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He shrugs. “Because it was the thing to do.”
I wait.
“Because I was bored.”
He eats some more of his laksa.
“Because it made me feel powerful,” he finishes.
I stare down at my meal, but suddenly it doesn’t look so appetising.
“Do you remember Joan? She was in our year level. You dated her,” I say.
“I remember.”
“You waved her Valentine’s day letter in my face.”
“I did.”
“I was crushed.”
“I know you were.”
I keep my eyes on the dish before me. I don’t want to start a fight, or dredge up bad memories, but I can’t help myself.
“What do you want me to say, Charlie? Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”
“No,” I say, a little too defensively.
“Because I am sorry. I did a lot of things in high school I regret.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. “Okay.”
We finish off our meals in silence. It’s only when I’m finishing off the water, washing away the last remnants of spice from my mouth, that I speak again.
“If you don’t like girls, that means the only reason you slept with Cleo was to spite me.”
Lucas’s brow creases. Perhaps I’ve caught him off guard, suddenly bringing up the topic again. Then his brow smooths, but he bites the corner of his mouth. When he replies, he doesn’t meet my eyes. “I don’t want to talk about her.”
I should feel annoyed that he’s blowing my question off, but I don’t. When I really think about it, I don’t want to talk about her either. Better to forget. The past is the past.
Lucas’s pink tongue comes out, wets his lips, then disappears. “Maybe....maybe one day…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence. I don’t prompt him.
We pay the bill and leave. The street is quiet compared to the din of the restaurant, more intimate. I notice every footfall of Lucas’s, the way his jacket rustles. He looks at me, and the intensity of his gaze causes my heart to skip a beat.
I feel the pull of him, as if he’s magnetic. I could brush my arm against his, and he’d let me. I could hold his hand, and I know he’d smile.
But I can’t. There’s a difference between letting him into the space between my thighs and letting him into my heart. I can still remember how much it hurt when he left me when we were thirteen. And just because we’re older now, it doesn’t mean it’ll hurt any less.
It’ll hurt more, because we won’t just be friends. And when he does hurt me, I’ll feel all the more stupid for ignoring all the warning signs.
How can I give in when I look at his track record?
He slept with Cleo.
“Lucas?” I whisper.
