I don’t need to villainize him to know that he’s not for me and that I shouldn’t want more than just a copasetic roommate. Stupid chemistry doesn’t make up for the hard fact that he and I are two spaces that should never touch.
Knowing that, though, doesn’t mean I want to be a jerk about it either. Don’t really know how not to be here, though, since he seems to be missing the memo that we aren’t compatible at all. I can’t really pretend like I’m not having a hard time sticking to the memo, either. I’ve even gone as far as having to remind myself that a quick fuck just to air out the tension would be a bad idea.
"Alright, what is makeup for then if it isn't to simply enhance someone's beauty?" I challenge, focusing on the easier part of what he said and ignoring the entire can of worms that analyzing the need to villainize him would open.
"It’s style, a statement, an expression, just like the clothes you wear.Putting aside the modesty aspect of clothing, people wear clothes to express themselves. They look just as good naked, but still wear clothes to show or hide pieces of themselves. Makeup is the same; it's just a way to dress and style your face–to show what you want others to see and hide what you don't want them to see. It doesn't detract or even hint that your face is any more or less pretty with or without it."
The surprising depth of his answer astounds me a bit, and I huff out a chuckle. "Your mama teach you that?" I ask him because I think it’s obvious that his mom would be into makeup to have makeup influencer friends.
Marcus's face lights up at the question, and he leans a bit further back out of my space. "She did actually. And she's quite impressed with your talent and your channel," he adds on.
I bite my inner cheek at that, curious about her earlier offer. "And you have nothing to do with that?"
Marcus shakes his head. "My mom likes knowing who my friends are, but she can be perfectly cordial to them without extending help or advice. That's purely her idea and sincere desire. She was already curious about you from the way Qi talks about you. My added observations simply elevated the intrigue, but it has nothing to do with the genuine appreciation she has for your art," he says sincerely.
I swallow hard at that, not completely sure how much I believe him. "Marcus–"
Before I can finish the thought, Marcus shakes his head and interrupts me. "I get that there’s tension between us–" he starts, and I immediately shake my head in denial.
"There'snothingbetween us," I interject with words that are more convincing than the waver in my tone that I can't fully hide.
"–but don't let that be a barrier between you and her offer. She meant it for you. Not me," he finishes sincerely, ignoring my interruption.
My eyes lock onto his again. A million things are rushing through me from the genuineness of his mother to the deep intensity of the way he looks at me. His eyes aren’t just an intensity I can see; they’re an intensity that I can feel. The way the endless pools of them swim, amillion emotions breaching the surface. They reach out and grab hold of me, trapping me there, holding me prisoner.
My heart stutters and stops as I drown in his eyes–as I drown inhim. I feel like there’s no stopping it, no denying it, and then an alarm in the back of my mind starts to sound as something cold and cruel stirs. It lifts his head, and fires synapses in my brain that remind me this is dangerous–he’sdangerous–thisfeelingis dangerous. It’s like a knife being lifted and cutting each emotion between him and me apart, leaving them in tatters with the firm rebuke of danger.
A vice squeezes around my heart while an ache creeps into my throat. A million memories rush to the surface, begging for attention, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to shove them all back down. Because I know what they are and I don’t want them. I don’t want to remember or ever feel that again. I don’t want to bring it up and analyze each piece and part, like my last three therapists told me I should. I want them to be silent, and I know the only way to get them to be quiet is to placate them. To remind them that I know it’s dangerous, to shove whatever this is with Marcus deep down into the depths with them.
Dangerous.
Can’t have.
Can’t do this again.
This needs to stop.
Now.
“I mean it, Marcus. There’s nothing between us. I’m not a relationship person, and it’s not worth it to interrupt the flow of the house just for a temporary release,” I find myself breathing out almost coldly.
Something flits across Marcus’s face too quickly for me to know what it was, but in its place there’s an understanding and a kindness that flickers into his gaze. He lets out a huff of air, and an easy smile spreads across his face.
“Duly noted, Qiang, but keep in mind what I said. I’d love to be friends, and I love seeing my friends happy,” he says, and there’s agenuineness in his eyes that tells me he wholeheartedly means that, regardless of whether my cold response hurt him or not.
I let out a breath of relief as the bad memories curl back up and go to sleep. Maybe this can work out after all. Firm boundaries are in place, and there are no hard feelings. I know I’ll still need time to tuck this shit away before I move in with him, but at least we both know where we stand.
TURN THE PAGE
Marcus POV
“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” Darryl asks, eyeing the mess of pieces and parts spread across the floor with a booklet of instructions.
“Can’t be that hard; people build these all the time,” I point out, turning the directions upside down like that will make them make any more sense.
“Normal peoplebuild these all the time. We aren’t normal people, Marcus. Why didn’t you just call Barry to come and build these?” Darryl almost whines, referring to the guy who has renovated most of the house.
When we bought it, it was rundown and outdated. After about two months of steady renovations, Barry has turned this place into a college student’s dream haven.
