Page 86 of Taking Turns

“Why are you staying at the Club?”

“You guys want me there.”

“I want you here, Chella. Not there.”

“They want me there. Quin and Bric.”

“Do you know what you want? Out of this arrangement?”

I draw in a long breath of air and then let it out slowly. “No. But I’m doing my best to figure it out.”

“Are we helping you? Or hurting you?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I admit.

“You know what I want?”

I shake my head. “No. I have no idea what you want.”

“Don’t you think you should know that?” he asks. “Before you go much further.”

“What do you want?” I ask in a small whisper.

“You. Obviously.”

“Then why didn’t you just ask me out yourself? Why are you in this relationship with two other guys?”

“Because they help me process things. They give me perspective and clarity. And I like rules. Rules make sense. I like things that make sense. And love… love makes no sense at all.”

None of what he’s saying makes any sense to me, either. Not one bit of it. “Will you come upstairs Wednesday night? When I’m with Bric?”

“If you invite me, yes.”

“I’m inviting you.”

“Then I’ll see you then.” He turns over and faces the window. “Goodnight, Chella.”

I stand in the doorway for a few more seconds, unsure of what to do or say. But he’s dismissed me. So I guess it’s not even my decision to make. I leave, whispering, “Goodnight, Smith,” as I walk upstairs to bed.

I know what I want. I have so many ideas about what I want. But I’m too afraid to say them. Too ashamed to tell him. Any of them, not just Smith. I’m even ashamed to tell myself.

Because I like it in the dark. I don’t need a light to guide me through it.

And I didn’t need a peek. Because I’ve been living in the dark for a very long time, I just didn’t want to admit it.

Chapter Twenty-Two - Quin

“I don’t get it,” Chella says.

I got here last night. It was a little weird to be OK with Chella and not think too much about Rochelle. Weird, in that I feel a lot of guilt for replacing a girl I truly loved with this new one, who I’m truly starting to like. But I didn’t try to fuck her, and she didn’t mind me sleeping next to her and being all chaste, so…

I don’t know. Maybe we’re becoming friends.

“What’s not to get?” I ask back. When I got up this morning she was already awake. The coffee was made, the TV was on—some morning news show—and she was sitting on the new couch staring out the window at the gray sky that’s threatening more snow.

Then she started with the questions. Why do we do this? What do we get out of it? Is she doing a good job?

I feel bad that it’s so confusing for her, I really do. But it’s not confusing for me.