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I kept my elbow propped on the edge of the nest so the joint stayed close to the window, directing the smoke outside. “So, um… Did you like the wrestling?”
She laughed, tucking her knees to her chest and pulling her onesie over them. “Yeah, it was fun. Is it… Are they actually fighting?”
“Nah, it’s all acting.” I’d refused to believe it for years, and my siblings used to tease me mercilessly for being so gullible. “Still impressive though, right?”
“Oh yeah, absolutely.” She tilted her knees to nudge my leg, giving me a sly smile. “Do you think you’d be a good wrestler?”
I snorted. “No fucking way. I’m a terrible liar, remember? I can’t act for shit.”
She laughed, then cocked her head. “I think I’d be good at it.”
Suddenly, all I could picture was Beryl in a tight spandex suit. My gut bottomed out, so I hurriedly took a drag of my joint.
“Yeah, you’d be good at it,” I said. “You’re obviously a good actor. You fooled the sex people for years.”
She chuckled. “Yeah.”
There was a pause, before she cleared her throat. “I hope you know that I haven’t acted at all around you, Greid. I haven’t been pretending. I can be totally, one hundred percent myself with you.”
A pleased smile tilted my lips as my face spikes twitched. “Good. Um, me too.”
She grinned at me, resting her chin on her knees. “I know I can say or ask you anything without feeling naïve or embarrassed.”
I snorted, tapping the ash off my joint into the ashtray. “I’m embarrassing enough for the both of us.”
“You’re not embarrassing at all. I love how unapologetically yourself you are. You’re so...” Her cheeks flamed bright pink. “Anyway, I, uh… I liked the wrestling.”
I nodded, rubbing one of my ears to try and stop it fluttering madly. “How about shade?”
She laughed. “Yeah, I like that too. I don’t think I’ll want to do it all that often. It feels a little weird to be so… spacey.”
“Yeah, I get it.” I shrugged. “That’s why I like it, but I know some people don’t enjoy feeling, you know, not totally in control.”
“Yeah, I think that’s what it is.” She paused. “I like being in control.”
My mind took that in a completely different—and inappropriate—way, making my gut squeeze tight. Did Beryl like being in control in… all things?
Suddenly, I was picturing Beryl standing over me as I knelt on the floor. Or, oh shit, while I was tied to a bed, where she could do whatever she wanted to me and I’d just have to lie there and obediently take it. I’d never been tied up. It was an unfulfilled fantasy of mine. All of my fantasies were unfulfilled.
My cock twitched, so I hurriedly grabbed several blankets and dragged them over me. Realising I hadn’t responded to Beryl, I sucked on the joint and mumbled something indistinct around it.
Tracing the blanket beside her, she quietly asked, “Do you miss Agma?”
Blinking at the abrupt subject change, I made a face and shook my head. “No. Not at all. We weren’t right for each other. She tried to turn me into what she wanted. What was right for her.”
Beryl pursed her lips, keeping her eyes downcast. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t wish she could’ve just accepted you for who you are. It doesn’t mean you don’t miss her.”
“I really don’t,” I told her honestly. “I was attracted to her, sure, and initially she seemed… good.” Meaning bossy and dominant in the way I liked. “But the longer we were together, the clearer it got that we didn’t work. We wanted, um, different things.”
She nodded. “You mean like her being really sociable and wanting to go out a lot?”
“That, yeah. That was a huge part of it. She thought it was super boring to sit and watch TV in the evenings. She never wanted to just stay in and relax. We didn’t share any interests, which is fine in itself, but she kept trying to, like… shoehorn me into parts of her life that I didn’t fit into. But not for my benefit. Just because she wanted to have a boyfriend she could show off who… I don’t know, enjoyed wine-tasting evenings and going to look at confusing artwork or watch pretentious indie films at the weekends.”
Beryl chuckled. “But you have a lot of artwork in your house, so you must like it.”
“I do like and appreciate art, but Agma liked the stuff that was like… you know, a single black line on a white canvas or a half-eaten apple on a pedestal. So she and all her friends could pretend that they understood its ‘deep meaning’ and spend an entire evening discussing it loudly over dinner in a fancy restaurant, saying it spoke to them and stuff.” I snorted, taking another drag of my joint, and muttered, “Such bullshit.”
Beryl nodded. Sounding a little guilty, like she didn’t want to badmouth Agma, she said, “I bet she didn’t like any of the shows you watch.”
