Jace
“Open.” I hold a piece of popcorn between pinched fingers and toss it at Lennox’s slacked mouth. It flies through the air as he tries to move his face to catch it but it bounces off his cheek and tumbles onto the couch.
“Good throw, bad catch,” he says chuckling, as he picks it up and pops it into his mouth.
One of Pierre’s movies drowns out in the background, we’re hardly paying attention. The night has passed by quickly and easily just like the entire time we spent at the cabin together.
I thought it would be awkward, after that mind-blowing, orgasmic, out-of-this-world shower, but as usual he's been pulling nothing but smiles and laughter out of me since.
It’s strange, feeling so comfortable with someone. There’s this balance of friendship and intimacy between us. I don’t understand it. I’m confused by the things I desire from him. Not just because he’s a man and I’m attracted to him, but he’s so different from anyone I’ve spent time with.
I like who I am when I’m with him because everything feels natural. Easy.
“If you couldn’t act, what would you do?” he asks a random question, which I find he does a lot.
“Do you always ask this many questions?” I reply, popping a piece of popcorn in my mouth.
He shrugs. “It fills the silence and most people like to talk about themselves. Plus, I like to listen. I suppose it’s probably more of a habit than anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the orphanages I grew up in, it was chaotic during the day, but at night, the silence was painful. I think I needed the noise to drown out the negative thoughts in my head. Most times we had to sleep in communal rooms on tiny beds with flat mattresses placed on top of these old, rusty, metal spring frames. They were all lined up next to each other with minimal space so we could easily talk to each other.” A lopsided grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, his eyes hyperfocused at a spot on the couch like he’s recalling the memory.
“It wasn’t worth getting in trouble if we snuck out of our beds so we just made up questions, whispering them to each other.
Weird ones, fun ones, completely out of context ones.
We’d ask each other random things until we passed out.
It always made me realize how different everyone is.
How one thing could be a passion for one person but a trigger for another.
Those questions made me ponder life, imagine how different it could be, dream of things I’d want to do or see.
I think it helped the younger ones too.”
He picks at a piece of lint on his shirt—well, it’s my shirt technically since his clothes are still drying. I can’t say I hate how it looks on him.
The life he’s lived is so far removed from anything I’ve ever experienced. Where he had to figure things out on his own, push through life practically alone, I’ve always had eyes on me and parents controlling everything I do.
His eyes lift up to meet mine and we both just stare at each other for a minute. It looks like he wants to share more; I’m sure he has so many stories but he remains quiet.
“The silence was different for me.” I sit up, shifting to lean against the arm rest. He mirrors me so now we’re face-to-face at opposite ends of the couch, our feet overlapping next to each other.
“How so?” he asks.
“My days were always filled with demands, instructions, non-stop filming or interviews with the press. If there wasn’t someone with me on set, in a makeup trailer, or traveling from one place to another, there would be a camera instead.
So, if I finally made it to my room, the silence was…
It was welcomed. Especially if I locked my mom out.
” I smile, making a joke out of it, even though it’s entirely true.
“Your mom seems quite controlling,” he states, his tone is light, trying to be respectful but honest.
I huff out a breath and shake my head.
“She controls…everything.”
The conservatorship isn’t public. The records are sealed so no one could exploit it or find out the details of why it was needed.
She kept everything out of the media after the incident in an effort to protect me.
At least that’s what she said. Which is partially true, but now I’m seeing how important it was to protect herself.
I want to tell him, I do. But, I can’t. I’m terrified of what would happen if I do. What my mother would do to me. What Lennox would think of me. Would he disregard me? Blame me as much as I blame myself?
This is the first time I feel like I want to open up to someone about it. Share my repressed feelings to someone other than my mother’s priest and the therapist she, and the courts, insisted I see.
“Why doesn’t she trust you? You’re quite literally the most responsible person I’ve ever met. There’s got to be a reason she’s like that,” he asks.
I stand up and walk to the window, taking in the Vegas strip lights and flashing marquees. The city is wild and boisterous, it’s exactly the opposite of everything I am yet I’m drawn to its energy. Just like I was with Luca. Just like I am with Lennox.
Instead of sharing everything I want, I leave it vague. It’s the same response I give everyone whenever they mention my restrictions and my mothers overbearing personality.
“I got into a little trouble when I was young. Another guy I knew, Luca, we were friends, co-workers. She didn’t like him. She thought he was a bad influence on my naive, sheltered soul.” I take a jab at myself, trying to keep it light.
I turn around and lean onto the window seal. There’s a cold draft that radiates from the glass, spreading over my back. It feels like pins and needles over my warm skin, or maybe that’s my lies and all the things I hide trying to burst out through my pores.
He stands from the couch, walking a couple paces toward me.
“One mistake equals a lifetime of overbearing control?”
“In her eyes, yes.”
If only you knew how serious.
“Do you think I remind her of him?” he asks and I nod as he steps closer.
“Do you think you make poor decisions around me?”
I nod, scraping my bottom lip with my teeth, my gaze is trained on the floor.
“Do you like the decisions you make around me?” His voice is getting closer.
I nod again.
He steps up, lining himself in front of me. His bare feet are in front of mine and I finally lift my gaze to meet his.
“Did you and Luca—” I shake my head quickly. “Did you like him?”
My brows pinch together because I truly don’t know.
“I think I did, but I didn’t know it at the time. I just couldn’t understand it or recognize it for what it was,” I confess out loud for the first time. “But I think my mom did. I think she knew I was curious about guys before I knew myself.”
“When did you know?”
“When I met you.”