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Sylvester emitted one last quieter groan, and then he looked at me smiling and he laughed too, and pulled out and slumped down on the bed next to me, until our laughter faded along with out panting, and we were left in silence contemplating the consequences of what we had just done.
Sylvester
Usually after sex I feel great. I’d give a cheeky wink to my mirror self and think,you’re the man, Sylvester.I’d do a little dance in the kitchen while making coffee. I’d indulge in the blissful, luxurious nap of the wealthy.
I wouldnot, generally, once the short afterglow has faded, then go immediately into a sort of minor existential crisis within my own brain.
Just be cool, Sylvester. You just hooked up with the love of your life, who is now working for your greatest enemy, having not seen her for twenty years. No biggie. Totally casual. Just a part of being free and easy and unattached.
This kinda thing happens every day. Not to you, maybe. But to someone. Somewhere.
I chanced a sideways look at Luna. She had a look on her face I imagined one would have if they’d just seen the impending death of the universe. Her breathing was getting faster, not slower. This wasn’t helping my own stress levels.
“What’s wrong with you?” That came out rude, but whatever.
She looked sharply at me, and then back into the middle distance. Her face was contorted as if in pain. “Ah, shit. I’m such a fuck-up.”
Wonderful. I held up my hands in peace. “Woah woah woah, there’s nothing about sleeping with me that means you’re a fuck-up.”
She sat up, clutching the sheets to her chest as if she were suddenly ashamed to be seen by me. “Yes, there is.”
I was indignant. “Why? What’s wrong with me?”
“I don’t know. That’s for your therapist to decide, I guess.”
When Luna wasn’t sure what to say, she turned to snark.
I rolled my eyes. “Gee thanks.”
Then her head snapped to face me, and her eyes were shining with something that looked a lot like hurt. “You have this way of making people feel shiny and special. But you don’t really think they’re special. You use them, and then drop them.”
I was cowed by the intensity of feeling I saw in her all of a sudden. My voice became soft. “What is this? Is this still about the tour?”
She looked away again, mimicking my tone. “Still about the tour. You act like that’s something I should be over by now. But you know what you need to be over something? Closure.”
I tried to catch her gaze again, but she wouldn’t hold it. “Luna... there were things going on at the time... Do you want to know why I had to drop you?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“You know that summer I was away? I wasn’t skiing. I was... I was called to the house of Emory Brock. He’d managed to track down his illegitimate kids, all five of us.”
She made a noise of impatience. “I know the Brock history.”
“Sure. So you know that when we broke up, and when you were dropped from the tour... I knew what lay in my future.”
“So?”
“So... I knew there was an endpoint for everything. I knew you and the guys wouldn’t enjoy being dragged into all my family business drama like that. Do you remember the media shitstorm that followed us inheriting his company?”
It had lasted for years, and yeah, I’d seen how brutal it had been, even though I’d tried my best not to read anything in the media about it. The hurt had still been fresh. I downplayed my knowledge of it, though. “Yeah. Just about.”
“Yeah, well, would you have enjoyed getting dragged in that with me?”
“Sylvester Hart.” She corrected herself. “SylvesterBrock. Are you really fucking telling me that you broke up with me for my own good? That you devastated my music career so I didn’t get written about in a fucking... newspaper?”
“A bit. Not entirely. I didn’t know that was going to happen with your career for one thing.”
“Yeah, well you didn’t lift a finger to stop it.”
