Rowan
“Are you still here?” Paul tells me, sitting down on my desk.
“I have work to do.”
“You’ve been locked in here all day. You didn’t even go to lunch.”
“George brought me a salad.”
“And this morning you arrived very early.”
“How do you know I came early if you came late as usual?”
He laughs. “George found you already here.”
I ignore his tacit question and return my eyes to my documents.
“Should I ask or…”
“I can’t even come to the office when I want to?”
“Are you nervous?”
“I wasn’t before your arrival.”
“I get it. I’ll get out of your hair.” Paul gets up and walks to the door.
The anxiety I have been holding in my stomach, and the memories of last night, the kisses, the caresses, the unexpected craving for his gentleness and contact, together with the fact that this morning I practically slipped away at dawn so as not to have to face him and my confusion, mount up in me unwanted and suffocating all at once.
“I kissed him,” I tell my friend.
Paul turns around.
“Don’t make that face. You know exactly who I'm talking about.”
“You kissed your client?”
I look at him sideways. “Has he suddenly become ‘my client’?” I make air quotes with my fingers. “I was just thanking him, you know, and then… he was the one who kissed me!”
“And you care so much about form, don’t you?”
“I’m just trying to make my point…”
“Do you really want to tell me what's going on, or do you want to keep spouting random bullshit?” Paul blurts out, which is unusual for him.
“What's going on, Paul? I’m fucked. We’re fucked. All of us. You included. In fact, especially you, because it’s only your fault I’m in this situation. And if I go down, I will take you with me.”
“If blaming me makes you feel better,” he spreads his arms, “go right ahead.”
“Of course it doesn’t make me feel better, Paul. Nothing would make me feel better.”
“Sleeping with him would definitely make you feel better.”
“A smack on your fucking face. That would really do me good right now.”
“You want him. We all know it by now and I think he knows it too. You want him from that night. The one we were at the club. The shorts, the makeup…”
Don’t make me think about those damn shorts now, for goodness sake!
