And that’s not how you really smell.
Whether from soap, cologne, or shampoo,
I don’t think you know yourself as well
as you think you do.
Just like me, an actress who lies all day
reading another line from another play
being some other person, some other name.
We’re all liars just the same.
And just when you’re ready to let it go,
too exhausted to keep up the show,
you get a glimpse inside another’s eyes
and you’ll finally see
the only way free
is to be a liar who never lies.
After the last lyrics are signed, the musicians seem to still be filling the space with music, the guitarist’s hands strumming as Dessie hums against the mic, her eyes closed and lost in the song.
And I’m lost in her, my arms folded and my jaw tight.
She opens her eyes and they find me.
I wonder if she sees my lies.
My truths.
My way free.
And then the room shakes with applause, and I lift my own hands to join them, watching as Dessie takes in the cheering with a laugh, a pink face, and then a grand, demonstrative bow.
She returns to the table and her friends explode with their reactions, offering compliments and happy faces and laughter. Dmitri tells her how beautiful her voice was, but was worried about what the lyrics meant: If I’ve lied to you, he says to her as he signs at the same time for my benefit, then I’m totally sorry and, you know, please don’t write a song about me.
After some time, Dessie turns and says something. I look at her, waiting for her to repeat what she said when suddenly there’s a screen in my face:
Want to get out of here?
I smirk my consent, then slap Brant’s shoulder, telling him that we’re gonna head out. Dmitri takes note of my departure, waving goodbye. To him, I sign back: We’re gonna need the apartment for a bit.
Dmitri’s response is a dimply flat-line for lips and a resolute nod.
Good boy.
After leaving the place, my skin feels a noticeable departure of vibrations and noise, drinking in the calm silence of the street like a cool glass of water. Or maybe that’s just literally the breeze of the night air on my thirsty skin.
We might as well be holding hands, but we’re not. We’re not at that point. Honestly, I’m not even sure I’m really the hand-holding type. I don’t know why I’m suddenly obsessed with that idea. Maybe it’s how close she’s walking by my side. Maybe I’m wondering if I should put an arm around her or—
No, fuck that. What am I thinking?
I look over at her. Either it happens to be the moment she looks at me too, or else she’s watching me as we walk. I chuckle dryly. Not sure if that laugh came out or not, but I felt it in my chest.
Then I notice her lips move. I might be wrong, but I think she asks if we’re heading back to my place.
“If that’s okay with you,” I say back.
To that, she nods.
I’m fucking floating right now.
When the door’s in my face, I can barely get the key in I’m so fucking excited. I’ve been desperate for another night alone with her for the past three days. I’ve craved her touch on my skin and longed to put my arms around her body. I want my hands on her skin so fucking bad that I’m practically hopping right now.
“Want anything to drink?” I ask automatically, edging quickly toward the kitchen while peering over a shoulder, keeping her in my gaze.
She bites her lip.
I stop cold at the kitchen counter, watching her. The world grows very, very still. “So … is that a yes?”
Her lips part. She takes a breath, her eyes lifting to meet mine. There’s something very intense about her. I think she’s expecting me to make the first move. She wants me to cast everything off the counter with a reckless swipe of my hand before gripping her and slamming her on the counter to fuck her. The fantasy is painted in her eyes. The yearning for it …
“Yeah?” I prompt her. “A drink?”
Then, the tears touch her eyes.
Uh, fuck. Misread.
“Dessie?”
She shakes her head, the tears sitting up there in her eyes, refusing to fall. Then she lifts her chin and, with a coldness in her eyes, she says something.
I don’t catch all her words. “Liar,” I think she said. “Don’t deserve,” I think she also said. My insides turn to stone as I watch her, frustrated by her quick lips.
“Dessie,” I repeat, coming up to her and grasping her shoulders with my hands.
She looks away and clenches shut her eyes, her jaw tightened.
She’s angry.
“Dessie.” I try to get her to look at me, bending my neck and rubbing her shoulders calmingly. Fuck, her skin feels so smooth. “Dessie, talk.”