Page 38 of Rent: Paid in Full
“Oh no? Why’re they looking then? Because Lori and Emily and half the fucking women here are looking at you like you’re meat, and more than a few men too, in case you haven’t noticed that either.”
I drop my face into the palm of my hand, resting my elbow on the bar, and sigh deeply. There’s something really, really wrong with Miller MacAvoy, and he’s being way worse than usual tonight. Still, I don’t want him making a scene, so I explain, “They’re not looking like that, you dick. They’re looking because they’re laughing.”
“Laughing? What the hell are they laughing at?”
“I don’t know. Me, I guess. Guess they’re laughing about how wound up I am, or how big my nose is, or something like that.”
I’m not all that happy I’ve said it, but I’m starting to realize that Miller has a dangerous way of making me say things whether I want to or not. There doesn’t seem to be a thing I can do about it.
He tilts his chin up and looks at me down his nose. “Let me guess. You were a weedy little kid, and you didn’t get contacts till junior or senior year in high school.”
It was senior year, but I don’t think he needs to know that. “What’s your point?”
“My point, Ryan, is that you’re such a dumbass you missed your own glow-up.”
“Are you trying to tell me I don’t have a big nose?”
“No, I’m saying you have a huge fucking nose, and it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. It makes you look vulnerable and wild, and it does something to your face that makes it so every time I see you, you look a little different from how you looked the last time I saw you.” He leans closer and speaks softer. “It makes you so hot I honestly can’t decide if I want to tear off your pants and blow you or if I want to bend you over that barstool and fuck you right here and now.”
My dick lurches in my pants, pulsing and straining the second it hears his words, even though the rest of me can’t stand being made fun of. I grab the neck of his T-shirt roughly and make a fist, bunching the fabric in my hand and shoving him away from me. “You’re full of shit, Miller.”
“Jesus!” His palms are open at his sides. “Who hurt you?”
That trips something in me up. It rips something I’ve spent years covering up, something I’ve hidden and buried and bandaged up. “People like them,” I sneer, pointing to the booth we’ve been sitting in. My face is inches from his, and it almost looks like he’s thinking about kissing me again. For a really weird moment, I lose focus, but I quickly recover. “People likeyou.”
He takes a step back, clearing the air and giving me a second to breathe.
“What did they do?” His tone is light and supremely nonconfrontational. It addles my brain and lulls me into a false sense of safety. I take two more sips of beer, and those lull me too.
“What do you think they did? What would you have done if you’d known me in high school? Hm? They targeted me, and when they got bored of that, they isolated me. They spoke shitabout me, and they laughed at me. I spent the whole of high school with no idea where I was supposed to sit or stand or what I was supposed to say that wouldn’t make things worse.”
Okay. Fine.
You’ve said it. No major harm done. Just stop talking now.
“I thought it was getting better.” This time, I can’t even blame Miller. I’m volunteering this information freely. I think there might be some sick part of me that actually wants to hear myself say it. Maybe I want him to know. Maybe I’m hoping it will repel him, wake him up, get him to snap out of this crazy fixation he has on me.
“In senior year, this popular guy started being kind of nice to me, waving me over in the cafeteria, asking to copy off my homework. Not just taking it, actually asking. He started messaging me, and we started playing video games online together over the weekends. I was so happy. I was so fucking relieved. I let myself believe it was over.”
I take another sip of my beer. “After a while, he told me this girl named Camilla liked me. I didn’t believe it, but after he said it, she did start being friendly to me, hanging out at my locker, waiting for me after school, that kind of thing. She was one of the prettiest girls in school, and I’d low-key had a crush on her since I was a freshman, so I was in heaven.
“He told me she was waiting for me to ask her to prom. He said it over and over. I was terrified to ask her, but he convinced me she’d say yes, so I did it. I had these visions of prom being amazing and undoing all the shit I’d been through. You know, a way of re-writing history and making it different. A do-over or something.”
I drain the rest of my beer in three gulps and put the bottle on the bar. “Obviously, the whole thing was a joke. Obviously, the entire school was in on it. Watching, waiting. Laughing their asses off when I asked her, and she said no. You know the drill.”
Miller waves the bartender over and orders two more beers and two tequila shots. Before I have time to wonder how he knows I like tequila, he licks his hand where his thumb and forefinger meet and sprinkles salt on it, waiting until I do the same to raise his glass to me and say, “I love tequila. Smelled it on your breath the first time you blew me. Now I think of you when I smell it.” He raises his glass to his nose and inhales, then looks at me. “Turns me on.”
The shot goes down badly. I cough, eyes watering as I bite into the slice of lime.
“I should probably take Emily her drin—”
He cuts me off with his eyes. “You know,” he says almost dreamily, “if you tell me his name, I’ll find him. I’ll hire someone if I need to, but I’ll find him.”
“Who?” I ask, and when the answer occurs to me, I add, “Why would you do that?”
“To get something on him. Something shameful and bad. You know, something I can use to ruin his whole life.”
I smile despite myself. It’s so ludicrous that I can’t help it.