Chapter 4 #2
I feel numb as I picture the damage they would have inflicted on all those innocent, unsuspecting people. Dean must have been shot after the hollow pointed bullets had all been used, because there’s no chance he would have survived otherwise .
Curiously, I touch my face, A single tear is slowly trickling down my cheek. I mop it up with one finger and stare at it in surprise. In the general scheme of things, I am not a crier. I haven’t wept since I was eight, when I woke up to find that my gerbil, Chomsky, had died.
Perhaps this thing with Dean is not something I should pursue.
Not because of anything he’s done, and certainly not that there’s anything wrong with him, but because I might not be the best person for him to get involved with.
I live in my own head, permanently preoccupied with my own nonsense.
My career. How many papers I’ve had published in the academic year so far.
Television and radio appearances. Things that now seem very privileged and sheltered and navel-gazey when compared to all of Dean’s life experiences, and the realities he has to live with.
He likely needs someone warm and tender and…
good . I’m not a bad person, but I wouldn’t call myself actively good, either.
I’m not a candidate for sainthood. I don’t volunteer for soup kitchens or skydive to raise money for charity or rescue abandoned puppies or anything.
I just work, work, work, all the time . It’s all I've ever known, right from childhood. Even in my scant free time, I’ve been conditioned to find something productive to do.
Always do something constructive and meaningful.
Don’t fritter away your gift on pointless nonsense.
Laziness is ingratitude. It’s your privilege to have these opportunities and capabilities. Make the most of them.
I feel a wave of crushing disappointment.
I really did want to see where this could go between us, if he was interested.
At least I wanted to build some terrifically sexy memories with him.
But maybe that’s not the right thing to do, for his sake.
I don’t want to hurt him or cause him any problems.
Feeling sad and hollowed out, I settle back at my desk so I can look at my next ASL lesson, so I can at least talk to him in his own language for our remaining appointments together before I never see him again.
And then I notice the Facebook tab for ‘Dean Gastright’ is still open.
I have a strong, irresistible impulse to contact him, just to see what he’s doing this evening. To see if he’s OK. It doesn’t feel like pity. It feels like need .
If I’m planning to back off, this is not the smart move, and I’ve spent my entire life to date always, always making the smart moves. But I can’t resist. And I don’t want to.
So, for the first time in my life, I ignore logic and click on add friend .
Dean
Liaden O’Brien has sent you a friend request.
What?
Oh my god.
Fuck .
I stare at my phone for ages, not really sure what to do with it. Reply? Stick it in the refrigerator and pretend it didn’t happen?
What does this mean? Why would she even look me up, let alone friend me?
I don’t get it. I mean, sure, I’ve flicked back to her text over the past few days more than I’d care to admit, and I’ve even typed out a few responses, but I haven’t sent a single one because I figured no way . But she’s gone ahead and done it. Why?
No big deal, asshole. You get friend requests from clients all the time, and lots of people send them to random acquaintances. And that’s all you are to her, so hakuna your tatas and stop deluding yourself .
OK, I feel calmer now. Let’s see what happens.
I click on the ‘accept’ button and place my phone next to me, trying not to look at it while I pick up the remote.
Within seconds, a chat window opens up.
Liaden: Hello! I just want to verify that you ARE the same Dean Gastright that works at Wishbone Tattoos in Foxton, correct?
She just wants to make sure I’m not some random Dean Gastright, that’s all. Even though, I can’t deny my heart leapt when that message alert tone rang.
Dean: Hi :) yeah, that’s me.
So far so good. Though…is the smiley face juvenile? What am I, a teenager?
Liaden: Phew! I thought it must be you - I don’t suppose there are a huge amount of Dean Gastrights in the world. It wasn’t easy to tell with no photos on your profile, though :D
Liaden: What are you up to this evening?
Well, at least she used a smiley, too.
How the hell do I play this?
Play what, jackass?This.Means.Nothing.Get over yourself.
Right now, I wish to holy hell I was Leo.
That charming bastard would have a whole back catalogue of cool things to say to make her want to keep messaging back.
Or, more likely, he’d just say something slick like, Baby, come on over, I’ll make you breakfast in the morning . And that ain’t happening.
In fact, do I even want to have a messenger conversation with the woman I can’t have?
There are a million reasons why not, I think as I rub my throat scars, and I am winging it in this unchartered territory…but yes. Yes, I really do. Even just to know a bit more about her, and to speak to a person I like. It doesn’t need to lead anywhere. I can take it.
Cutting my losses, I screenshot it and send it to Leo. It’s against my better judgment, and I prepare myself for a Gitmo style grilling with bright lights and annoying music, but I don’t want to fuck this up.
Me: HELP. WTF do I say?
Five, four, three, two, one…
Leo: HOLY SHIT
Leo: Is this the bird you did overtime for???
Me: Yes
Leo: I FUCKING NEW IT
Leo: *knew
Leo: Bloody hell, I’m too excited to type properly!!!!!!!!!
Me: Leo, please will you help. She’s gonna think I don’t want to talk to her
I glance at Facebook messenger, and the green dot, to show she’s online, is still there.
Leo: And you do, dontcha :D :D :D never fear, Leo the Love Doctor is here
Leo: I’M PRINTING LEO THE LOVE DOCTOR BUSINESS CARDS
Leo: And t-shirts
Exasperated, I type my reply as quickly as I can.
Me: Dude, I will tell you everything later. I will buy you the t-shirts myself. Just PLEASE HELP ME NOW
Thankfully, it’s not long before the three dots actually turn into useful text.
Leo: Mate, don’t overthink it. Just tell her the truth
Leo: You don’t need to make shit up or use bullshit lines
Leo: She asked you a question, answer it
Huh. I wasn’t expecting that.
I click back to the chat window with Liaden. The truth is pretty dull, but there’s nothing to gain by lying. And it’s not like anything I could realistically say will result in her coming over in just a trench coat and high heels to have Discovery Channel style wild monkey sex, so…
Dean: Not much tonight. Flicking through the sitcoms on Netflix. Probably going to heat up some of Em’s leftovers soon. Rock and roll ;)
I hold onto my phone, waiting for her icon to drop so I know she’s read it.
Oh shit, wait, I forgot to add…
Dean: How about you?
That was close. Politeness, y’all. My momma didn’t raise me in no barn.
My phone pings with another text from Leo.
Leo: Did you Google her yet?
I frown.
Me: No. Isn’t that creepy weirdo behavior?
Leo: Nah, man. Googling is pretty standard these days. And for women it’s kind of a sensible safety measure, sad to say. She’s probably Googled you, bruh.
Shit.
SHIT.
If she has, then she knows the lot. Whitmire. The death toll. The blood.
I can’t get away from it. No matter how many years pass, I will always carry the taint of it .
I don’t want her to think of me as ‘Dean the Nolan High victim’. Dean the pathetic waste of life.
But there’s nothing I can do about that.
It’s bad enough that Eli has carried me through my worst times. Leo bears the mark of my damage on his own face. And eventually, both Sadie and Em bore witness to my weakness.
Liaden will, too, if she sticks around. Someday. It’s inevitable.
Even the thought makes me want to vomit. Of all people to see me at my worst…please, not her. I just want to keep it away from her .
But let’s be honest here. She deserves better than to have anything to do with me. She’s beautiful and smart and confident and has the world at her feet. I’m…well. Ask Mrs Oberman what I am.
What if I hurt Liaden the way I hurt Leo…
I can feel the first warning prickles of a cold sweat when my phone makes noise again, sounding a little far away.
Leo: Don’t freak out. Lots of people Google people they've met, and her finding out more about Nolan can’t be helped.
That fucker is psychic sometimes, I swear to god. I take one deep, steadying breath. I knew all of this anyway, the futility of it all. Nothing has changed, and nothing will.
My phone goes off again. It’s scary how much I like seeing that red number one on her icon.
Liaden: This and that - got a little more work to do. What’s your favourite sitcom and why? I have Netflix, and I might switch it on for some background noise. What would you recommend?
OK, that’s a normal, non-scary question. Leo’s probably right: just be honest, and don’t make it weird. How would I respond to Em or Sadie if they asked that?
Dean: Aw man, now you’re asking. Too many to choose from. I’m halfway through Parks and Recreation and I’m loving it. It’s so upbeat and good natured