Page 55 of Stroked Long
A little, and I mean little, giddy squeal comes from Eva, who then quickly calms herself. I’m waiting for the “I told you so” but apparently she has gained some self-control and holds back. “Does she know?”
“Obviously not after what transpired this morning.” Leaning back on the sofa, slouching in my seat, I grip my forehead out of pure hatred for myself. “She’s more than just a coworker to me, Eva. She’s a friend, someone I feel comfortable talking to, someone I trust. But she doesn’t fucking know that because I was so flustered and out of my mind this morning I flipped and made an ass of myself.”
“You sure did.” She doesn’t sugarcoat it as she crosses her legs and sips her coffee. “I mean, you really did a number this morning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so disastrous in person. It was quite impressive.”
“Will you shut the fuck up? Christ, Eva.”
That garners a laugh from her. “Come on, you have to kind of laugh about it, Bodi. You can’t go about your life so serious all the time.”
“How the fuck do you expect me to laugh about this? I hurt Ruby, and I didn’t mean to. She sprinted out of here, never making eye contact. It’s gutting me that I did that to her. So you can’t blame me for not being in a laughing kind of mood.”
“I can understand that, but this is fixable, Bodi.”
“How so? She barely tolerates me as it is. This was probably the final nail in the coffin for me.”
“She doesn’t barely tolerate you, Bodi. If she barely tolerated you she wouldn’t have stayed last night.”
“She didn’t have an option last night. The roads were flooded. Fuck, Eva. Almost every time I’ve been around the girl I’ve been on the verge of having an episode, of freaking out about something, and she notices. There’s no hiding it when I’m around her. She knows I’m not normal—”
“No one is fucking normal, Bodi, so stop using that as an excuse.”
“Don’t give me that shit, Eva. You know what I mean when I say normal. Someone who can live comfortably in their house without obsessively cleaning and checking everything to make sure it’s all in place. Someone who can have a thoughtful conversation with another human being without constantly trying to remember social cues. Someone who doesn’t have to live so rigidly by a day-to-day structure.”
“We all do that. We all possess those behaviors, but it just depends on how extreme they are in each case. Do you think it’s easy for me to carry on a conversation with strangers at an art showing and explain why I always have a heavy hand when using the color red? I have the same issues as you, Bodi. I’ve just put myself out there more. You’re still living in this dark hole—”
“You weren’t the one who fucking killed them,” I shout. “It’s easier for you to move on.”
“You did not kill our parents, Bodi. You were not the psychopath with a gun. No matter whether the door was locked or not, he would have found a way in.” She has told me this over and over, but it isn’t true. It’s my fault. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.
“Yeah, and I gave him a golden ticket to our parents’ room.”
Eva stands and shakes her head. “I can’t keep fucking doing this with you. When are you ever going to forgive yourself for what happened?”
“Never,” I say softly, shutting my eyes to ward off the tears that threaten to spill over.
Releasing a long exhale, Eva picks up her purse and plops the box of muffins on my lap. “Have a good day off, Bodi. I will talk to you later.”
Fuck. Now I’ve upset Eva. Have a good day off.As if I could have a fucking good day. Fuck. Me. I feel so desperate, so unsure. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do with the grief of my parents’ death. No, I can never forgive myself. I don’t know what to do about Ruby.Rubes.I’ll never get to call her that again. I’m a fucking asshole just like Eva said.
Clenching my eyes shut, I call after her just before she reaches the door. In a near whisper, I ask, “What do I do about Ruby?”
“What do you want to do about her? Do you actually want to live the life you’ve been blessed with or do you want to continue to throw it away?”
Not wanting to get all philosophical with her, I say, “I want to make sure her feelings aren’t hurt. I want to apologize.”
“Well then, apologize.”
“It’s not that easy for me. Please, Eva.”
Those two little words said in my rough, regretful voice has her turning around and sitting back down on the couch.
“You’re not being fair. You know I can’t walk out on you when you’re like this.”
Through my hands, I tilt my head to look at her. I know I look like a ragged fuck right now, a desperate man, and that’s why I’m hoping she will school me in apologies. I’m not an idiot, I know how to say sorry, but not in this kind of context to a woman I’m actually interested in.
“What do you want to accomplish with this apology?”
“Shit, I don’t know.” I rub my head and open the muffin box. The bran and wheat smell is overpowering. I must be the only one who enjoys it. “I want her to not be mad at me. I want her to talk to me, to maybe be my friend.”
