Movies & Boundaries #2
For a moment, we just stand there and wait for the popcorn to finish. The light from the microwave illuminates his face in a way that highlights his cheekbones, but casts a shadow over his eyes so that, except for the tiniest pinprick of light that is beaming from them, I can’t make them out.
I should probably look away; while the light is half-hiding his face, it’s most likely illuminating mine, and the way I'm inappropriately staring at him. His lips curl into a smirk right before I can look away, and I know I've been caught.
"Hold on, you've got something just here on your cheek," he says, slowly reaching his hand up.
The moment his thumb touches my skin, a charge surges through every inch of my body. My stomach breaks out into a horde of butterflies, and my tongue glues itself to the roof of my mouth. It takes everything I have to let out a steady breath without alerting him to how much he affects me.
He drags his thumb across my cheekbone, and that deep thu-thump hits with an almost exaggerated echo in my ears. His lips dip with concern as his thumb traces a circle on my cheek, making my heart stutter and blood rush past my ears.
"Wait. It's not coming off," he murmurs, his eyes moving from staring intently into mine to whatever spot he’s trying to get rid of as he steps even deeper into my space.
He’s close enough now that I have to tip my head up to see his face. He’s looking down at me with an intensity that I can feel in my gut, and I swallow a lump down my throat to try and disperse the excess energy running through me. "What is it?"
Marcus leans in and whispers, "Beauty," before pulling back up with a cheesy grin.
"Oh my god, you are ridiculous," I groan while slapping his shoulder.
The flirty line was just corny enough to lighten whatever was crackling between us and dispel the intense energy coursing through me.
He just laughs at that while I roll my eyes. "It’s just the makeup.”
I don't know why I even said that, because I know I look good without it, too, but the heat in my cheeks and the near-Herculean effort it’s taking to keep a smile from spreading across my face right now have me wanting to downplay it a bit.
Marcus's eyes grow serious as he takes me in. "It's not the makeup. It's you. I've never seen you without makeup, but I have no doubt you're just as pretty without it as you are with it."
My heart fucking blooms at that, which amps up my desire to downplay his words. "Hate to burst your bubble, but if that’s the case, then what would the point of the makeup be?"
"Pretty sure makeup is more than just making a person pretty, or being necessary for that specific end.
Also, pretty sure that as an influencer, you already know that and are just saying otherwise to either detract from the conversation, or to somehow trap me with words so you can villainize me," he points out, and there’s an uncomfortable spike that runs through me at that.
I don’t need to villainize him to know that he’s not for me and that I shouldn’t want more than just a copasetic roommate. Stupid chemistry doesn’t make up for the hard fact that he and I are two spaces that should never touch.
Knowing that, though, doesn’t mean I want to be a jerk about it either.
Don’t really know how not to be here, though, since he seems to be missing the memo that we aren’t compatible at all.
I can’t really pretend like I’m not having a hard time sticking to the memo, either.
I’ve even gone as far as having to remind myself that a quick fuck just to air out the tension would be a bad idea.
"Alright, what is makeup for then if it isn't to simply enhance someone's beauty?" I challenge, focusing on the easier part of what he said and ignoring the entire can of worms that analyzing the need to villainize him would open.
"It’s style, a statement, an expression, just like the clothes you wear.
Putting aside the modesty aspect of clothing, people wear clothes to express themselves.
They look just as good naked, but still wear clothes to show or hide pieces of themselves.
Makeup is the same; it's just a way to dress and style your face–to show what you want others to see and hide what you don't want them to see.
It doesn't detract or even hint that your face is any more or less pretty with or without it. "
The surprising depth of his answer astounds me a bit, and I huff out a chuckle. "Your mama teach you that?" I ask him because I think it’s obvious that his mom would be into makeup to have makeup influencer friends.
Marcus's face lights up at the question, and he leans a bit further back out of my space. "She did actually. And she's quite impressed with your talent and your channel," he adds on.
I bite my inner cheek at that, curious about her earlier offer. "And you have nothing to do with that?"
Marcus shakes his head. "My mom likes knowing who my friends are, but she can be perfectly cordial to them without extending help or advice.
That's purely her idea and sincere desire.
She was already curious about you from the way Qi talks about you.
My added observations simply elevated the intrigue, but it has nothing to do with the genuine appreciation she has for your art," he says sincerely.
I swallow hard at that, not completely sure how much I believe him. "Marcus–"
Before I can finish the thought, Marcus shakes his head and interrupts me. "I get that there’s tension between us–" he starts, and I immediately shake my head in denial.
"There's nothing between us," I interject with words that are more convincing than the waver in my tone that I can't fully hide.
"–but don't let that be a barrier between you and her offer. She meant it for you. Not me," he finishes sincerely, ignoring my interruption.
My eyes lock onto his again. A million things are rushing through me from the genuineness of his mother to the deep intensity of the way he looks at me.
His eyes aren’t just an intensity I can see; they’re an intensity that I can feel.
The way the endless pools of them swim, a million emotions breaching the surface.
They reach out and grab hold of me, trapping me there, holding me prisoner.
My heart stutters and stops as I drown in his eyes–as I drown in him.
I feel like there’s no stopping it, no denying it, and then an alarm in the back of my mind starts to sound as something cold and cruel stirs.
It lifts his head, and fires synapses in my brain that remind me this is dangerous–he’s dangerous–this feeling is dangerous.
It’s like a knife being lifted and cutting each emotion between him and me apart, leaving them in tatters with the firm rebuke of danger.
A vice squeezes around my heart while an ache creeps into my throat.
A million memories rush to the surface, begging for attention, and it takes every ounce of strength I have to shove them all back down.
Because I know what they are and I don’t want them.
I don’t want to remember or ever feel that again.
I don’t want to bring it up and analyze each piece and part, like my last three therapists told me I should.
I want them to be silent, and I know the only way to get them to be quiet is to placate them.
To remind them that I know it’s dangerous, to shove whatever this is with Marcus deep down into the depths with them.
Dangerous.
Can’t have.
Can’t do this again.
This needs to stop.
Now.
“I mean it, Marcus. There’s nothing between us. I’m not a relationship person, and it’s not worth it to interrupt the flow of the house just for a temporary release,” I find myself breathing out almost coldly.
Something flits across Marcus’s face too quickly for me to know what it was, but in its place there’s an understanding and a kindness that flickers into his gaze. He lets out a huff of air, and an easy smile spreads across his face.
“Duly noted, Qiang, but keep in mind what I said. I’d love to be friends, and I love seeing my friends happy,” he says, and there’s a genuineness in his eyes that tells me he wholeheartedly means that, regardless of whether my cold response hurt him or not.
I let out a breath of relief as the bad memories curl back up and go to sleep. Maybe this can work out after all. Firm boundaries are in place, and there are no hard feelings. I know I’ll still need time to tuck this shit away before I move in with him, but at least we both know where we stand.