That Thing Between Eli & Gwen

My hands lifted as if to strangle him, but I dropped them.

“At least you're not as prudish as I thought, you're just a closet—”

I slapped my hand over his mouth. “First, whatever you were going to say, don’t say it. And second, just because I’m not screwing men against my wall doesn’t make me a prude.” I took my hand off his face.

“Why not? You're not married, not engaged, you are a free person. No point in not living it up and enjoying yourself—”

“Those women you slept with, did they make you feel better? And I don’t mean while you were doing it or right after. When they left and you were alone, did you feel better? Tell me you did, and I will go out tomorrow night and bring a guy home.”

He got up, taking a seat on the coffee table again as he grabbed my ankle and started working on the compression wrap.

I didn’t flinch this time. “I guess that’s my cue to le—”

“I felt nothing.” He looked me dead in the eye, emotionless, his face almost scary. “You're right. I brought them back, stripped them down, fucked them every way I could think of until neither of us could walk, and I still felt nothing afterward. But what would you have me do, Guinevere? Pine after her? Read books about some perfect person who doesn’t exist? I was ready to give her my life, my name, everything I was, everything I owned; I was about to give it to her, and she threw it back in my face like it meant nothing. So yes, I fuck women, and in that moment, I feel great. I'd rather have that moment than nothing, because nothing hurts. You should know.” When he finished, he gathered up everything on the table and walked into his kitchen.

Getting up, I said nothing, glancing back to him only once before I left his apartment. When I entered mine, Taigi came up to me, rubbing against my legs and following me into my bedroom. The only things in there were the bed and my floor-to-ceiling wall of books. Sitting in the center of my bed, I stared at it all. My books weren’t nothing…they were all different little dreams.

He had sex to provide his moment of relief.

I read about it, and the characters' lives.

We were just the same.

Eli

How was it possible? Even with raging music in the background, she was still in my head. When Guinevere left, I got dressed and called Logan, heading to Rue 83, which was currently the hottest club in the city; I figured it had another two or three weeks before people found something new. This was New York; nothing was “cool” for long.

“You were the one who invited me here, and yet I’m having all the fun. What’s up with you?” Logan asked, resting against the bar, his eyes on a pretty brunette behind me.

“Don’t have fun, be miserable,” I muttered to him, downing my scotch.

“Whoa. No seriously, what is wrong with you?”

“Guinevere Poe,” I said, grabbing another shot. “By the way, what is her full name? I can’t curse her properly when I can’t say her entire name.”

“How the hell would I know?”

“You were the one who put her in my face. Don’t you remember? You invited her fiancé to my wedding, and when they ran off, all that was left was Guinevere and Eli, les misérables.” Why are there two of him? I felt…drunk. “So you shouldn’t be having fun, you should be miserable like us.”

“Mom said you saw Hannah today. Is that what this is?”

“No.” I smiled, patting his shoulder. “Everything can’t be about Hannah. I can’t have my life revolve around her. My anger is toward Guinevere tonight, for making me self-analyze when I didn’t want to. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to seduce a woman because that’s what I do.” Spinning around in the chair, I tried to find someone, anyone, really. However, no matter where I looked, it seemed like all I could see was her heart-shaped face and big brown eyes everywhere.

Did it make you feel better? Her voice replayed in my mind.

Sighing, I turned back to the bar.

“What happened to seducing—”

“Just go have fun, Logan.” I nodded for the bartender to pour me another glass.

Note to self: just stay away from women. They can fuck with your head and heart way too easily. There must be a school for it or something.

Chapter Eight

The Cat's Meow

Guinevere