Page 4 of I Love My Mistake
I feel stupid saying these things. These are things men say to women, not the other way around.
Pressing the brush onto a palette, he says, as though from another world, “It’s not the time.”
My eyelids flutter and I bring my hand to my head to steady the spinning. This man is a puzzle I want desperately to solve. I walk to him and wait for him to acknowledge me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he carefully picks out a new paint, as if I am no longer in the room! I can even see he’s still hard. He wants me. I know he wants me. Why is he denying us this?
“Stop fighting me!” The second I say it, I gasp and cover my mouth with my hands. These are the very words Grant said to me no more than two hours ago.
Without a flicker of emotion, Michael says firmly, “Goodnight.”
I’m so angry at him, at myself, at… everything! My eyes jealously dart to the canvas, to the easel, precariously set on three slender legs and so easily thrown, if I just give in to this.
“You don’t find me attractive… that’s what it is.” I march to the stairs.
“Nic!”
I spin around.
“It’s not that… I find you fascinating.”
“Then make love to me!”
His eyes set and his jaw tightens. “No.”
“Fine. Whatever. Fine. I’m leaving.” Not waiting for his objection, one that would never come, I run down the stairs and slam the door.
Out on the street, I see the soft glow of the candles drifting out of our window, deceptively calm. I want to yell at the window, throw something at it. I contain myself with all the strength and courage I can manage, walking away so I can’t see anything related to Michael anymore. I don’t see the people I’m passing, my mind swimming from the pain of rejection. But I know I don’t want to go home. I’m too worked up. I have to do something with this thing that I’ve got going on right now. Michael doesn’t want to fuck me? Fine. I have someone who does.
Snatching my phone out, I dial, impatiently waiting for an answer. “Come on. Come on. Come on.” I say until I hear him.
“Hey you,” he says.
“You alone?” I ask abruptly, avoiding the eyes of a transsexual who’s giving me the once over as she passes. I smooth out my hair and get myself together.
Jason yawns and I can hear his smile through the phone. “Yeah. But I don’t want to be.”
“Good. I’m coming over.”