arms across my chest, giving up on the salad. "You know he's right over there. He'll hear you."
" I can barely hear me," Dean points out. "Sorry, I figured the two misfit kids would've bonded at some point."
The truth is, I don't know what the deal is with Arthur. I've never known, and neither does anybody else. Maybe I should've made more of an effort. But these days, everyone is so scattered, and our get-togethers are, well...loud. The dominant personalities in this group, of which there is a majority, always steer the conversation and the activities.
"Try talking to him sometime," says Dean. "I know it's not your forte , but you're a successful author now. You should be able to talk to people. If you ever start to feel nervous, just remind yourself of your own superiority."
"That actually does not make me feel any better," I inform him. "But you're actually kind of right about Arthur, probably. And for the record, being successful hasn't helped all that much. I'm still inept at social interactions, although I have found that throwing money at people works pretty well as a social lubricant. Just not as applicable to family. Not mine, at least."
"Or cops," says Dean. "In this country. Most of the time."
***
Dean
I'm going for a run.
These days, I run alone. It's actually better this way. The noise of the city fades away as I do it, and I forget everything.
Usually.
But today, I can't stop thinking about Lissy. I'd almost forgotten what her family was like, how much their behavior explains almost everything about her.
Everything, that is, except her lack of trust.
That was what killed us. Not that I was perfect. I started getting lost in my work, something I never imagined I'd do - not when we were first together, and all I wanted was to see her smile.
But things started to change. Years passed, and we got comfortable with each other. Maybe too comfortable. She'd never say it out loud - she was too grateful for my paycheck - but I could tell it was starting to eat at her. I was never home. And yes, most of the time I actually was working. The rest of the time I was blowing off steam, meditating, the only way I know how. Pounding pavement. I know it's not good for my feet, my knees, and I know the carbon monoxide I'm inhaling is probably eating holes into my brain. Whatever. I need this. I need something, and this does it.
Lissy's family likes me, and respects me. It's not difficult for me to cultivate that. That's one of life's dirty secrets: your character doesn't matter, so long as you can fake it. Look at how many people still voluntarily give Jordan Belfort their money.
I'm not a scumbag, but I'm not above using their tactics. Actually proving that I'm a good person would take way too much time and effort. It's easier to smile easily, ask a lot of light questions, and laugh along with bad jokes.
Why am I doing this?
I couldn't say no to Lissy when she called. It was on the tip of my tongue, and then yes just popped out of my mouth.
So maybe I'm still hung up on her. Just a little bit. There was never any closure there, not that there usually is. But the way she turned on me - it never sat right.
Everything else that doesn't work out, I can just walk away from. And to my credit, I did try. But now, suddenly, here I am.
Running back to her.
***
Lissy
I'm sitting in a post-coital glow, staring at the screen of my phone. I wish I didn't find myself in this situation so often.
M: New rule. When we're finished, tell me "thank you, Sir."
Thank you, Sir.
That's easy enough. This isn't the first time I've found myself wondering if he actually gets off on this, like, for real - or if it's just a power trip. I don't know how he can type so quickly and so coherently if he's jerking off at the same time.
M: Good girl.
I wish that didn't give me such a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Leather and Laces
Dean
It's the night of the fetish ball, and Lissy managed to shake off her family
" I can barely hear me," Dean points out. "Sorry, I figured the two misfit kids would've bonded at some point."
The truth is, I don't know what the deal is with Arthur. I've never known, and neither does anybody else. Maybe I should've made more of an effort. But these days, everyone is so scattered, and our get-togethers are, well...loud. The dominant personalities in this group, of which there is a majority, always steer the conversation and the activities.
"Try talking to him sometime," says Dean. "I know it's not your forte , but you're a successful author now. You should be able to talk to people. If you ever start to feel nervous, just remind yourself of your own superiority."
"That actually does not make me feel any better," I inform him. "But you're actually kind of right about Arthur, probably. And for the record, being successful hasn't helped all that much. I'm still inept at social interactions, although I have found that throwing money at people works pretty well as a social lubricant. Just not as applicable to family. Not mine, at least."
"Or cops," says Dean. "In this country. Most of the time."
***
Dean
I'm going for a run.
These days, I run alone. It's actually better this way. The noise of the city fades away as I do it, and I forget everything.
Usually.
But today, I can't stop thinking about Lissy. I'd almost forgotten what her family was like, how much their behavior explains almost everything about her.
Everything, that is, except her lack of trust.
That was what killed us. Not that I was perfect. I started getting lost in my work, something I never imagined I'd do - not when we were first together, and all I wanted was to see her smile.
But things started to change. Years passed, and we got comfortable with each other. Maybe too comfortable. She'd never say it out loud - she was too grateful for my paycheck - but I could tell it was starting to eat at her. I was never home. And yes, most of the time I actually was working. The rest of the time I was blowing off steam, meditating, the only way I know how. Pounding pavement. I know it's not good for my feet, my knees, and I know the carbon monoxide I'm inhaling is probably eating holes into my brain. Whatever. I need this. I need something, and this does it.
Lissy's family likes me, and respects me. It's not difficult for me to cultivate that. That's one of life's dirty secrets: your character doesn't matter, so long as you can fake it. Look at how many people still voluntarily give Jordan Belfort their money.
I'm not a scumbag, but I'm not above using their tactics. Actually proving that I'm a good person would take way too much time and effort. It's easier to smile easily, ask a lot of light questions, and laugh along with bad jokes.
Why am I doing this?
I couldn't say no to Lissy when she called. It was on the tip of my tongue, and then yes just popped out of my mouth.
So maybe I'm still hung up on her. Just a little bit. There was never any closure there, not that there usually is. But the way she turned on me - it never sat right.
Everything else that doesn't work out, I can just walk away from. And to my credit, I did try. But now, suddenly, here I am.
Running back to her.
***
Lissy
I'm sitting in a post-coital glow, staring at the screen of my phone. I wish I didn't find myself in this situation so often.
M: New rule. When we're finished, tell me "thank you, Sir."
Thank you, Sir.
That's easy enough. This isn't the first time I've found myself wondering if he actually gets off on this, like, for real - or if it's just a power trip. I don't know how he can type so quickly and so coherently if he's jerking off at the same time.
M: Good girl.
I wish that didn't give me such a warm, fuzzy feeling inside.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Leather and Laces
Dean
It's the night of the fetish ball, and Lissy managed to shake off her family
Similar Books
