Space (Laws of Physics #2)(73)

I covered my face, rubbed my eyes, and then dropped my hands. “Because monogamy isn’t for musicians.”

The room fell eerily silent, almost like he’d disappeared from it. Or maybe I’d disappeared.

Even if I was speaking to an empty room, I felt compelled to say, “A year is a long time. I know . . . I know what tours are like. I went on several with my parents. Lisa and I always got along with my dad’s friends. They’d take care of us backstage. One woman, Vivviane, taught us how to braid our hair into crowns.”

I lifted my eyes to Abram. He was still watching me, but his expression teetered between anguished and bracing. I suspected he already understood where I was going with this story.

Even so, I continued, “It wasn’t until I was eleven and my mom visited me at a science summer camp with one of her friends that I added one and one together, and I realized one plus one makes several more than two. After meeting her boyfriend, after she confirmed who and what he was, so many other things made sense—about the women I’d seen with my father when he’d taken us on tour, about why my parents never seemed to both be home at the same time, about the women who sometimes spent the week with us in Chicago, to keep my father company, while my mother was out of town.”

“Mona—”

“They’ve been open with us about it, and I don’t judge them for their lifestyle. In fact, they’ve always made a point to be sex positive with us, which I’ve appreciated. Sex should be fun. It should be equally beneficial for both parties. Reciprocation is a must. Clear consent, communication of expectations ahead of time, and safe words are essential. And, on that note, what’s your safe word?”

Abram’s forehead wrinkled, his dazed expression telling me he was having trouble keeping up. “You want to know my safe word.”

“Yes. I do.”

“Why?” he demanded, the anguish in his stare replaced with suspicion.

I was glad he’d burned my letter, the letter.

In addition to brimming with hot feelings, it also contained the hopes I’d had for our future. Ever since I’d driven through that neighborhood with him—his parents’ neighborhood—the recollection of those pretty houses with picket fences, and US flags, and gardens, and toys in the front yard had become the centerpiece of my imagined future.

My childhood had been so chaotic, and those houses, each looking so similar, exuded order and consistency. If he’d read the letter I’d been carrying with me for over two years, full of impossible dreams, then I wouldn’t have been able to say the words that were on the tip of my tongue. He would’ve known what I really wanted.

“I’d like to have sex with you,” I said, folding my arms. “And if you want to have sex with me—no pressure—we should talk about it, before we do it, make sure we’re both on the same page, you know?”

Abram, staring at me, his lips slightly parted, stood as though a statue for a count of four seconds. I know because I counted. And then a little puff of air left his parted lips, one of disbelief.

“You want to have sex with me,” he repeated, not a question, more like restating my take-out order, to confirm.

“That’s right. I’d like a fling. But, obviously, I’d like your consent first.”

Something behind his eyes shifted, grew darker. It reminded me of the sky when a sudden storm gathers, the light changes, the mood shifts.

He was angry. I’d made him angry.

Confirming this, through clenched teeth, he said, “I do not consent to a f—” he stopped himself, like he’d been about to say something he didn’t want to. Breathing out, he finished, “To a fling.”

I likewise gritted my teeth, a cloud of fury encased my brain. “Well. Fine. Fine. Okay then.”

“Mona—” He took a step forward.

I lifted a hand to stop him. “No. That’s, I mean. That’s it then. Right?”

“No!” He began pacing in front of me, pushing his hands through his hair, loosening it from the tie that held it back “Stop trying to put us in a fucking box!”

“Oh? You want space?”

“Mona—”

“I get it. You want to fly, right? You need freedom. For your creativity. For your—”

“Mona!” he snapped. Actually, he exploded, my name sounding like a command. “Shut. Up.”

I closed my mouth, pressing my lips together, and moving my eyes to the wall behind him. He crossed to me, knelt in front of me, covered my hands with his, and I flinched at the contact.

He noticed, his eyes flashing hurt, but he didn’t pull them away. “Listen to me. Listen. I’m in love with you.”

I scoffed, shaking my head, shifting my gaze to a spot beyond him. “You said yourself, you don’t know me.”

“I don’t want anyone but you.”

“That’s kind of you to say. Thank you.” I gave him a tight smile but not my eyes, removing one of my hands to pat his. “And, as we’ve established, I also want you.”

He exhaled, it sounded beyond frustrated. “No. I’m not—this isn’t—goddamnit!” His hands moved to my arms and I finally looked at him. His eyes were wild, his voice a deep growl. “Listen and believe me. I’ve done that. I’ve tried that. Maybe it works for some people. I hated it.” He shook his head firmly. “When you left, and all I could think of was you, all I wanted was you, but I thought I was crazy, I tried filling the hollowed out spaces with women. With alcohol. With violence and aggression. With anything that might distract me from the blinding absence of you.”