Dec 27, 2008

        I feel so much better this morning! We got so much sleep, although intermittently. I’m surprised Scott is such a good sport about sleeping on this little twin bed, but I guess it’s not so bad when we want to be curled up close together anyway. He said if I want to that tonight we could stay over at his place. He has a full sized bed in his room, and I’m really curious to see how he lives.

        He just left to do some chores around his place for a bit and I’m gonna do some cleaning around here too. I’m drinking coffee, listening to music, and having a cigarette in my room with the window open and fan blowing out. I’m in such a good mood! Maybe if I cut down on my drinking and sleep more I could feel like this more often.

        Last night was such a rollercoaster of emotions, but I feel really happy about how everything’s gone. Do I have hope again? I’m probably being delusional but I guess I don’t care right now because it feels so good. If nights like last night are the last of my life I think I can die happy.

Scott got here around 8:30 pm and I greeted him at the door. “I missed you,” I said with a tired smile.

        “I missed you too. Did you get some rest?” he asked as he stepped inside and I took his coat and hung it up.

        “Yeah, it was nice. I’m still pretty tired though,” I said and looked him over. He was wearing black sweatpants and a baggy Bemidji State University shirt. “You must’ve gotten the memo about the dress code this time,” I said and pointed to my NDSU shirt and grey sweatpants.

        He chuckled. “Believe it or not I still sleep in my college clothes.”

        I shook my head. “Typical man, never updates his wardrobe.” I put my arms around his shoulders and kissed his neck. “You smell really good,” I whispered.

        “I just showered,” he said. “Looks like you did, too.” He caressed my wet hair.

        I went to the kitchen and poured us two glasses of ice water. “Wanna go to my room?” I asked.

        “Yeah,” he said and took the glasses from me. “After you.”

        He set the glasses down on my nightstand and I scooted into the bed close to the wall. He laid down next to me and I laid my head on his chest. I could hear his heart and his breathing. I wanted to tell him I loved him.

“Thanks for coming over. I know this bed isn’t the most comfortable,” I said.

        “Thanks for having me. It’s not bad. I kinda like it,” he said.

        I kissed him. “So you still like me?”

        He chuckled. “What do you think could have changed since this morning?”

        “I dunno. That you could’ve come to your senses?” I asked with a smile.

        He kissed me deeply and caressed my face. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about this morning,” he whispered.

        I felt his hand move from my face to my neck, then to my breast. His forwardness surprised me given how hesitant and tentative he’d been the night before, but it didn’t bother me. I was hoping we could have sex again when I invited him to spend the night.

        “What’d you think about?” I asked as my hand crept under his shirt. His skin felt smooth and soft, like he’d just moisturized.

        He moved his hand under my shirt and ran his fingers over one of my nipples. “I thought about what you said to me,” he whispered.

        I laughed. “I say a lot of things.”

        “Was it true, though? That you thought of me in this bed, back then?”

        I inwardly cringed, remembering what I’d said in the moment the first time we had sex. I felt uneasy that he brought it up. Some version of it was true and it was what I was thinking at the time, but that was my fantasy and perhaps I should have kept it to myself. Especially now that I was feeling better, sober and rested, I wanted him to think of me in the present, not the old me.

        “I um…I really don’t remember what I said,” I said and tried to laugh it off. “My brain was like…not really working.”  

        He kissed my lips, then the side of my face, then my neck. I took in a deep, shuddering breath.

        “I remember,” he whispered.

        It took a little while for me to shake the uneasy feeling, but we had clean, pleasant sex that lasted longer than two minutes this time. Scott was such a better lover than Paul. So much more tactful and thoughtful with his touches, and he seemed to be the kind of man that always wanted his woman to come first, although he told me it's very easy to get me off. I wonder if that’s true, and why that could be. Maybe I’m just that attracted to him.

        After we took turns cleaning up in the bathroom next to my room we laid back down together. I liked having my head on his chest so I could hear his heart. It sounded so strong, regular. Sometimes when Paul would lay his head on my chest he would tell me my heartbeat was erratic and that it scared him. I know what he’s talking about and I can feel it sometimes. I think it’s because of all the caffeine, alcohol, and nicotine.

        The little lamp was the only light on in my room and it was very subtle so I kept it on in case one of us would have to get up in the night. I kept the fan on that I used to push smoke out of the room because I like the sound. Scott was playing with my hair and we were quiet for some time. It was a comfortable lull in conversation. It felt nice to be around him because I didn’t feel the constant pressure to talk. After a while his hand went limp and his breathing deepened. I liked that he could sleep so easily around me. What would it be like to sleep with him like this, every night? My mind wandered pleasantly until I too drifted off.

        Sometime later I woke up, still kind of half dreaming, and I’d been dreaming about him so it was hard to tell if I was awake or not. He was still asleep and I kissed his lips and he kissed me back. I love so much that he does that, and I wonder if it makes him dream about me, or maybe another woman. It doesn’t matter.

        I wanted to see how many times I could kiss him before he woke up, and I think I counted to four before his eyes fluttered open and he pulled me into his arms.

        “Did you know you kiss me in your sleep?” I asked, smiling.

        He laughed. “Really? I do that?”

        “It’s really cute,” I murmured. I ran my hands through his hair and touched his face, his lips. “I like your teeth,” I said. They were mostly straight except his two front teeth overlapped a little, and he had very sharp looking canines. “Did you ever have braces?” I asked.

        He chuckled at the question. “No, I didn’t need them.”

        I smiled. “I didn’t need any either, but my teeth don’t look the nicest.”

        “I like your teeth. They’re unique. I like your little chipped tooth,” he said.

        It was the incisor next to my left canine, the one I’d chipped with the whistle. “I tried getting it filled a couple times but it kept falling out. It hurts sometimes if a drink is too cold. I should probably get it fixed again but I don’t have insurance.”

        “Well, graduate college and get a good job with benefits,” he said softly. “Get it fixed then.”

        I sighed. “Sometimes I dunno if I wanna go back to college.” I paused, considering what I was about to say next. “You know, I talked to a recruiter from the marines a few months ago.”

        He raised his eyebrows. “The marines?”

        I nodded. “I felt…feel, just kind of lost. I wanted to…I dunno, give myself away to something. Like fully commit in a mindless sort of way.”

        “Well, what did the recruiter say?” he asked.

        My heart sped up and my face got hot. “I um…they wouldn’t let me in, he said. I should tell you something, because I don’t think you’ve noticed but you would have sooner or later.”

        He sat up, looking alarmed. “What is it?”

        I positioned myself with my legs over his lap. “I have this bad habit…I’ll show you.” I pulled up one of the legs of my sweatpants to reveal the inside of my left calf, which was etched with scars varying in color as well as the most recent cut that was still healing.

        “Jesus, Christine,” he whispered.

        “They um…don’t accept people who’ve self harmed. The marines, I mean. I guess you can see I still do it, not as often anymore…” I trailed off, my voice weak.

        He looked closer and traced one of the larger, older scars with his finger. “These look…pretty intense,” he said.

        “I probably should have gotten stitches for a couple of them,” I said, feeling ashamed and embarrassed.

        “How long have you been doing this?” he asked, his voice cracking.

        I shrugged. “A couple years. When I first went to college.”

        He pulled the pant leg down. “Why do you do it?”

        I took a deep breath. “I dunno. It just feels good. Like when I’m so sad and frustrated and I feel like I’m going to burst…it’s like it lets the air out. It stops me from doing worse things.”

        Scott blinked quickly and brushed his hand over his eyes. “Like…what?”

        I shrugged and shook my head. “I dunno. I’ve done dumb stuff like take pills…lots of things. I get really scary when I feel like that,” I said, my voice becoming erratic. “But like…to myself, not anyone else,” I added quickly.

        He rubbed his eyes and blinked. I thought I could see dampness beneath his eyes. “You should really get some help, Christine.”

        We looked at each other for a long time as I tried to decide how to respond. “I…don’t think anyone can help. I don’t do it as much anymore. I’m getting it under control.” I’d wanted to tell him that I didn’t want help, that I was thinking of ending things anyway, but I didn’t feel ready to tell him that just yet.

        He looked back at my leg and paused. “What happened with the last one?” he asked, referring to the cut that was still healing.

        “Um…that was when Paul told me about his new girlfriend,” I said. “I hadn’t done it for a while before that.”

        He sat silent for several moments and I felt stupid, ashamed. The only other person who knew about my cutting was Paul, and he shared my affinity with self harm in his own ways, so he understood it.

        “Breakups happen and it hurts, but it sounds like it’s a pattern and it’s more than that. What’s…so bad?” Scott asked.

        I thought for a while before I responded. I felt a cold sweat come over me and I was shaking a little. “I dunno…it’s everything. It’s who I am and that I just can’t fit in with the world and it’s frustrating. I don’t think that like…my life is bad or anything, like externally. It’s just something about me…something deeply wrong that’s been there since I can remember, and it feels impossible to do the right things, so I get sad and frustrated with myself.”

        Scott sat with that for a while. “I’m not sure what to say,” he said weakly. “I want to tell you that you’re a good person and nothing’s wrong with you, but I know how useless it can be to hear that from someone outside of yourself. I will tell you that you mean a lot to me and that the past couple days have been the happiest I’ve been in…well, a very long time. I don’t think I’ve laughed or smiled so much in years, probably.” He paused and narrowed his eyes. “I can feel how much you have to give the world through what you’ve given me, and I think it’s a shame you don’t understand your value. I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

        I was looking down and my hair was covering my face. Tears peppered my eyelashes and when I blinked they fell heavily on my lap. I wiped my eyes with my palms. “I’m sorry,” I said, unable to hide that I was sobbing.

        “It’s alright. Come here,” he said, patting the pillow next to him.

        I situated myself next to him and laid my head in the crook of his arm he put around me. He squeezed me closer to him. I wanted to tell him that I loved him, but I didn’t say anything. We sat quietly as my sobs subsided. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you felt you could talk to me,” he said softly.

“Can we go outside?” I asked.

He squeezed my shoulder. “Of course.”

We put our jackets on and stepped outside. It was cold but still and quiet. I wondered when it would snow again. I hadn’t checked the weather at all since I’d been home.

I lit a cigarette. “Want one?” I asked.

Scott shrugged. “Why not,” he said.

I handed him the cigarette then lit another one myself. “I figured you might want one after what we just talked about,” I said.

He took a long drag and didn’t cough this time. “I won’t lie to you, you make me worry.”

“I know. I’m sorry I’m so messed up. I really didn’t mean to burden you with all this,” I said and puffed my cigarette. “Thank you for being so nice to me. I hope you still like me.”

Scott examined his cigarette and narrowed his eyes. “We all have problems, Christine. I have my own problems…as you know. Of course I still like you. I like you a lot.” He looked at me and smiled.

“Do you still wanna see me while I’m here?” I asked weakly.

He nodded. “If that’s what you want, nothing would make me happier.”

We stood in silence for a few moments, then I saw the white cat out of the corner of my eye as it emerged again from under the porch. “There it is!” I exclaimed before I clapped my hand over my mouth for being too loud.

It turned and looked at me, pausing. Scott and I stood very still.

“We should have left some of the pheasant pieces out here,” I whispered.

He nodded. “Yeah…I didn’t think of that.”

We stood in silence as we watched it, and it watched us, its tail flicking. Its reddish brown eyes looked so beautiful and I wished I could pet it, but I knew it would run away if I approached it.

“I’m sorry, little angel. I’ll bring you some food tomorrow,” I cooed, and it looked at me as though it understood then sauntered over to the barn.

“That should be its name,” Scott said.

I looked at him and smiled. “What?”

“Angel,” he said. “It looks like an angel.”

I laughed. “That’s perfect! Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. I think either can be angels, right?”

“I dunno. I don’t believe in that stuff. I’m like…an atheist,” I said.

Scott chuckled and shook his head. “I couldn’t tell,” he said. “It’s alright. I am too.”

I took a drag from my cigarette. “It’s weird to like…live around here and not go to church isn’t it?” I asked.

“Yeah. It didn’t go over very well working at the school. I never said that I wasn’t religious…my parents used to go to the Lutheran church in town, but I didn’t go, and people here found that strange.”

 “Where do your parents live now?” I asked.

“Florida,” he said. “Fort Meyers.”

“My mom’s in Arizona right now, and dad’s in California. Mesa and Palm Springs. Both our parents left us in the cold.” I took the last drag from my cigarette and threw the butt in the planter.

“Nowhere I’d rather be than here with you,” Scott said as he followed suit and flicked the butt into the planter.

We went back inside and when I was about to ascend the stairs to my room Scott stopped me. “Wait, I wanna try something.”

“What?” I asked, smiling.

He offered his arms, like a cradle. “Let me carry you. You look tired.”

I laughed. “Are you serious? Up this narrow stairway?”

“Yeah. Don’t you trust me?”

I shook my head. “Of course.” I let him heft me into his arms and we made our way up the steps.

“See? No problem,” he said, his voice strained.

I grimaced. “I’m scared!” I pressed my face to his chest and tried to keep myself small and my weight centered. When he stepped over the threshold into my room I let out a long sigh of relief. “We made it. You’re so strong!”

He laid me down on the bed and I pulled him on top of me and ran my hands over his arms and shoulders. “You’re a lot stronger than you look,” I said.

“Is that a compliment?” he asked and kissed me.

I ran my hands through his hair. “Yeah,” I said. “Everything I say to you is a compliment. I don’t have negative thoughts about you.” Was this true? It felt like it as I said it. I wanted to tell him I loved him.

He shook his head and smiled. “You almost make me wanna like myself again,” he said.

I pulled him closer to me so his body was flat on mine. My face was in his neck and he smelled like soap and sweat. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

We kissed deeply and I began pulling his shirt up, and he took it off and threw it on the floor. I caressed his chest. “This is my favorite shirt,” I said before I pulled my shirt off as well. “We can match,” I said.

He cupped my breast and kissed my neck. “The best shirt,” he said.

I felt the deep ache inside me. I slid my fingers along the waist of his pants and before I could ask, Scott said, “Yes, we can.”

I giggled. “Okay, Obama!”

Scott sat up, smiled at me, and rolled his eyes as he pulled my pants off for me. He sat for a few moments on his knees, looking me over. He ran his hands along my thighs and over my knees. “I haven’t gotten a chance to really look at you,” he said, his voice wavering.

I felt a little embarrassed. “I don’t think looks are my strong point,” I said, blushing.

He raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “I respectfully disagree.”

I scoffed. “I always told Paul he only liked me for my personality.”

“I guess that’s alright too,” he said and winked. “Why don’t you lay back, close your eyes?”

“Why not,” I said and laid my head against the pillow, closing my eyes.

I felt him slowly leave a series of kisses on my inner thigh, working his way up to my hip bone, to my ribs, before he took my nipple between his lips. I found myself shaking and gasping when I felt surprised at the next location of his mouth on me. He worked his way between my breasts to my other nipple, which he licked gently as he caressed my other breast. He then made his way down my ribs, to my hip bone, to my inner thigh, like a circle over my body.

I felt pleasantly overstimulated, and part of me wanted to pull him close to me and kiss him and have him inside me, but I also wanted to feel what he’d do next. Paul had never done anything like this to me before, taken his time with my body in this way, and while I felt a little embarrassed and abashed, I was enjoying the tension and build up.

I was surprised to feel him kiss between my legs, as though he were kissing the lips on my mouth. Normally I would have refused to let him go down on me, because I remembered the first few times Paul tried it and it reminded me of a dog lapping from a water bowl and it disgusted me, but Scott made it feel like we were actually connecting.

With one hand I squeezed his shoulder and I covered my face with the other. I could feel the warm electricity pulse through me and I felt my nails digging into his shoulder. Then two of his fingers slipped inside me and after a few seconds I could see the universe contract and explode behind my eyes and I gasped his name. I opened my eyes, wiping away tears, and for a moment I could barely see as I caught my breath.  

Scott leaned back on his knees. “You alright?” he asked, laughing a little.

I nodded. “I’m so alright,” I said, nearly sobbing. “I think I saw the Big Bang.”

He laughed with genuine mirth. “I wanna make you see everything that’s ever happened,” he paused. “I love how sensitive you are.”

I pulled him close to me and kissed him deeply. I tasted myself on his lips and for the first time I liked that taste. I pushed his sweatpants down and he kicked them off. He slid into me and closed his eyes. “God, you don’t know how good this is,” he whispered.

“I know,” I murmured. I kissed his neck then his ear and he shuddered. He pushed into me slow and deep, and I realized that was how I liked it, rather than Paul’s quick rabbit-like movements.

Before long he pulled out of me and sighed into my neck, the hot liquid spilling on my stomach. He collapsed on me and I liked the feeling of his dead weight, the warm stickiness of everything between us. I kissed his forehead. “I think I love you,” I said, my voice cracking.

He was still catching his breath. “You’re something else, Christine,” he whispered. He looked up at me and smiled and I thought his eyes looked open to what I'd said, and I smiled and kissed him.

Did I love him? I thought so. At that moment Scott was the only human on earth who knew where I was, what I was doing, what I was thinking about, and it felt like he was the only one who cared. It felt like he was my universe. Does he love me? I’m not sure, and I didn’t expect him to say so, but I feel like he acts like it. He’s just so good to me. He makes me so happy and it seems like I make him happy too.

We took a short shower together before laying back down. It felt nice to be sober and clean next to him, but I hoped maybe the next night we could get drunk together again and have sex. If it was this good sober, how much better could it be after a few drinks?

It was probably 3 am by the time we drifted off to sleep again, but that was okay since I’d gotten so much rest during the day. I dreamt about Scott through the night and woke up intermittently to give him little sleep kisses. I feel so lucky I get to be so close to this man.

***

        I've been getting ready to go to Scott’s place after writing that last entry and doing some chores. I put out some leftovers for Angel, though I didn’t see the cat, and I gathered up garbage and did dishes. I’m gonna have to figure out what to do with the trash so my dad doesn’t know I was here. There isn’t actual trash service that comes out here. My dad has to gather up his garbage and take it to the dump, so I may have to do that, or maybe Scott can help me take care of it.

He called me and told me he was gonna go to town to get us booze and food and we decided we’re gonna have lunch, go for a walk in the woods, then have dinner and a little party. It’s actually pretty nice out today, around 30 degrees and sunny, so walking around and getting some exercise sounds nice to me.

I’m not sure what to wear since I don’t have a lot of clothes with me besides my high school stuff. Maybe I’ll find something. I don’t think he cares as much as I do, except he said I should bring some boots to wear in the snow if I have any. Luckily my old boots are here and still fit me.

I should probably drive to the highway soon to call my parents again. I don’t really feel like it today, though. It isn’t unusual for me to ignore their calls, although my phone going straight to voicemail might make them wonder if something’s wrong. Maybe they won’t call at all. Whatever, I don’t care.

***

        I just got done getting ready and it's around noon. I found some of my old preppy high school clothes that still fit me. I’m not a very up to date fashion kind of person so these clothes don’t feel out of date to me. I chose some American Eagle wide legged jeans with a light wash and a navy blue Abercrombie and Fitch v-neck sweater.

I wonder why I didn’t bring this stuff to college. I think it’s because I’ve been wearing my college branded sweats almost every day for the past two years. I don’t go to a lot of parties or anything like that so I don’t care what I look like and my student worker job at the library doesn’t have a strict dress code as long as you don’t look homeless.

I put some sweatpants, hoodie, and a tee-shirt into my backpack, along with my toothbrush and a few other essentials for spending over at his place. I think I’ll take this journal. I don’t think he’ll look through my stuff, and even if he saw it I doubt he would think much of it to read the contents. I’m trying to keep this writing as real time as I can, and I should be able to sneak in some writing time while he’s sleeping since he sleeps so much easier than me.

I’m ready to go now and Scott should be here soon. I’m gonna have a cigarette and some coffee while I wait for him.

***

        Scott’s house is very strange. I’ve never been in here before, even though I remember when I was a kid I would sneak into the Smith’s yard once in a while. They were the family that owned the Mattson’s property before Scott’s parents bought it in 2001. The Smiths didn’t live here full time. This property was hunting land so the house wasn’t very nice. Scott said his parents did some improvements but it’s still pretty shitty. I always wondered why they didn’t build a nicer house since they got all that money from the gravel pit. They must have invested it in their property in Fort Myers.

        It’s 2 am and I’m up writing at the kitchen counter with only the stove light on. I’m sipping on whiskey water although I should sober up but I’m too wound up right now. Scott is upstairs sleeping in his room. I told him my insomnia was getting to me and that I’d read a book for a while. I have his copy of In the Lake of the Woods by Tim O’Brien next to me in case he comes down here.

So when you walk into this old, little house you come right into the kitchen and the living room is on the other side, then there’s a little hallway that goes to Scott’s parents’ bedroom on one side and the bathroom on the other. There’s a really narrow stairway in the middle that someone could die on that goes up to two small bedrooms, one of them Scott’s, and a tiny common area where he has a work desk and his music setup. I guess he likes playing bass, which is pretty hot honestly. It’s really dark and scary up there. I don’t like it very much. A grown man shouldn’t have to sleep in a room like his.

        Anyway, Scott picked me up on his way back from town around 12:30 and we had a light brunch. He made coffee, over easy eggs, toast, and we had some fruit to go with it. Once we finished eating and cleaned up we prepared to go for our little walk around the Mattson property.

        “I was thinking we could go out to the West field, then to the pine grove. It’s really pretty this time of year,” he said as he put on his jacket, boots, and gloves.

        I shrugged. “That sounds fine to me. Walking around sounds nice.”

        He grabbed the shotgun that was hanging on a sling next to the door and slung it over his back. “Just in case,” he said.

        “Like in case we see a bear?” I asked.

        Scott shrugged. “Yeah. Or something else. Timberwolves, cougars…you never know.”

        “Oh, I hope we don’t,” I said and wrung my hands. “Are you like…a gun expert?” I asked as I put my jacket and boots on.

        He laughed and shook his head. “Not at all. I just know enough to be dangerous.”

        I felt a small chill come over me but I dismissed it. “You don’t look dangerous to me,” I said and smiled.

        He kissed me as he walked to the front door. “I’m not dangerous to you,” he said.

        We stepped outside and it was so sunny, I winced. We made our way through the yard towards the field. There was a little shed and a larger garage in the back yard where Scott parked his truck. The shed had deer skulls nailed to the outside. I think those were there before the Mattsons came here and they hadn’t bothered to remove them.

        Scott pointed out various landmarks as we walked by them. There was a little frozen pond near the shed. We walked over a culvert to get to the West field and he pointed it out and talked about past flooding and spots whirlpools formed. He told me where he picked wild raspberries and chokecherries during the summer and that he’d tried making chokecherry wine but it never turned out to be very good for anything except cooking. It reminded me of walking around with my dad, but I found it comforting.

        We walked through the field to an opening to the pine woods, and we had to step through a large snowbank before we got into the woods.

        “Wow…this is surreal,” I said. The pines were positioned in perfect rows and they were so thick that the ground nearly lacked snow, and instead was a carpet of old pine needles. The sun shone through the trees like the light through stained glass windows in a church.

        “Yeah, the Smiths planted them probably thirty years ago. I like coming out here to think, especially in the winter when the bugs aren’t out.”

        “You like being outside during the winter?” I asked and shook my head.

        He shrugged and put his arms around me. “Yeah. I like the cold. It feels…renewing.”

        I hugged his waist and kissed him. “You like pain?” I asked, smiling.

“I guess so, sometimes,” he said and kissed me.

I slid my hands under his hat, gently grasped his hair, and dared to bite his bottom lip a little.

He chucked and sighed, his eyes closed. “You’re something else, Christine.”

I pulled away from him and skipped through the pine corridor. “In a good way or a bad way?” I asked in a sing-song voice.

He jogged after me. “I don’t know yet!”

Once I realized he was chasing me I picked up my pace and jogged to my left, to the next pine corridor. I heard his footsteps in my wake.

“Where are you going?” he chuckled.

I didn’t answer at first and when I saw where he was I made a show of hiding behind the tree closest to me.

He slowed to a walk and even though he very obviously saw where I was, he pretended to look around. “Where’d you go? I can’t find you!”

I crept to the next tree, trying to be quiet, and even though I knew he knew where I was, he turned around and began walking away from me. Before I realized it I lost track of where he was, and I turned every which way looking for him, and I didn’t see him. Panic struck me when I realized every direction I looked, the scenery looked the same. How big was this pine grove? Which way was out?

“Scott?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. We were just playing, right? Surely he didn’t venture too far away from me.

No answer. I paused, listening for footsteps. Silence, stillness.

“Scott! I was just kidding! I’m right here!” In that moment my voice sounded like an echo from the past. My heart sped up and my face felt hot. I remember someone telling me that when you’re lost you should stay where you’re at, but I felt too wound up not to move. In the field, before we entered the grove, it didn’t look so big. The pines were very deliberately planted among the popples and brush, and there was a very distinct line between them. Surely if I walked around a little I’d be able to see him, the change in the trees, or the opening to the field, right?

I walked up and down the corridors, and I tried to remember basic survival knowledge, like which way the sunlight was coming from and where the moss grew on trees. In my panic I couldn’t put the basic facts together though. This was the West field, the sun rises in the West and sets in the East, what time was it anyway? I went to glance at my watch then realized I’d forgotten to put it back on after I showered in the morning. I was breaking out into a cold sweat.

“Scott?” I asked weakly. “I’m sorry for running, I was just playing around. Please come here!”

Suddenly my situation felt very dire. The pine grove was silent, oppressive, and felt like a deadzone. I walked up and down the rows of trees and nothing seemed to change and I couldn’t focus enough on details to remember where I’d been already. Since the ground was mostly needles I couldn’t even follow my previous tracks.

I began to wonder if something had happened to him. What if he’d gotten lost? What if the bear showed up, or something else? How much time had passed since I’d seen him walk away from me, anyway? It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes ago, although it felt like a lifetime.

“Scott!” I bellowed. I felt tears running down my face, cold. No answer.

Maybe this is how it ends, I thought, not a deliberate act but one of my own frivolous silliness. I sat down next to one of the trees and closed my eyes, hoping that if I stayed put he would find me.

I thought about what my original plan had been, if I was going to go through with it. I’d bought a bunch of hydrocodone from one of the guys I’d met from Paul’s dorm building. I’d planned to take them all and walk into the woods behind my dad’s house with a flask of whiskey, until I got lost, numb, disoriented, and let nature take its course. I wished I had those pills with me then.

I looked up at the sky, or what I could see of it through the pine branches. The sun was shining out there in the field, but not where I was sitting. I thought about how happy I’d been, however long ago since I saw Scott disappear, and how quickly things could change. Could it have been more than ten minutes?

Feeling hopeless, I laid down on the cold ground and curled myself up in the fetal position. The cold seeped into my light gloves and through my hat and boots. I ignored it and closed my eyes, and strangely enough I felt myself drifting off. A calming certainty had settled within me, that a decision had been made for me, and a voice that sounded like my own told me that it was alright to finally rest.

I started dreaming then, in a mixed up sort of way, and I saw my parents, Paul, random friends and acquaintances. I was in Paul’s dorm room watching football, then talking to my guidance counselor about which classes to sign up for next semester, then talking to my roommate as I was packing up for break, then Scott talking to me in the woods–

“Christine!” he shouted and knelt beside me. “Jesus, are you alright?”

I sat up slowly, feeling disoriented. “I dunno,” I said softly. “Where did you go?”

He sighed and grabbed my hands, pulling me upright. “I was looking for you! Christ, you scared me!”

My eyes welled with tears. “But like…you saw me, you walked away…I yelled for you and I couldn’t find you,” I sobbed.

“You ran away from me! I didn’t see where you went and I looked all around! Let’s go back. Don’t do that again, alright?” he said and put his arm around me and we began walking out of the grove.

I sniffed and wiped snot from my nose. “But like…I saw that you saw me,” I said weakly. “I was just playing, I didn’t mean to–”

“That’s not something to play around with! Don’t be stupid, alright?”

I wiped my face with the palm of my snotty glove. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

He sighed and squeezed my shoulder. “It’s okay, but you really scared me.”

I wanted to tell him that he’d scared me too, because I remembered so vividly how he’d turned away from me after seeing me behind the tree, but I didn’t have the energy or faith in myself to argue with him. Maybe he hadn’t seen me and genuinely thought I’d gone the other way and maybe he really couldn’t hear me calling for him. I probably was just being stupid. I was just glad he was there and we were headed back to the house.

We walked in silence through the trees and as we emerged from the pine grove I looked back at it. “It doesn’t look that big in there,” I murmured.

“Looks can be deceiving. Don’t assume you can’t get lost out here because it’s easier than you think,” Scott said, in his school administrator voice that I felt I hadn’t heard in a very long time.

I looked at him for the first time since he found me, trying to gauge if he was upset with me.

He looked straight ahead and didn’t meet my eyes.

“Are you mad at me?” I asked.

“I’m not mad. You just worry me sometimes,” he said. He quickly kissed my cheek.

I felt a little better after that and we walked the rest of the way in an easier silence. When we got back to the house he hung up the gun and we took off our outerwear. My jeans were wet from laying on the ground.

“Let me get you something dry to wear,” he said and before I could protest that I’d brought my own change of clothes, he disappeared up the narrow steps and came back down holding a tee-shirt and sweatpants.

I laughed and took them. “Do you think they’ll fit?” I asked.

He nodded. “Just tighten the draw-string. I’ll make some coffee,” he said.

I stood in front of the little bar in the kitchen that had three stools in front of it as he put a little kettle on the stovetop. “Um…where’s the bathroom?” I asked.

He gestured vaguely towards the little hallway between the living room and the stairway and I stepped into the bathroom. It was very old, tidy, and strangely long with a little window that faced the West field. The floor was cold.

I looked at myself in the mirror and my face was red, blotchy, and my hair was matted and gnarly. I hadn’t brought my bag with my brush with me, but saw that Scott had a little brush with short black bristles next to the sink.

I set the clothes down that he gave me and kicked off my jeans. Surprisingly the black sweatpants fit me once I tightened the drawstring. I smiled and shook my head when I unfolded the tee-shirt he’d given me. It was a black Nonpoint band tee, not something I’d have expected him to have in wardrobe although he’d told me he was a fan of the band. I pressed it to my face and smelled it. Nothing except clean linen. I threw off my sweater and pulled on the shirt. I brushed my hair, splashed some water over my face, and felt a bit better.

I came out of the bathroom with my old clothes balled up in my hands. Scott was grinding coffee in the kitchen and I stuffed my clothes into my bag, careful to keep my notebook hidden, and zipped it back up.

I sat down on one of the stools and watched him and he scooped some of the freshly ground coffee into a glass coffee press. “You make it the fancy way,” I said.

He smiled and shrugged. “It tastes better, and this way I don’t drink too much.”

I still felt shaken up from the experience in the woods, and I wondered how he seemed so normal, though I supposed his job got him used to managing crises with young, dumb people like me.

“Are things…okay, like…with us?” I asked.

He grabbed two coffee cups and set them on the counter before scooping two little dabs of coconut oil into them with a butter knife. “Yeah, things are fine. I’m just glad you’re alright.” He paused and narrowed his eyes before he set the knife into the sink. “I guess I was disturbed by how fast you seemed to give up,” he said.

My face felt hot and I buried it in my hands. “I dunno. I guess I just didn’t know what else to do and I thought it would be better to stay in one spot than get more lost.”

He sighed and faced away from me, his hands on the countertop. “You went to sleep,” he said. “That’s not what you’re supposed to do.”

I felt at a loss. “I dunno. I’m not a very good survivor I guess,” I said, feeling miserable. “I’m sorry, Scott.” I put my head down on the countertop like I used to do when my teachers started letting me sleep in class my senior year.

For a few minutes silence followed, then Scott set down a cup in front of me and patted my shoulder. “Have some coffee. You’ll feel better.”

I sat up and he sat on the stool next to me with his own cup of coffee.

“Thank you,” I said weakly. I felt like my detachment to my life was laid bare before him, and I wasn’t sure I could cover it up again. It made me uneasy to feel so open to this man that really, I didn’t know all that well.

I wondered what Paul would think of me then. I was sure he wasn’t thinking of me at all, not with Gianna being his fun new girlfriend. He was falling in love, and I was falling in love, though it felt like whatever I was doing with Scott was so much darker.

Scott must have picked up on my misery. “Hey, Christine. Look at me. It’s okay. It’s over. You’re alright and I’m very happy you’re here,” he said and caressed my face.

I held his hand close to my cheek and kissed it. “I’m sorry. I’m happy I’m here too.”

I took a sip of my coffee. It was warm and rich, and the coconut oil gave it a smoothness I wasn’t expecting, much better than the coffee from the coffee maker at my dad’s house. “This is really good. Thank you,” I said and smiled.

We sat in silence for a few moments and I stared out the kitchen window that looked out to the West field. The light outside was yellowing as sunset was approaching and the patches of snow through the yard looked gold. I thought about being out there still…if he hadn’t found me, what would I have done? It wasn’t cold enough to outright freeze. Would I have woken up and tried?

“What’re you thinking about?” Scott asked softly.

I shook my head as though to come back to reality. “Nothing,” I said. “You,” I smiled at him.

He leaned in close to me, his lips brushing against my ear. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But don’t lie to me. I can tell, you know.” He kissed my ear and smiled reassuringly.

I shuddered. “I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”

He stood and squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t fret, Christine. It’s alright. Wanna go upstairs and lay down for a little bit?” he asked.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” I said, feeling disoriented, but I meant it. I felt deeply exposed, more vulnerable than being naked, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted that with him yet, but I wanted to turn my brain off and get lost in him, his lips and body, and not talk about anything.

We carried our coffees up the precarious steps and laid down in Scott’s bed. His bedroom was small and dark, with nothing except his full sized bed, a little nightstand, and a closet where his clothes hung. It didn’t feel like the room of an adult man, like my dad’s spacious room, but it was tidy with nothing out of place and his bedding smelled fresh and clean. His bed had been meticulously made before we burrowed under the covers.

He pulled me into his arms and we just held onto each other for a while. I felt lulled by his even, steady breathing. “I love you,” I murmured, feeling dreamy, on the edge of sleep.

Scott pressed his lips to mine and we just kissed for a while. I think it was the longest time we spent just making out in a lazy, relaxed way. We eventually had clean, pleasant sex before taking a short shower together and returning to the bed for a short nap.

When I woke up it was dark out and I leaned over to look at the little alarm clock on the nightstand. It was after 6 pm. Scott had been asleep, on his side with his arm around me, and my movement woke him up.

“What time is it?” he asked sleepily and I told him. “Wanna start dinner and have a drink?” he asked.

“Yeah, that sounds nice. I could use a drink,” I said and kissed him.

We made our way downstairs and Scott poured me a glass of dark red wine in an actual wine glass. He began to prepare dinner: venison stroganoff. I was glad to be able to eat so much wild game again.

As he cooked I walked around the living room, examining it. The furniture was old and outdated, from the 70s, much like the furniture in my dad’s house. There was an olive green couch, a little coffee table, a brown recliner, and a large bookshelf. I was surprised that Scott didn’t have a TV at all.

I was curious what kinds of books he had so I examined the bookshelf. There were lots of history and social studies textbooks. I think he taught high school social studies in Warroad before he came to Lake of the Woods, so that made sense. He also had a lot of fiction, which surprised me.

I thumbed through the books, which looked to be organized by author, though not in alphabetical or any discernible order. Bret Easton Ellis, Cormac McCarthy, Dan Simmons, John Steinbeck, Lief Enger, many others I liked and recognized and many I didn’t recognize. I was surprised that he had lesser known books from these authors. I wondered if he’d read them or if they were from one or both of his parents.

My eyes widened when I saw a well worn copy of In the Lake of the Woods. I pulled it from the shelf and opened up to a random page and was surprised to see passages highlighted and notes in the margins. I had opened up to the chapter called “What He Remembered.” That chapter talked about John Wade, a politician disgraced by his involvement in the My Lai Massacre, and his wife, Kathy’s, strained relationship following his failed senate campaign.  

The following passage was highlighted: “Often, though, the strain was almost impossible to bear. On one occasion, as she was washing the breakfast dishes, Kathy made a low sound in her throat and began to say something, just a word or two, then her eyes focused elsewhere, beyond him, beyond the walls of the cottage, and then after a time she looked down at the dishwater and did not look back again. It was an image that would not go away. Twenty-four hours later, when she was gone, John Wade would remember that enormous distance that had come into her face at that instant, a kind of travel, and he would find himself wondering where she had taken herself, and why, by what means. He would never know.”

The comment in the margins said: “Preemptive death.” I furrowed my eyes and continued turning the pages. The comments were all short, similar to the first one I’d seen, as though he just needed a couple words to remind him of whatever thought he’d had about a given passage.

I carried the book to the kitchen. “Is this yours?” I asked and held it out to him.

He was in the middle of boiling water for noodles and browning the ground venison. He glanced at the book and nodded. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorites. Have you read it?”

I smiled. “Yeah, a few times. My professor for my first English class assigned it and I really liked it. I wrote a paper about it.”

“Do you think he killed her?” he asked with a smile, referring to the plot of the book which was John being implicated in Kathy's mysterious disappearance.

I smirked and leafed through more pages. “Of course he did! Are you kidding me? He was a creep and liar, not to mention a war criminal. ‘Kill Jesus,’” I said, referring to an unhinged phrase John used in his description of his last day with Kathy.

Scott shrugged. “Maybe she disappeared with a secret lover,” he said and eyed me mischievously as he continued browning the venison.

I rolled my eyes. “You can’t believe that! He took that boiling water and poured it all over her, and all those innocent plants!” I said and gestured to the pot on the stove.

Scott laughed with genuine mirth. “Well now,” he said and nodded, referring to a very specific action taken by John in the book. I was surprised he’d remembered such a minute detail, but by the looks of it he’d read the book closely, likely many times.

I giggled. “Is it bad that I was laughing out loud at that part?”

He smiled and shook his head as he added some flour to the meat and mixed it in. “Sometimes I think you’re a bit twisted, but not in a bad way.” He paused and winked at me. “I like it.”

I sat down at the bar and took a sip of wine. “What other books do you like? You have a really cool collection.”

He narrowed his eyes and thought as he added whipping cream and other ingredients to the venison. “Uh…I just read Lunar Park by Bret Easton Ellis.” He paused, stirring. “The American Psycho guy.”

I smiled and thumbed the cover of the book. “I know him. I’ve read most of his stuff, including that one. I like how it’s like…about him but not about him,” I said. “I feel like he’s so vulnerable, the things he writes about himself. I would be so embarrassed if random people knew that much about me.”

He shrugged. “I think the way he blurs reality and fiction makes it easier that way.” He dumped some egg noodles into the boiling pot of water. “What’s your favorite book?” he asked.

I thumbed my chin and thought. “Hm…” I paused and took a sip of wine. “I like Theodore Dreiser’s Trilogy of Desire,” I said, trying to mention something I hadn’t seen on his bookshelf. The trilogy was what I was most fascinated with at the moment, and I’d read the first two books a couple times, but Dreiser never finished the last one and I wasn’t able to get a partial copy, to my disappointment.

He looked back at me and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? I’ve read An American Tragedy, but that’s all from him. What’s this Trilogy of Desire about?”

I took a long sip of wine. “Well, it’s about a street railway tycoon during the Civil War era. Frank Cowperwood. He’s modeled after a real guy. He’s like…kinda like Patrick Bateman except he doesn’t kill people and is actually successful on his own merit. It goes through his career and relationships, very meticulously. He’s like…pretty evil and creepy but for some reason I really like his character.” I laughed and shook my head.

“Ah. I like complicated characters. I’ll have to check that out,” he said and added some sour cream to the stroganoff sauce and stirred it in. “We’re almost ready to eat,” he said.

I took a sip of wine. “It smells really good.”

He strained the noodles, mixed them into the sauce, and dished up our plates. I was pretty hungry at that point. I took my first bite and it was surprisingly good. “Wow,” I said. “This is great, thank you.”

Scott began eating and nodded. “It’s edible, I suppose.”

We ate, washed dishes together, and drank wine. I felt the energy between us become lighter than it had been that afternoon, and I was relieved. We stepped outside so I could have a cigarette. Scott’s house didn’t have a porch like my dad’s did.

I walked a little ways into the yard and stared up at the sky. “It’s insane how bright the stars are out here,” I said.

Scott followed after me as he looked up at the sky. “Yeah. I have a telescope I bring out here sometimes. Maybe I’ll bring it out later, it’s a nice, clear night for it.”

I took a puff off my cigarette. “That’d be so cool! You should!” I put my arms around him and kissed him. “You’re so smart, so interesting,” I murmured.

He laughed. “I dunno about that.”

He gestured for my cigarette and I handed it to him. He took a deep drag and handed it back to me. We stood for a few moments in silence, looking up at the sky. Suddenly, a hoarse yet high pitched scream sounded from the woods behind the shed. I dropped my cigarette and grabbed Scott’s arm.

“What the fuck?” I cried.

Scott held my wrist. “Shh!”

We stood very still. The scream echoed through the yard again, and it sounded like a woman shrieking. My blood ran cold.

“Fuck this. I'm going in!” I exclaimed, tears welling in my eyes. I jogged back to the house and Scott followed me. We went inside, and Scott grabbed the shotgun and motioned to go back outside. “Scott, what the fuck?” I asked and grabbed his shoulder.

He looked like he was trying to suppress a grin. “Ah, I can’t do it. I was gonna mess with you a little but we’ve been through enough today. It’s just a fox, Christine. You’ve never heard one before?”

I sighed, shaking but relieved. “Not like that!”

He hung the shotgun back up and laughed. “Yeah, it sounds like a woman, or a baby. I’ve heard it many times, nothing to be afraid of even if it sounds scary.”

I wiped a tear from my eye and he laughed and hugged me. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice of me.” He took my coat, hung it up, and kissed me. “Sorry, Christine.”

I walked to the counter and took a sip of wine. “It’s okay. I just…I don’t want you to mess with me like that. My mom used to do that stuff and I think I’m like…traumatized or something.” I sat down on the stool and looked at my shaking hands and stretched out my fingers in an attempt to still them.

Scott refilled our glasses of wine and sat down next to me. “What would Sheila do?” he asked.

I cringed at hearing her name. I shook my head. “All kinds of stuff. I guess like…when it comes to messing with me and scaring me, she used to make me go into the basement to get stuff out of the freezer and she’d say the snapping turtles were down there and that they would get me. But like…that isn’t even close to the worst. I can’t stand to talk about most of it but like…one example is this time one of the outside cats I liked, Mittens, was climbing on one of the window screens. She told me it was possessed. I think I was like…eleven or something at the time. She kept up the story for hours, and then acted possessed herself, and she was even like…talking in tongues and stuff. I was crying for so long before she told me she was joking. I just don’t see how it’s like…that funny,” I said and started shaking from just recounting a couple of the many stories I had filed away about my mom terrorizing me.

Scott sighed and rubbed my back. “I’m really sorry, Christine. I won’t do anything like that again.” He paused and thumbed his chin. “I have so many questions…about Sheila, I mean. But I don’t wanna make you feel worse.”

I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands. “I don’t wanna talk about her at all,” I said. “We get along, in a superficial way, just because it’s easier that way…if I could I’d have nothing to do with her. She’s a fucking demon and should have never had me.”

Scott got up from his seat and put his arms around me. “I’m so sorry, Christine. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.” He kissed my forehead.

“I’m never having kids,” I said. “I’m too cursed.”

We sat like that for a while then Scott broke his embrace and patted my shoulder. “Wanna go upstairs and listen to music?”

I smiled. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

We grabbed our wine glasses and made our way upstairs to the little open area that served as Scott’s office and music station. I sat on the office chair next to his desk while he looked at which CDs were in his stereo. It was a bit old school, but had a six disk changer.

As he flipped through his CD book I looked over the items on his desk. There was a little lamp, a pencil holder, an Apple laptop, and a 2007 planner. He had his two degrees framed: his Bachelor of Science in Social Studies Education and Masters of Education Administration, both from Bemidji State University. Although these items felt depressing in the current context of Scott’s life I felt suddenly inadequate, knowing I would never get a Master’s degree. I absently grabbed the planner and flipped through it. The last day that he’d written anything in it was November 11th, the day after Roxanne’s passing. I quickly returned it to its place.

After making his CD selections the player slowly pulled them into itself, and he selected a song. An acoustic guitar sounded with a woman’s clear, melancholy voice, not what I expected to hear.

“What is this?” I asked.

“It’s called ‘Autumn’s Monologue’ by From Autumn to Ashes,” he said. “It’s not their usual sound but I really like this song. It’s the first one I thought of to put on a CD for you.”

I took a long sip of wine. “I like it, but it sounds so sad. Does thinking about me make you sad?” I asked and chuckled.

He took a seat on a little office chair and wheeled his way towards me. The first stanza of the song sounded pained as the woman sang:

Oh, why can't I be what you need?

A new improved version of me

But I'm nothing so good, no, I'm nothing...

Just bones, a lonely ghost burning down songs

Of violence, of love, and of sorrow

I beg for just one more tomorrow!

Where you hold me down, fold me in

Deep deep deep in the heart of your sins

He shrugged and took a long sip of wine. I think he was a little drunk at that point. “Yeah, thinking about you does make me sad. Why wouldn’t it?”

I also took a long sip of my wine and narrowed my eyes. I was a little drunk then too. “I just…don’t want pity from you, you know? I don’t want this,” I said and pointed from him to me. “I don’t want this to be what it was when I was in high school where you’re like…an emotional support person feeling sorry for me and helping me, some one sided thing.” I shook my head. “I dunno, can you understand what I mean?”

He nodded slowly and took another drink. “Well, what do you want this to be, then?” he asked and pointed from me to him.

I sighed and tapped the side of my wine glass. I stared at the dark liquid and swirled it around. “I think like…I just wanna get to know you, maybe do a little for you what you’ve done for me. Like I said, it’s not like I expect anything, a relationship or…anything like that. Though to be honest, the past couple days I have wondered about stuff like that…but in a fantasy sort of way, not reality.”

Scott took a long drink and also stared into his glass. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to burden you with my problems when you’re dealing with so much yourself. And you’re right, I don’t believe either of us is in any condition to be in a relationship.”

I grasped his hand, not looking at his face. “Your problems wouldn’t burden me. If you shared them with me it would be a gift…you sharing who you are with me is a gift because you mean so much to me, and you have for a long time. I know it's silly but I really do think I love you, in my way. I don’t just say that.” I paused and sipped my wine. I suddenly felt nervous about what I was asking for and how direct I was being. I couldn’t tell if it was just my hand that was sweating or if his was too.

He took his hand from mine and squeezed my shoulder before holding his wine glass with both hands. “It’s um…hard for me. There’s always a lot more I want to say to you, but…” he trailed off and sighed. “I just know what I’m doing with you isn’t right.”

I ran my hand over his thigh and looked at him, incredulous. “Says who, though? I’m a consenting adult and I want this right now. Like, more than anything.”

He looked back at me like he felt sorry for me. “Christine, do you really think we’d be here right now if it weren’t for knowing each other before?”

I scoffed. “Who cares? Nothing bad happened before and now I’m an adult, so what?”

He sighed and shook his head. “Come on, you’re smarter than that. Don’t make me spell it out.”

I took a long drink of wine, emptying my glass. “I don’t care. I don’t care what you thought of me before. Jesus, there’s whole genres of school girl porn, isn’t that shit normal? I was online that whole time reading fanfiction and stories teen girls like me wrote. It’s what we all wrote about, me included! If it’s so wrong, why is it so universal?”

He drained his glass of wine, took my empty glass, and stood. “The problem, Christine, is you don’t seem to care about very much,” he paused and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna refill our drinks and be right back. I need a second.”

I narrowed my eyes and looked at my hands. They were shaking a little. I wondered if I’d gone too far, brought the truth we’d been trying to ignore too close to the forefront. He’d been right, though. I didn’t care about very much.

The stairs creaked as he returned and he handed me a fresh glass of wine. “Thank you,” I said and took a sip. He sat down and rolled the chair so he was looking at me face to face. I recoiled a little.

He shook his head and leaned back. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to get in your face, but you have to understand why this conversation is easier from your side.”

I looked around the room, shrugging, and held up my palm. “Who else is listening? It isn’t my side or your side when we’re on the same side. If you’re looking for vindication from me I’ve already given it to you. I can’t give you divine judgement, so it's up to you what you can live with.”

He put his head in his hand. “It’s already gone too far,” he muttered.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re thinking too much. This is exhausting and we’ve already had sex anyway so we can’t do much worse, right? I’m not gonna be here long and when I’m gone you can forget about it.” I took a long sip of wine.

“I’m not gonna be able to forget about it,” he said, sounding defeated.

I scoffed. “Grow up, Scott. Embrace what we’re doing or tell me to fuck off and I can go back home. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about what’s happened.” My heart sped up and for the first time I felt angry with him. I had the feeling that this conversation wasn’t even about me, but a facade for the conversation he wanted to have about Roxanne. How much longer could we make it before actually discussing what happened with her, the source of the dissonance between us? I wasn’t ready to force the issue just then.

He took my free hand and kissed it. “I don’t want you to go. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t wanna go either. Just stop being weird and worrying about stuff that doesn’t matter,” I said more tersely than I’d intended. “Can we go outside?” I asked, softening my voice.

He nodded and stood up. “Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.”

We stepped out into the brisk cold and I lit cigarettes for both of us. I wondered how many packs I’d had left. I’d brought two cartons with me since cigarettes are way cheaper in North Dakota than Minnesota, so I was sure there would be plenty for the rest of my trip.

Scott took a long drag from his cigarette. “I’m sorry, Christine.”

I sighed, wondering if I’d said the right things when we were upstairs. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad you told me how you’re feeling. I’m sorry if I was being dismissive. I just don’t want you to think I think you’re a bad person.”

He paced into the yard, his boots crunching the ice encrusted snow. “I just don’t want you to think that I think I’m a good person. You said you wanted to know me, and I guess I want you to know that I don’t like myself very much right now. I’m sure you understand why.”

I puffed my cigarette. “I think I understand. You can talk to me as much or as little as you want about it. Whatever you tell me, I’ll still like you.”

“Your certainty about that scares me,” Scott said as he puffed his cigarette.

I sighed. “I’m not a therapist. I don’t wanna fix you and I don’t care if you fix yourself. I like you the way you are, right now, and I don’t want anything else.” I paused and puffed my cigarette, reflecting. “I hope you feel the same about me.”

He looked at the ground for a long time before nodding to himself, as though he had reached some decision. “Yeah. Yeah, alright.” He shook his head and took a final drag from his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and stamping it with his boot. “I’ll have to bring something out here to put these in next time.”

I smiled and dropped my butt next to his. “I’ll try to remind you,” I said.

We went back inside and Scott suggested we do a shot of whiskey before going back upstairs. I agreed and after I had a short coughing fit we made out for a while in the kitchen.

We were both pretty drunk at that point, and when we got upstairs I went into Scott’s bedroom and he followed me.

“I have a terrible idea,” I said, laughing.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, for like…exposure therapy. I know I said I’m not a therapist, but…” I trailed off and made my way towards his closet and began sifting through the garments on the hangers. “Where are they?” I asked.

He groaned. “You’re looking for my sweatervests, aren’t you?”

I found one of the navy blue vests, there must have been five identical ones next to each other towards the back of the closet, and removed it from the hanger and tossed it on the bed. “Okay, you know where I’m going with this. Please help me out. What’s the whole outfit? What’d you wear under it and which pants did you wear?”

He grimaced. “You’re pretty screwed up, Christine, you know that?” He laughed and shook his head. “Alright, let’s see here…” He rifled through his shirts to find a white long sleeved collared shirt, then he went through his pants on the shelf above the hangers and pulled down some black slacks.

I helped him pull off his tee-shirt and sweatpants as we laughed. “Okay, okay…you’re helpful taking things off but putting this stuff on is its own operation,” Scott said, chuckling.

I sat down on the bed with my glass of wine. “Okay, I’ll watch then.”

He clumsily pulled the black slacks on, then put his arms into the white collared shirt before struggling with the buttons.

I set down my glass of wine on the nightstand. “I can help with this part!” I said and we both pushed buttons through the holes until we realized the shirt was crooked and he’d started off a button short. We laughed, unbuttoned all the buttons, and re-did them. He tucked the shirt into his pants, buttoned them, stumbling a little before I handed him the sweater vest and he pulled it over his head.

I realized he didn’t have a mirror in his room. “How do you even see yourself?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I usually did this in the bathroom,” he said. “This isn’t the normal routine.” He turned to look at me. “Alright, am I how you remember?”

I took a long sip of my wine. He looked like an older, more disheveled version of the Mr. Mattson I remembered from school. “Better than I remember,” I said and grinned.

“Yeah?” he asked and I think I saw a glimpse of sadness in his eyes. “Now what do you want me to do?”

I thumbed my chin and thought for a moment. “Go sit at your desk, like you’re in your office.”

“Jesus, Christine. Alright, alright.” He shook his head and left the bedroom and I followed him as he went to sit at his desk, turned away from me.

I cleared my throat. “You called me to your office, Mr. Mattson?”

He turned in his chair and looked exasperated. “Ah, yes. Christine…you um, are engaging me in this humiliation ritual. I’m not sure how to feel about it.” He was smiling but his eyes looked glassy and red. The dark circles under his eyes looked extra pronounced.

I approached him and slowly sat on his lap. “I don’t mean to humiliate you,” I said, breaking the roleplay and feeling suddenly sobered, ashamed for pushing him to do this. “I’m sorry. I was being dumb again…it’s my own fantasy and maybe I should have kept it to myself.”

“It’s alright. I get it. I’m sorry to disappoint you.” He caressed my face and kissed me deeply.  

As we made out I wondered if everything between us going forward would always end up being so sad. Would it be so bad if it was? I was sad already, anyway. “You never disappoint me,” I whispered and kissed him. “I love you, Scott,” I murmured between kisses and ran my hands through his hair.

He pulled me closer to him. “I love you too, Christine,” he whispered.

I couldn’t tell if it was just my face wet with tears as we degraded into a long, drunken make out session on his office chair while Scott’s music played in the background.

Before I knew it he cradled me in his arms and lifted me up and carried me towards his desk. He smiled as he set me down on the desk and untied the strings on his sweatpants I was wearing. “Can we?” he asked as he slid his finger along the waistband.

I nodded and wiped tears from my face.

He pulled my sweatpants off my legs to the floor, and he kissed me as he pushed my thong aside and massaged me with his fingers. I wasn’t surprised by how wet I was, but Scott took in a sudden breath as though he was.

I couldn’t suppress my sighs and gasps between kisses. I felt his lips leave mine and descend to my neck and I leaned back, trembling. Even though I’d been drinking I was already close. “Scott,” I breathed.

“Mr. Mattson,” he corrected softly.

I hadn’t thought of Scott as Mr. Mattson for years. Even when I was still in high school I’d thought of him as Scott because of the easy familiarity that formed between us, but I understood that he was trying to indulge me in the fantasy I had admitted to.

“Mr. Mattson,” I whispered, even though it felt unnatural to me. I fumbled with the button to his slacks and he helped me undo it. I guided him inside me and we both sighed once he was there.

He pulled away so I could see him as he fucked me. He looked pained, as though he was trying to suppress any enjoyment from what he was doing to me. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded. “Yeah, Scott–Mr. Mattson. Yeah,” I whispered, cautious, though I was at the brink. I had the feeling that I was making him uneasy the same way I’d felt uneasy when he asked me about the things I’d said the first time we had sex. I couldn’t help it though, and I felt the warm electricity run through me and my eyes rolled back into my head and I gripped the side of the desk. I gasped his name, Mr. Mattson.

This time he didn’t stop to ask if I was alright and his pace was harder, deeper. His framed degrees on the desk clattered to the floor. It wasn’t long before he pulled out of me and came on my stomach, although I still had his tee-shirt on.

I ran my hand through his hair and kissed his forehead. His hair and skin were damp with sweat. “Are you alright?” I whispered.

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m alright. I’m sorry, Christine. I know it’s not like you imagined.”

“The real you is what I’ve always wanted,” I said as I got off the desk and took off the shirt. “I didn’t have any sort of like…expectation. You’ve been so good, Scott. Better than I'd imagined.” I pulled him into an embrace. “I love you,” I whispered.

He put his arms around me and sighed. “I love you too. I’m sorry we’re so screwed up.”

“It’s alright. I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I murmured.

We stood there for a while before he broke from me, picked up the degrees that had fallen to the ground, and placed them back on the desk. “Wanna take a shower?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

We moved to his bedroom where we put our dirty clothes into his hamper and picked out clean clothes. We took a long shower before we returned to his bedroom and Scott began to doze off. I pleaded insomnia to come to the kitchen to write this entry. I’m exhausted in every way. It’s 5 am and I’m gonna go lay down with him now.