As we finish up, I realize that this is the first meal I’ve shared with someone and really enjoyed in a long time. Normally I’m stuck with men like Richard Taylor or other boring business contacts, but Aria is different. She’s light and alive in ways I never expected.
When we’re finished, I put the plates back on the cart and sit back down, enjoying my whisky. She watches me for a second before speaking up.
“What was your childhood like?” she asks. “You didn’t say anything about it.”
I freeze for a second and look at her, trying to decide how to respond. “I’d rather not talk about it,” I say.
She must not see that I’m serious, because she pushes on. “Come on, tell me. It can’t be that bad. You seem pretty well-adjusted.”
I stand suddenly. “Thanks for eating with me,” I say.
“What?” she asks.
I grab the cart and wheel it back inside.
“Wait, Ethan. I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about your past if you don’t want.” She follows me into the room.
I wheel the cart to the front door, not sure why I’m reacting this way. Maybe it’s because I’ve never told anyone about my childhood, and I find myself wanting to tell her. But that’s dangerous. I’m not ready to open up yet, but with her it’s tempting.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say, pushing the cart out into the hallway.
She stands back in the room, watching me go, and we lock eyes for a minute. She looks sad, genuinely sad that I’m leaving, and I feel a sharp pang in my chest. But I can’t stay, not when I’m so tempted to tell her about my childhood and everything that happened to me.
Instead, I smile at her and shut the door behind me. I walk back down the hall, leaving the cart by the elevator for the staff, before returning to my own room.
That was a good night. I check the clock and am surprised that we were out there for two hours. The conversation flowed so easily.
I feel bad about the way that ended, but I couldn’t help it. She opened up to me, but I’m not ready to do that yet. I should have just told her that I’m not ready, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I was too worried I’d start spilling my guts.
I can’t have that. Not yet. Maybe I’ll tell her, but not tonight.
I’ll make things right. I’ll make this up to her tomorrow. She’ll be happy that I stormed out tonight by the time I’m finished with her tomorrow.
For now, though, it’s bed alone and work early, because that’s my life.
10
Aria
All the next day, I keep thinking about the way Ethan reacted to my question about his past. It was strange and totally unexpected. He shut down almost instantly.
There must be something in his past that he doesn’t like. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have pushed back the way he did. Part of me is angry that he walked away the way that he did, especially after I opened up to him. But he listened to me and didn’t seem to judge me at all, which is really good.
That was my biggest fear. I was worried that as soon as he found out about my past, he’d kick me out and want nothing to do with me. Clearly that’s not the case, though, and I’m very thankful for it.
I just wish he’d apply his own thinking to his past. He doesn’t judge people on their past, but he’s not willing to share his own, which makes me wonder. I won’t push him, because it’s my job to make him happy, but I feel like he owes me.
At least a little bit. Maybe he doesn’t have to tell me every deep dark secret, but I opened up to him and he should give me the same respect in return. I can wait and give him some time to do it on his own volition, but I do feel a little betrayed.
For better or for worse, I have all day to contemplate that. I’m stuck in my room again with only the company of Jenkins when he brings my meals plus whatever movies and books I can read. I make sure to text The Syndicate letting them know that I’m okay, but otherwise, I don’t have much to do.
It’s not so bad, though. It’s boring of course, but it’s better than the way my life used to be. Plus, the amount of money I stand to make for this is astronomical, and all I have to do is keep myself as busy as possible.
It’s like a beautiful and comfortable prison, or like a playpen for a loved pet. Maybe that’s exactly what he wants it to be. I am his little pet, after all.
There are much worse things to be. There are worse places to be, too. I’ve been in a few of them. I can remember one beat-up, decrepit house that Derek and I stayed in for a week or two back in the deepest throes of our addiction together, just before he died. That place was a mold-infested rat’s nest and yet we slept there, ate there, fucked there, and got high there for almost a week straight. We barely left that place and it felt like paradise.