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"Not really. I was miserable. I didn't use my brain at work. I felt so dull and listless. For a while, I tried to fill the gaps with other stuff. Work out plans. Reading three books a week. Drinking too much. Perfecting my winged eyeliner."
"That's why I can't stop staring into your eyes?"
"Of course." I press my palm against his chest. His shirt is stiff, but I can feel the heat of him underneath it. "I was sure I was stuck. That nothing would ever change."
He brushes my hair behind my ear.
"And I felt bad for feeling bad. I had a job even though I had a psych degree. I made enough to afford my own apartment. To get takeout for dinner and buy a membership at the nice gym. I was lucky."
"Most pe
ople need more than an apartment to be happy."
"Yeah. I know. I knew. I knew how complicated people were, how much a fulfilling job affects your satisfaction with your life."
"Does school fulfill you?"
"Yeah. I love it. I think, deep down, I knew I wouldn't be happy unless I was pursuing grad school. But I was too scared to face it. It was easier to close myself off to that possibility. But it made me desperate for any sort of approval or excitement. That was when I started seeing Ross. He was a good guy in certain ways. But not others."
"He hurt you?"
"No." Not the way he means. "He always convinced me to do stupid things." Like swallow a handful of prescription pain killers to numb my feelings. "Drink too much. Then get in a car with him even though he'd had a few. Go to a stranger's place. Skip a condom. I was stupid. But I… I am clean, if you were wondering. I got tested a few months ago. We hadn't for a while."
He nods. "I am too."
"Yeah. We, um, I'm on the shot. So, we could not use a condom sometime."
"Fuck, Iris, I'm trying to concentrate here."
"Oh. You want to?"
His nod is heavy.
"I, uh… I should get back to the topic."
"Right away."
God, he looks cute all needy and horny. And sex makes sense. Sex doesn't poke or prod at my secrets. Sex doesn't beg me to spill my guts.
We should go back to my place. Fuck like rabbits. Use our mouths for something much better than conversation.
But he's still staring into my eyes with all the trust in the world.
Like I'm his salvation.
Is it possible he meant it?
That the past really is the past?
That he won't leave when he knows the truth?
Please, please, please let it be possible.
Walker runs his fingertips along my chin.
I force myself to keep talking. "But Ross, he didn't make me happy. So I turned to Lily." Then to drugs. And when that didn't fulfill me, I'd blame her too. "I'd get mad at her. Blame her for my dissatisfaction. I got her fired once."
"Fuck, really?"
