The Contradiction of Solitude(41)

Diana, Diana, Diana. It was looking like she’d never learn.

“Not really,” I answered truthfully.

What we were doing was so much more…intricate…than dating.

“Oh.” Diana looked confused. I enjoyed that.

“He’s just here so much. But just friends then?”

“No, we’re not friends.” I shouldn’t get so much pleasure from her discomfort. But I did.

“Not friends and not dating. Then why is he in here, talking to you, every single time you work?”

I picked up the pile of books and walked away. I heard her grumbling under her breath.

She hated me. Really, really hated me.

I went to the second floor of the bookshop and looked out the window, across the street toward George’s Custom Shop. I knew he was in there. He had gone to work when I did. Three hours past when he was supposed to be there.

He had fretted and worried over being late. I had silenced him easily enough.

“Layna.” I didn’t jump at the unexpected arrival. Even though I was instantly on guard.

“Can I help you find something?” I asked, still looking out the window. I could see her reflection in the glass. She was standing close behind me. Too close. But I wouldn’t move.

“No I’m not looking for something. I’m looking to get rid of something,” Margie spat and I smirked. She was so predictable. So mundane.

She wore her jealously like a neon sign. Simple to read. Easy. Just like her.

“We’re not in the market for used books,” I said, being purposefully obtuse.

Margie grabbed my arm. Thick fingers digging into infuriated skin. I breathed out heavily through my nose.

And I thought about the blood.

“Look at me you spiteful cunt,” she hissed, and I pulled my arm away. Not a yank. Not desperate to be free of her. Just a gentle tug out of her grip.

I didn’t rise to her bait. I didn’t respond to her barb. I continued to look out the window.

Toward Elian…

“Ever since you started sniffing around, Elian hasn’t been right. He’s different!”

“And that’s bad because…?” I asked quietly, amused by her rising ire.

“Because it’s not him! The Elian I know wouldn’t get into a fight at his friend’s house over some piece of ass! He’s laid back. Funny. A great guy to be around! But you’ve changed him! Now he’s quiet and angry and won’t talk to anyone! What are you doing to him? You must have a golden snatch by the way he pants after you.” She was trying to hurt me. But she wasn’t.

I felt good.

“You think you know him? Why?” I finally turned to face Margie. Her cheeks were flushed, her fists were clenched. I wondered if she’d try to hit me. I hoped she did.

“Because you had sex a few times? Because he put his cock inside you?” I let my tongue roll over the words. Tasting them before I struck.

I took a step toward her, giving her a calm, placid smile. I knew that unsettled Margie. She shuffled backwards. “You’re a crazy f*cking bitch,” she hissed at me.

“And you’re a deluded little girl that no one loves and will never love. I’ve known women like you my entire life. And as hard as you try to snatch and grab onto a man, you will never be able to hold onto him. Because he will always see you for who you are. Scared. Pathetic.” I looked her in the eye. “Disgusting.” I ran my tongue over my lips relishing in the pain I would inflict.

Margie had gone white. I thought she might vomit.

“You don’t know anything about me,” she protested but barely.

“Don’t I?”

I shrugged and turned back to the window, giving her my back. Giving her nothing.

I collected secrets like I collected stories.

They each had their uses.

“Don’t approach me. Ever again. If you see me in public, walk the other way. If I hear my name on your lips, you will rue the day.” Even. Unconcerned. Honest.

“You f*cking bitch.”

I looked over my shoulder. “And don’t touch him ever again. I’ll know if you do.”

Margie was shaking. She wanted to hit me. So much. But she wouldn’t. Not now.

Not ever.

She left without another word. I had never considered Margie from George’s Custom Shop a threat.

And I didn’t now.

I put my hand flat against the glass, my nose touching the pane as I thought about Elian, in his studio, bent over the guitar he was so carefully constructing with labored, exhausted hands.

I smiled.





“Dude, I’m really sorry about what happened—” Tate began to say the moment I walked into the studio.

“Don’t, all right?” I didn’t want to get into it again.

I had a brief instance after leaving Tate’s with Layna where I wondered if I had reacted too hastily. If I had created drama where there shouldn’t have been any.

I had been on edge from the time we had arrived until the second we left. I felt as though I had been holding my breath, waiting until it was okay to breathe again. Layna hadn’t wanted to be there. I knew that.

She didn’t fit into that world I had created with these friends who weren’t real. What had I been thinking in asking her to go?