“If that’s the depth people will worm their way into my business, then I am definitely not going to be sharing much of anything, Ernest,” she replied with a grin. Close quartered apartments made for nosy neighbours and judgement about the sex noises going on at 2am. Old busybodies. She frowned at Ernest a little, though, when he mentioned genies and gender swapping. “Jesus, is this place one big kink palace? I’m not shaming or anything, it’s not a bad kink to have, but they do that publicly? That takes balls… metaphorical ones.”
Abi missed college so very much. Not just the learning but watching all the Freshmen pretending they’d be faithful to their boyfriends and girlfriends back home. “I think you’d have loved college. Freshman year is all drinking, partying, having sex with as many people as possible, finding out and who you are without restriction. Who needs to use skill when you have that?”
Writer’s block. She remembered now, those articles about him suffering from long periods of being unable to write. “I get that. Every time I look at a blank piece of paper that should have words on it, they all fling themselves at me, begging to be used and I can’t pick the right one. Guess we both just need re-energising, huh?”
She was trying not to giggle at the stories she’d read about him squaring up to men by ripping open his shirt. It was difficult to equate those stories to the nuanced person in front of her. Maybe it was because she hadn’t known his name, hadn’t had that weird barrier between them. He was more vulnerable than she expected. He said he’d never backed down, but something told her that wasn’t the whole truth of the matter.
“You literally just told me I might wake up in a different gender and that’s going to be a pleasant surprise?” she smirked, arching an eyebrow. At least he didn’t mind her touching him, not particularly flirty or even for any purpose. Her fingers curled in a squeeze just a little bit before she took her hand back, satisfied that he wasn’t feeling probed by her questioning.
“Forgiving yourself when you regret is harder than just saying sorry or making restitutions because you betrayed yourself. I don’t mean you specifically,” she clarified. “It’s a betrayal of who we are. When we do shit like that out of character, the guilt comes from hurting yourself as much as hurting other people. People drink themselves into oblivion over that shit, and it doesn’t help. It doesn’t make the betrayal go away, it just turns it into a new one that hurts other people as well, only you’re so drunk that you’re blind to it. You try and help but the don’t listen,” Abi said on a sigh, her smile widening as he mentioned Fitzgerald. “Wow, there’s a real bug up your ass about my tattoo, huh? You jealous or something, Ernest Hemingway? Want your name on my body too?” she teased, knowing it was just part of their rivalry.
This date was getting deep and serious, more so than she’d expected. Hadn’t she just met this guy? It seemed like they’d known each other for years, had done this before. Abi figured that it was because she knew his work so well. But then, they’d been like this in Cuba too…
“You seem pretty open to me,” she replied, just as carefully. “Not that I have much of a measure since every guy I dated was a fairly closed, mysterious book I tried to open. And when I opened it and found all the pages were blank, I threw it away. You are… definitely not blank-paged. I like that.” She bit her lip again, ignoring the voice in her head giving her a warning sign. She knew that this wasn’t the same as every other date, but there was something he was holding back, even though she was sure he’d been totally honest. Fucked if she knew what it was. At least he was super fucking hot for his age, and she didn’t care about the numbers; he could tell her when he was ready, she’d just ride the train for now.
Abi grinned a little warmer as he got up to get refills. “Hate to see you go, but love to watch you walk away,” she said to his back, eyes darting to his retreating form. She wasn’t blind, after all.