AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Vic raised an eyebrow. He shrugged, half-smiling, and walked toward the spider. He lifted his foot, raising it as if to squish it.
“No, don't kill it!” Yeah, I'm complicated. I may hate spiders, but that doesn't mean they deserve to die.
“Seriously?” Vic carefully put his foot back down and turned to stare at me. He had this way of staring that made me question my very being. It wasn't condescending or cruel, it was just opening. Like I was an onion whose layers he could peel away. Vic stared at me and peeled away the layers.
“Could you maybe . . .” I struggled with a way to phrase it. I wanted him to get a cup and put the spider in the cup. Then I wanted him to take the cup to a secure location a million miles away from me and dispose of the spider. Then I wanted him to smash the cup into a billion pieces. But, we weren't that close of friends. In fact, I don’t think anyone was that close. “Could you maybe take it away somewhere?”
As I got to know Vic, I realized that somehow, a lot of statements I made turned into questions. I'm normally not the kind of person who asks a lot of questions or turns to someone for help making a decision. Vic is just the kind of man who demands the final say. A lot of my attraction to him diminished upon that realization. Don't get me wrong: he's still incredibly hot, but I don't think I could handle that in a romantic relationship with him—or even just a friends-with-benefits relationship. Even if I decided something, Vic would still get the final say.
Case in point: Vic's shoe fell upon the helpless spider. I didn’t get mad, because when I asked my question, I realized the odds of him agreeing were zero. That's how it is with Vic; he rarely approaches a conversation willing to negotiate. He's already made up his mind.
“What are those marks on your arm?” Vic asked.
The spider was dead and, up until now, so was our conversation. It was getting late, past ten at night. If it were any other night, I would be in bed trying to sleep. This wasn't any other night though, Vic was here. And some desperate, lonely part of me never wanted him to leave.
“Do you really not know, or do you just want to hear the story?”
“I want to hear the story, Lennox.”
“Well then, Vic Wall, you'll have to wait.”
“Why is that?”
“There is a growing knowledge disparity between us that you need to remedy.”
“I don't follow.”
“Tell me something more about yourself. And not something I could Google.”
“I own this building.”
“I said something I couldn't Google.”
In typical Vic fashion, he casually said, “I was abused.”
I wasn't expecting him to say that. I was expecting him to start out with something light, like, I used to have a dog. I didn't know what to say. I'm sorry sounded so… Useless.
I reached out and touched his arm, and he looked at me. His eyes were so full and inscrutable. I needed him to speak, goddammit! I just wanted to reach into his brain and rip out whatever thoughts he had like I was Dumbledore with a pensieve.
“I tried to kill myself,” I offered.
Vic wasn't the kind of person who needed pity or comfort. He needed security. (Ironic, since he worked in security.) Perhaps trusting him with my secrets would give him security. “I tried to kill myself,” I said, a little more loudly.
Vic looked up at me, his eyes no longer betraying his emotions, but instead fixed on mine, so I pressed on: “These are the scars.” I showed Vic my left wrist.
“What happened?”
I shook my head. “Nuh-uh, mister, I show you mine—you show me yours, remember?”
Vic shrugged. “I don't talk to my mom or dad anymore, because my dad abused me and my mom let it happen. Pretty standard stuff.”
I nodded, unconvinced of his nonchalance. “Uh-huh. Standard.” I swallowed, looking for courage to continue. “I didn't plan it. One day I just snapped. I broke open my shaving razor to get the razors. I started scraping away at my skin. It looks so easy in the movies, you know? It's not. I was at it for hours, biting at a washcloth so no one heard me scream.”
Vic nodded. “I was adopted. My adoptive parents had my sister ten years later.
Then, my father became a religious fundamentalist, and he viewed me as a demon.”
“What the fuck.” I said, more as a statement than a question. I really wasn't expecting that.
