25. This is Florida
THIS IS FLORIDA
I watch Ben’s video too many times, and come twice while touching myself, just listening to him say my name along with his heavy breathing and gentle whimpers.
No one has ever made me feel as in control as Ben does. He got up in the middle of his family dinner and jerked off for me. If that isn’t power, I don’t know what is.
Part of me wants to text him again and ask him to come over, but it feels out of bounds to what we agreed to—what I was insistent on. The more time we spend together, the more I wonder if this can actually work.
I find Ben endearing, sweet, and easy to talk to.
When I told him about my scars I didn’t see pity in his gaze, just sadness that I had to go through something like that.
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I thought he wanted me to stay at their place for the rest of the day.
It’s that desire to be around him constantly that scares me.
Even if it isn’t sex, I just enjoy spending time with him, no matter what we’re doing.
I wanted a video of him, so I asked for it. As much as I’d like for him to come over, this seemed like a good compromise.
Things with Gavin are more clear, his line is drawn deep in the sand. We’re just fucking, and yet, even with him, there’s a part of me that wants to crack his hardened shell and figure out why he won’t let anyone in.
It’s all fucked and I can’t stop.
I can’t stop hooking up with them and I also can’t stop the way these feelings are growing.
I kind of hate myself for it. I promised myself that I would take this time to grow, to be single, and just enjoy men as a delicacy.
But it’s becoming impossible to see Ben and Gavin as just men who fulfill my sexual needs.
They’re so much more, and I have no clue on where to go from here.
The sun has long set and as I sit in my empty house, for the first time in a long while, I wish it wasn’t so quiet.
There’s the slightest movement out of the bay window and I pull back the curtain to take a look.
Sure enough, the SUV Pat warned me about is idling down the street, just far enough to not be on my property, but close enough to monitor my house.
I swallow a bit of dread and keep an eye on the vehicle.
Five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes pass and they don’t leave.
Genuine fear is licking up my spine as I wonder if this is a threat, or is it worse? Would it be pathetic to leave my own home and hide at Savannah’s or Chelsea’s? Would it be even more desperate to depend on one of the brothers I’m fucking to come stay over? Is that even on the table?
Before I second guess myself, concern wins out.
Either of you still up?
Gavin
Ben had to go to the bar to handle a situation, what’s up?
I bite my lip and consider lying and getting over myself. It could just be someone who lives in the neighborhood. I’m just being paranoid, right? No, deep in my gut I know that I’m not being paranoid.
I think my ex is canvassing my house. I’m not sure what I should do.
Gavin
I’ll be right over. Do not leave the house. Wait till I get there.
Okay, thank you.
He doesn’t respond after that, and I just sit at the window, watching this unmoving vehicle, hoping that I made the right call. Each moment that ticks by I feel even more anxious. The second Gavin’s white car pulls into my driveway, a soothing sense of calm fills me.
That’s until I see the baseball bat in his hand and he begins striding toward the vehicle parked on the street. I’m up off the couch in a heartbeat, swinging my front door open.
“What the fuck are you doing? You don’t know who’s in there. They could have a fucking gun,” I yell at him.
He doesn’t turn to face me as he speaks. “Get back in the goddamn house, Katherine.”
“No way. Please come inside. Please,” I beg him.
He takes two more steps forward with the bat and grabs his phone out of his pocket. The SUV speeds off as Gavin holds his phone up, recording the vehicle and hopefully getting their license plate.
“I told you to wait inside,” he says when he turns around. He’s now lazily holding the bat as he approaches my house.
“This is Florida, Gavin, land of the crazy. You can’t just stroll up to anyone holding a baseball bat, you don’t know what level of unhinged you’re possibly dealing with. If you think I’d let you get hurt because you came over here to help me, you’re delusional.”
“I’m delusional?” he asks, pointing to himself like there’s another man in my yard holding a baseball bat.
“What were you going to do? Smash the fucking windshield? I’m not even sure if it’s Will or not,” I blurt it all out.
Gavin takes an exacerbated sigh, his head tilting to the night sky as his nostrils flare and he seems to ask the universe for patience, like I’m the problem here.
“Can we go inside?”
“Do you want something to drink or eat?” I ask as he follows me into the house, and I lock the door behind us.
“Just water,” he says, and I fill us both glasses of water as we sit at my dining room table.
Mikey comes up to him and sniffs him, clearly sensing it’s not his favorite twin, before walking away.
“You’ve got to be shitting me. Even the cat likes Ben more.”
My brows furrow and I tilt my head. “Do you really feel that people like Ben more?”
“No. I know people like Ben more. I’m not insecure about it, it’s just a fact. Ben is gentler, kinder, easier to be around.”
“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.”
He waves me off, taking a sip of water, his fingers turning the glass as he looks back up at me.
“So, the SUV. Is this the first time? What makes you think it’s Will?”
“You remember my nosey neighbor, Pat? She told me she’s seen a black SUV outside of my house a few times now.
I think at first she was just trying to get information to see how many male night time callers I have, but her mentioning that she never sees anyone get out or in of the vehicle had her realizing it could be something more serious.
Along with the chance encounters with Will on multiple occasions it had me panicking.
Maybe I’m paranoid, but I don’t think I’m being delusional here.
No matter if it’s him or not. Someone’s been watching my comings and goings.
I asked Pat to record anything she finds.
She was working on getting a license plate. ”
“I think I captured it in the video. I wasn’t asking because I think you’re paranoid or don’t believe you. I just wanted facts, so we can talk to the police.”
“The police?” I question.
His face softens, all the hardness and frustration from earlier slipping away as he grabs my forearm, his thumb delicately rubbing my skin as he speaks.
“You shouldn’t be scared to be in your own house. Especially being a woman who lives alone. You need to get a restraining order. It’s difficult in Florida, but if we can prove that he’s stalking you, we have a case.”
I bite the nails of my free hand and Gavin reaches across the table and grabs it away, cradling it in his own hand.
“My sister-in-law, Jessa, she had a psycho ex who broke into her home when she was alone. It took a long time for her to feel safe again. Fucker even drew a gun on my brother. I’m not taking this lightly because I’ve seen first hand how bad things can go.
He’s intimidating you about the part of the company you own, and I think we have a good case for stalking.
If he’s under their radar, the more protected you are. We can go to the station right now.”
“Jessa’s ex really did that?” I say, avoiding everything else in his statement.
“He was obsessed. While I think this thing with your ex is more money motivated, they’re both dangerous.”
“I should just sell him the fucking company.”
“You don’t have to make that decision now, let alone let him threaten you into doing it. Let’s just talk to the police and see what they can do.”
“Can we go tomorrow? It’s late,” I say, not wanting to spend endless hours at the police station, and if it is Will, he knows Gavin is here. He won’t show up again.
“Fine, tomorrow,” he says, grabbing his water and walking toward the sunroom.
Shit.
I go to stop him and he opens the door and the first thing that draws the eye is my work in progress painting of him and his brother. I started it before I even knew they were twins, back when I thought it was one man making all my fantasies come true.
His footsteps falter and he stares for a long moment, and I wonder if he’s going to freak out and think I’m an absolute creep. Instead, he steps closer, tilting his head and observing the painting with a critic's eye.
“That’s Ben, and that’s me,” he says, easily picking out who is who.
“I actually started this painting before I knew you were two people.”
“After you were with Ben?”
“No, actually. It was the night we were together. It felt cathartic. You’re right about that night.
I was desperate to hand over control and let go of everything that was going on.
I tend to live in my head a lot. Sometimes I let things fester and rot to the point I’ve poisoned my mind. But you, you shut it off.”
“It’s incredible,” he whispers in awe.
“I hadn’t painted anything in nearly two years, but that night I came home and had the urge to create. I stayed up until the sun came up painting this beautiful man with two personalities that didn’t seem possible in one human body.”
“That’s why we look conjoined?” he says.
I laugh and stand next to him. “Yes. This side, your side, embodies confidence, strength, and dominance. This one is eager to please, softer, looking for permission.”
“Do you have more of your own art around here?”
“Oh, you don’t want to see that,” I say, waving him off.
“If I didn’t want to see it, I wouldn’t have asked.”
Okay, then. “Follow me,” I say, leading him to my studio. It’s a bit messy in the space, but what artist's area isn’t?
“Everything in here is mine,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself.
I’m used to critique, taking high-level art classes will make your skin thick.
I get shivers thinking about presenting my piece to a class full of pretentious art students and the way they would shred the most beautiful, soul-crushing piece to shreds.
It’s not that I’m worried about Gavin judging my technique, maybe I’m just worried about what he’ll see in the paintings themselves.
“Is this supposed to be a self-portrait?” he asks and I clear my throat. I don’t even have to look at the piece he’s talking about.
“I painted that when I was in a really dark place with Will. About three years ago.”
“Is this how you really viewed yourself?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“Not on the outside, no,” I reply, staring at the painting.
It’s me sitting at a vanity, the back of my head in the foreground as I brush my hair.
But the reflection is a stark contrast. It’s a gaunt version of myself, tears welling in my eyes, dark circles framing my too tight, too pale skin.
“I felt like I was withering away from the inside and no one but me saw it happening. This piece reflects that.”
Gavin stares at it for a long time, almost to the point where I’m uncomfortable. The need to know what he’s thinking is near desperate, until he finally speaks.
“You know what’s interesting? I called it the first day I met you.”
“What’s that?” I ask as he turns around.
“That he didn’t know how to appreciate what he had right in front of him.”
“And you do?” I question.
“Nope. I don’t have a single fucking clue,” he says, turning around and moving canvases around left and right, looking at everything.
I clear my throat and the suggestion that tumbles out of me surprises even myself. “Do you want to paint something?” I ask him.
He stops his pursuing, the crease between his brows deepening. “I’m not an artist.”
“Anyone is an artist,” I disagree.
“You promise not to judge my painting?”
“Cross my heart,” I say, making a motion over my chest.
“Okay,” he agrees and I grin, setting him up at my station with a smaller twelve by sixteen canvas, while I take the floor.
I put on music and Gavin and I work on our pieces in companionable silence. I have no idea what he’s working on. He doesn’t want me to see it until it’s completely finished. I respect the creative process and sit on the floor painting a portrait of Mikey, except he’s a pirate, eye patch and all.
“Why don’t you sell your art?” he asks, nearly startling me.
I rest my hand on my chin and shrug. “Sometimes monetizing things takes away all the joy of something. I like teaching the history of art. I’m good at it.
It’s a job. This is a release. There are no expectations, deadlines, boundaries.
I can just do whatever I feel like. Plus, it’s not like I need the money.
If I wanted to, I could decide not to work at all. ”
“Me either,” he says and I tilt my head and he sighs, his hand still on the paintbrush. “My family is well off. Ben and I had large trust funds. If we wanted to we could fuck off and travel, never work a day in our lives.”’
“So, why don’t you?”
“Don’t get me wrong, we did in our early twenties, but it felt empty.”
“Empty?”
He nods, but doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t make him.
We go back to silence, but as I’m painting a sword in Mikey’s paw, I keep glancing over at Gavin, trying to figure him out.
There are moments that he’s so serious. I wonder if he’s wound up too tight.
Then there are moments, mostly around Ben, where he seems lighter, more easy going.
It makes me wonder who Gavin really is, and why he might be hiding his true self from the world.