Chapter 8 THEO
THEO
I lean against the tree at the end of Alex’s block, keeping in the shadows as I watch her walk up towards the house from the opposite end of the street, her face lit up with a pretty smile.
I’m absolutely fucked.
I can tell my feelings about her are right.
I need to be methodical about getting to know her, and this was the first step.
It went so fucking well. I try to calm down on the walk home, but I feel like I’ve been struck by lightning, and every part of me is thrumming with energy.
I head down to the basement the second I’m inside to work off some of the excitement, but it doesn’t help.
All I can do is think about her.
I can’t let myself get carried away here, so I go upstairs, pour myself a drink, and set a timer. There have to be limits, even if they’re arbitrary, so I’m giving myself one hour to think about her as much as I want to, and that’s it.
Everything about her is so perfect. She’s got a beautiful smile and a cute laugh, and she blushes so easily.
She’s a little reserved, but very friendly.
She’s also a shitty liar. I would’ve noticed that at some point, but knowing she was lying about her apartment showed me that she briefly skates her teeth over the innermost part of her bottom lip when she lies.
It’s adorable.
She’s adorable.
I imagine what would have happened if she’d invited me back to her place, and after coming to the thought of her on her knees blushing up at me, I pour myself another drink and go to my office to make several impulsive purchases.
I need to control myself, so once the timer goes off, I do my best not to think about her.
It’s impossible, and I last all of five minutes before I give in and spend the rest of the night drinking and thinking about her, getting progressively more drunk and thinking about getting to know her the way I want to, the way I have to.
I spend time looking at everything I would need to do that, and then I lose complete control of myself and start buying things.
The drunker I get, the more ill-advised and impulsive the purchases get.
***
I wake up late the next morning in fucking agony.
I haven’t been drunk in a decade, but I don’t remember hangovers being this excruciating.
I spend the entire day nursing my hangover and going through every impulse management skill I’ve learned in the last ten years to keep from thinking about Alex.
None of it helps, and I dream about her when I sleep.
I’m eating breakfast the next day when a pile of packages gets delivered to my house.
I stare down at them with trepidation, glancing at the shipping labels.
Did I seriously pay for expedited overnight shipping?
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I don’t need the things in these packages, and I’m going to return them.
They were stupid, impulsive purchases I made because I was drunk, and I need to calm down.
Alex is a normal, ordinary woman. She’s just a normal, charming, gorgeous woman with huge, light brown eyes that I could get lost in and, the more I look into her, possibly a fake identity. She’s just a normal, intriguing, magnetic woman that I can’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard I try.
I need to try much harder.
I know I should return all the packages, that I shouldn’t even touch them, but I bring them inside and set them on the kitchen counter, my mind spinning as I stare at them.
I should return them and keep running into her in person, like last night, and get to know her that way.
It’ll take a long time to do that, but it’s what I should do.
It’s not what I want to do, though.
I leave the packages on the counter and go for a run, forcing myself not to pass by her office.
I come home and make lunch, my eyes darting to the pile of packages every few minutes.
I spend an hour cleaning the house, debating whether or not to pick someone up tonight.
I haven’t answered any dating app messages or thought about fucking anyone lately because I’m no longer interested in the idea of anyone but Alex, but that’s a problem.
I should be interested in other women, interested in trying to get to know someone else in any way at all, even if it’s just sex.
I take all the packages and put them in the attic with all the boxes of things I have no interest in seeing or thinking about, resolving to go out tonight and talk to someone, anyone, just to prove to myself that I can think about women other than Alex.
I drive into Portland, rent a hotel room, and start at sleek cocktail bars during happy hour, talking to busy, polished women just off their corporate jobs, but none of them smile like her.
I move on to hip, used-to-be dive bars, talking to beautiful women with tattoos and stylish clothes, but none of them blush like her.
I wind up at an annoyingly loud, trendy bar and end up speaking with a recently divorced woman named Maya, who’s being openly flirtatious.
She’s tall and pretty, with long legs, generous curves, and short black hair, and I’m more interested in her than any of the other women I’ve spoken to.
When she speaks, her vowels and how she drops her r’s sound almost exactly like Alex’s faint accent. I ask her where she’s from, and she says Boston, which almost certainly confirms that Alex isn’t from Maine.
I realize I’m thinking about Alex and try to stop myself and focus on Maya, who is a naturopath in town for a conference for the next two nights.
Maya was married to her college boyfriend for fifteen years, and their divorce was finalized last week.
Maya’s asking if I want to get out of here.
I’m trying to stay present with Maya, enjoy kissing Maya in the hotel elevator, and focus on the sex that Maya’s initiating.
I keep my eyes on Maya as she sucks my cock, and I’m only thinking about Maya when I eat her out.
It’s Maya moaning and calling me Daddy as I fuck her, which I don’t like, but she seems so into it that I don’t say anything.
Maya is great in bed, and I’m able to focus on fucking Maya until I flip her over and can’t see her face anymore.
Then I can’t help myself.
I call out Alex’s name when I come and feel an immediate wash of guilt and shame because I’m such a fucking asshole.
I apologize immediately, making up some story about a recent breakup I’m not over, telling her she was amazing and apologizing again for being such a dick.
Maya ignores me, gets dressed quickly in angry silence, and leaves.
I fall back on the bed and run my hands over my face, groaning in frustration.
Everyone else is off the table.
That’s probably not good.
***
I don’t sleep. I delete the dating app before I check out of the hotel and drive home, heading straight for the attic and bringing the packages down to the dining room table.
I open most of them and lay out the contents in a neat row.
I worked hard to make sure that I wouldn’t give in to my impulses, and I’m not, technically, because most of this is fine.
I eye the unopened packages, which make me slightly uncomfortable. The impulses I have about Alex are different than I’m used to, and I bought those things when I was very drunk and not even trying to control myself, so I put them back in the attic.
I should return them, but I won’t.
I spend the day trying to talk myself out of how I’m feeling.
I work out. I cook. I go for a run. I go down to a brewery and have a beer.
I watch a movie. I masturbate. I meditate.
I read. I do anything I can to distract myself, to redirect the feelings, but in the back of my head is constant chatter that’s populated entirely by thoughts of Alex.
It’s getting almost impossible to fight it, so I don’t.
***
Early Wednesday morning, I put on my running shoes and go for a jog, finding myself near Alex’s place and making a few loops around her neighborhood until I see her lights flip on.
I turn back and run towards her office and sit at the cafe down the street, pretending to scroll through the news on my phone, occasionally sipping my coffee.
I start planning as I wait, growing excited the more I think about it.
It’s not exactly a foolproof plan, but it should be fine.
Just before eight, I see Alex walk into the cafe in a long, loose grey dress with her hair twisted up, showing off her graceful neck. She looks so pretty as she stares off into space while waiting for her coffee and bagel, focusing on whatever she’s listening to.
I wonder if she’s thought about me at all.
Once she’s been in her office for half an hour, I head back to my place and change into jeans, a plain t-shirt, and a nondescript work jacket, packing my backpack quickly. I’m buzzing with energy as I walk to her place.
I’m vaguely aware that I’m not doing the best at controlling myself at this point, but it’s fine.
I need to be careful and methodical, and this is part of that.
My impulses aren’t acceptable, but I don’t think they’re wrong, and I’m barely giving in to them, anyway.
This will help me get to know her, see what she’s like, and make sure I’m right about my feelings.
It’s basically like bypassing the part of dating where we lie to each other and find out later that we’re different people.
It’s safer this way.
The locks on the front door are so pitiful that it barely counts as breaking in. I walk upstairs, hearing a couple on the second floor having sex as I pass. I wonder who else lives here.
I should look into that.