You Own Me (Owned 1)

The elevator pinged for my level and I stepped out.

Or, I was about to.

“It was lovely meeting you,” Vic said, reaching for my skank's hand. “Just don't forget, she has a curfew.” Vic turned his head and winked at me.

I spent the rest of the night trying to convince my skank, err, date that I wasn't underage and that Vic wasn't my father. Vic was only a couple of years older than me. Vic isn't even the same race as me. Look around, can’t you tell I live in my own apartment?

Ugh. My date wouldn’t believe any of it. Once statutory rape is even alluded to, most guys run for the hills.

When he left fifteen minutes later, he was freaking out about what we had done in the bar’s bathroom earlier that night. “I’m a consenting adult, dammit!” Hmmm, I probably shouldn’t have yelled that down the hallway at his retreating back.

Well played, Vic. Well played.

On Sunday, we both brought home dates. The silence of the elevator was a tacitly agreed upon ceasefire. I was okay with that . . . but then I said fuck it. Kamikaze, bitches!

“He's wonderful,” I said to Vic's date. She smiled, loving the compliment that I had paid to her date. I touched her forearm gently. “Just don't get pregnant. I made that mistake with him . . .” I gave my best drama queen impersonation: right hand pressed against my chest, tears welling in my eyes, left hand flapping.

Her jaw dropped. My date quickly stepped away from me. Vic smiled.

Neither of us got laid.

Now it was Wednesday, and once again I was glaring at Vic. My mouth was pressed firmly on whomever this guy was that I had picked for the night. Vic glared back at me, his mouth pressed firmly on whoever that girl was. This was the only way we could stay quiet—our respective mouths locked on a stranger’s—neither of us happy.

I watched in fascination as Vic slowly pulled away from his date. I gave my date a little push to get him off of me.

“I'm sorry, I just, I just can't.” Vic said, looking pained. His date looked seriously confused. “I can't let this happen. This girl is a whore,” Vic said dramatically, gesturing to me. “She'll make you pay afterward and if you don't, well,” Vic paused for effect, “I hope you're not attached to your kneecaps, buddy.”

I took a step toward Vic, eyeing him down as if he wasn’t a whole head taller than me. “If I'm a whore, then you're a rapist.” Never mind that was a complete non sequitur. I wanted to do the most damage to Vic and his chance with his date.

Vic halved the distance between us. “Whore.”

“Rapist.”

It didn't feel like we were joking anymore.

We continued spitting hateful words into each other's faces, no mind given to anyone else. When I finally looked around, the elevator was empty save the two of us.

I sighed. “We need to stop doing this.”

“I know,” Vic agreed, stepping back.

“So, why are you doing it?” After I asked the question, I knew it wasn't fair. I had started it, and I had kept it going.

Vic surprised me. Instead of being angry, he seemed remorseful. “I get jealous when I see you with other guys, Lenny. I know I shouldn't, but I do.”

I wanted to scream in response, but instead I whispered, “That's not fair. You left me. You rejected me.”

Our relationship was such a broken and dangerous roller coaster that I swear my spine was starting to snap from the jarring twists and turns.

“I know.”

“So let me go. It's hard enough living in the same building as you.”

Vic nodded solemnly.

Since we’d stopped hurling insults, Vic hadn't looked me in the eye. I was grateful for that, because I don't know if I could’ve held my resolve while gazing in to their fathomless depths. Still, I missed looking into them. His stare had a unique, almost worship-like quality. It was like a drug to me. My own black-eye heroin.

“This is your floor. I'll ride back down,” I said. I wanted this conversation over. Now.