead and sighed.
“I’m not trying to be a fucking prude, I swear, I’m just… That’s not what I wanted with you. I wanted—” He chewed on his lip and now he was in danger of doing the same thing Valerie was doing: crying into his shoes. “Ugh, fuck.”
no subject
When she finished, the noise Brian made wasn’t quite human.
“Ehhhummm…”
He stuck his tongue in his cheek and looked away.
“Yeah, I need a minute.” He stood up. “Sorry. Just… wait here. Please.”
On uncertain legs, Brian went to the kitchen, where he stood underneath the faintly buzzing light and looked around. This was surreal. It was the kind of conversation people had in porn, or the kind that dudes daydreamed about. A beautiful girlfriend comes home one day and says she’s feeling experimental, and would you mind very much if the two of you found a pretty girl to touch together?
Only this had people’s feelings attached to it. It wasn’t a joke, it was life, it was Valerie, and she was crying on his couch.
Brian opened the refrigerator on autopilot and stared at its contents. A tub of butter. A jar of mayonnaise. A few vegetables he tossed in the drawer without washing. He opened the freezer instead and reached past the mounds of frozen hamburger for the bottle of vodka he kept in the back. The cap was cold, so he used his shirttail to unscrew it. He took a burning sip out of the neck before going back to the living room, where he held it out in offering to Valerie. “Here.”
He sat down on the table again.
“Before I— ”
He broke off and second-guessed himself. Then tried again.
“Before I get to… that… I want you to know I’m not, I mean I don’t have a problem with… I mean I’m not anti-gay.” Fuck this was not poetic, but it wasn’t a conversation he found himself having often so it was rough around the edges. “I’m not mad that you think about this stuff. About girls. I’m not mad, period. But I don’t know if I could do that.”
Brian’s eyes zoned out on her shirt, not really seeing it. He squeezed them shut.
“If I didn’t know you, maybe. Six months ago, if I was backstage and I was popping pills and two girls came up to me, who knows? I know that makes me sound like an asshole. Like if it was just sex, it’d be okay, but since it’s more than sex, it’s not. I never used to think of myself as a romantic but I don’t know if I could stand to watch you be with someone else. Even if I was there. It might hurt too much. And I don’t think I’d want you to watch me be with someone else.”
He rubbed his forehead and sighed.
“I’m not trying to be a fucking prude, I swear, I’m just… That’s not what I wanted with you. I wanted—” He chewed on his lip and now he was in danger of doing the same thing Valerie was doing: crying into his shoes. “Ugh, fuck.”