Page 71 of X's and Ophelia

Soundlessly, I exited the closet, scooped up my bag, opened up the window and?—

Hesitated.

Brody. Alone. Unsuspecting.

What would it be like to teach him a lesson for disrespecting Ophelia?

No. These thoughts didn’t belong to me.

They were the thoughts of a mad man whose existence was wrapped so tightly around one woman, he couldn’t tell the difference between protecting her and annihilating himself.

Like a ghost, I climbed through the window, closed it behind me, and vanished down the fire escape.

26

Phantom.Then.

I boxed up my anger, found a shelf in my chest, and tucked it away.

It didn’t go quietly, though.

I felt it rattling inside me every time I breathed. Every time I wondered what Ophelia was doing. Every time I wondered whose bed Brody was in that night.

Friday rolled around. I lingered in my basement apartment until I heard the familiar commotion start upstairs. The music first, then the sound of footsteps, then voices carrying from one room to the next. Normally, I found the low murmur of human activity comforting. Today, it grated on me. Everything grated on me. I made up my mind to say something to Ophelia, and I went upstairs.

There were a few new faces tonight. I spotted of three men, hipster types, all chatting together. One of them was a tall man with a smartly groomed horseshoe mustache. I noticed him because he was wearing aSubway Ratzhat. Of all things. Was everyone in this city a fan of their painfully unoriginal music?

As I passed them, I caught the tail end of their conversation:

Guy #1: “Which do you want?”

Guy #2: “Yeah, I guess we should negotiate now, huh?”

Subway Ratz Fan: “I call mouth. I’ve been staring at those fuck-me lips all night.”

Guy #1: “You’re not wrong…”

They broke into low laughter that put the hairs on my neck on end. I didn’t like the way they were talking, but…this was a sex club. They were allowed to be vulgar.

I moved past the pack of men until I found her. Ophelia was at the bar, chatting animatedly with Zero. She wore a tight shirt and high-rise jeans that mapped the dips and valleys of her body so well, I felt something wolfish inside of me start to stir.

She was waving her phone around as she spoke and, when I saw the screen, my heart sank. She was looking at wedding dresses.Wedding. Dresses.

Didn’t she see it?

She was a smart, capable woman. Couldn’t she tell when a man was lying to her?

A voice inside me said:She couldn’t tell with you.

She couldn’t tell every time I swallowed my tongue. Every time the wordsI love youalmost slipped out and instead of letting them, I tightened the leash around my own throat.

Ophelia lived in the reality that best suited her. She was a dreamer. An optimist.

And I was the rock, here to remind her thatyes, people were bad, andno, you shouldn’t trust anyone. Including the man standing beside you.

I settled into the spot at the bar next to her, leaning forward and lacing my hands together on the bar top.

“What are we looking at?”