Chapter 5 Henri
Henri
Ten thousand steps around the city? Easy.
Five flights of stairs? I become the monster from the black lagoon—sweat drenched and heaving as I desperately suck air into my burning lungs. You’d think after five months it would get easier, but it never does.
When we reach the top I catch myself against the wall.
“Just give me a moment,” I pant, my hand fumbling in the endless depths of my bag for my keys.
“Fuck. I swear I workout,” Liam says, hands braced on his knees next to me, eyes pinched shut. “If my siblings saw me right now, I’d never hear the end of it.”
“They wouldn’t be with us, wondering if they also need an adult asthma diagnosis?”
“Athletes.”
“Oh, those fuckers.”
He huffs a laugh. “You’ve never met them.”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t feel insulted by the mere suggestion of their superior lung capacity.”
Managing to grab my keys, I finally open the door. I walk in, sweeping my arm wide to present the space. The apartment was a good deal and came pre-furnished, thanks to the support we received from Iris’s travel nurse agency, but it’s still small.
I shrug out of my coat and hang it up by the door.
“Is that . . . ?” Liam, cocks his head toward my office.
“Where I mastermind all of my schemes? I’ll give you a look if you want,” I say and his eyes catch with mine.
“For the interview,” he says, as if reminding himself.
“Yeah, for that.” Somewhere along the way, this started to feel natural.
Like the two of us have done this before.
I can’t remember the last time something was so easy with someone.
Even with Iris, it took work. But Liam with the silly pen tucked behind his ear and his genuine curiosity has snuck up on me.
“Each set of index cards has the basics of the people I’m still working with,” I explain, tapping one for the tech mogul’s son.
“Names I need to remember, timelines of the relationship, who I need to be for them to get the most out of the experience. I was with this guy on Thanksgiving, but I’m going to be texting him a few times over the next week and call him while he’s around his family once before I break it off. ”
“Why do you break it off? Why not them?”
“That way I’m the villain.” I shrug. “Juliet isn’t the star of some rom-com, she’s part of a tragedy. She kills Romeo in her own roundabout way, so that’s what I do. I kill the relationship and my clients are in the clear.”
Clean cut. I leave exactly when I plan to. I’m never the one people walk away from. Not anymore.
“After that, what do you do? They get to go on with their lives, but what about you? It must be draining to constantly be carrying such large emotional loads.”
I’m so taken aback by the question that I just blink at him for a moment.
“I have to keep going. So I do.” Work and keep working because if I don’t, the emotional exhaustion sweeps me under like a riptide and threatens to drown me.
I force the corners of my lips up and push past the melancholy starting to take hold. “Want to see something cool?”
“Don’t tell me, someone asked you to impersonate a lounge singer,” Liam says from where he’s perched on the edge of the full-sized bed, the only surface in my sparse room that’s not covered in clothing.
He lifts his phone to take a picture of me that he swears he’s only using for reference and won’t include any in the actual article.
With my hands draped one over the other, I lean dramatically against one of the four clothing racks that line the perimeter of the space. The low-cut, floor-length red dress pools at my feet since I’ve neglected to wear heels. I designed it myself and it fits me like a glove.
“Oh, come on, this is obviously an I need to make my ex jealous and prove to her I won’t die alone because I have a hot girlfriend dress.
” My voice tips up into a perky infomercial pitch.
“Perfect for occasions such as weddings, high school reunions, or upscale outings with mutual friends. You work at a women’s magazine; you’re supposed to know these things. ”
The dress is the fifth outfit I’ve tried on after showing him my bedroom and he’s taken this fashion show in stride. I don’t ever get the chance to show off this passion and he’s intent rather than dismissive, making me want to keep going.
“What high school reunion are you going to in that?” he asks.
“You’d be surprised.” I walk over to the bed and sit next to him.
“It’s mostly weddings though. No one wants to run into their happily-coupled-up ex at a wedding when they’re still single, especially if the ex is the one getting married.
I made this just for those occasions that need an extra wow factor. ”
Liam’s brows shoot up in disbelief at this and I stifle a laugh. “You made that. Fuck that’s incredible.”
“It’s just something I learned to do when I realized I couldn’t afford some of the things I wanted to buy. It’s not perfect but it does the job.”
“I’ll say. Why do you put so much into the details of something you could probably throw any dress on for and then make small talk?”
“I get to charge more for my expertise, of course,” I joke, then flop back onto the bed.
My gaze traces over the ceiling texture that, from my first day at the apartment, has reminded me of a breakout of splotchy hives.
“It’s quite simple, really. We like to think we’re all so different and that’s why we’re special.
If everyone was special, my job would be a lot harder.
But most of us just want the same thing. ”
“You call this easy?”
I laugh. “Okay, yes, I get what you mean. I put a lot into my work, because it’s what my clients deserve and expect.”
The bed shifts, fabric rustling as Liam lies down next to me. His hair brushes against mine as he adjusts.
“So, what is it that we all want?” he asks, and I can feel his eyes on me.
I nearly look his way, but this, the core of it all, makes me feel naked.
Like, over the last few hours, I’ve stripped down.
Losing my armor, but I don’t feel unsafe.
If anything, it’s the opposite. Somehow that’s more terrifying.
“We want to be people who are worthy of love, and we want the people we care about to see us that way. Yeah there are plenty of smaller reasons, promotions, convincing parents to drop arguments, feuds, but to be loved is to be seen, and all that.”
“Henri,” Liam says. Finally, I roll and look at him. Up close, I can tell his brown eyes are hazel—brown blooming from his irises to be swallowed up by rings of gold streaked green at the edges.
“Yeah?” I swallow hard, willing my racing heart to settle before Liam can hear it pounding. There’s a part of me that wants to reach out and touch him, just to make sure he’s real.
A phone chimes with a text notification, and he sits up, pulling away from me before grabbing his phone where he’s set it on my nightstand.
“It’s Jasmine.” He rises to his feet, teeth toying at his bottom lip as he reads. There’s something about him, the way all of his feelings live unrestrained on his face, that makes him easy to talk to. It’s easy to see why people feel safe opening up to him.
“Headed out?” I prop myself up on an elbow and ask as disappointment creeps in.
“I should,” he says, almost hesitantly. “Thanks. I think I have everything I need. The article is going to be a hit.”
“Of course it will. The great L. Hughes is writing it.”
“You give me too much credit.”
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.” I don’t want this to end, this resonant humming between us.
“I should . . . Umm.”
“I guess.”
I stand up too quickly, forgetting I’m in a dress. My feet tangle in the fabric causing me to stumble before catching myself on a wall.
It hits me all at once. I’m just a girl in a dress. A story.
A girl who is so starved for genuine attention that I let him in a little too much. This is exactly why I don’t do this. I keep work and myself separate, otherwise I’m too eager to give all of myself a scrap of belonging.
I take a moment to get myself together and walk him to the door.
“I can send it to you when it’s out,” he says, lingering halfway into the hall with his hand on the doorknob.
“No, it’s fine. You don’t need to go out of your way to do that.” My practiced smile is back in place as I remember who I am to him. No one.
When he goes, I lock the door behind me and I slump onto the floor. Left alone, again.