"So, have you always been drawn to philosophy or is that a new thing?"
Trystan's attention had been elsewhere, lost in the past. His hands are tucked behind his neck and he's lying flat on his back. He blinks before his gaze cuts to the side. "People don't change."
"Ah, so I'll take that as a yes. And the ring? Is that part of how people don't change?" I know I shouldn't ask about it, but I do. There's no way that hairy cat is going back in the bag.
Trystan doesn't answer. He stares at the ceiling, silent. I watch his chest rise and fall. Rolling over, I curl onto my side. I don't know how he can lay like that. Every breath I take feels like a knife in my chest, digging in deeper and deeper. I lower my gaze. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
Trystan's blue gaze wanders over to mine. "Let's try something different. Instead of looking behind us, let's look ahead. We're both stuck in the past. Tell me, what do you want, Call Girl? I assume this isn't the life you would have chosen."
He hasn't confided anything in me, so my answer is childish. "Why should I tell you anything?"
"Confession is good for the soul, and since yours and mine are both ailing, it seemed like a good idea. If it's too much for you, I understand. The future unnerves some people, because they have to free themselves from their past to get there."
"There's a little bit of a dichotomy going on in that brain of yours. You said there was no freedom from past actions." I waggle my eyebrows at him and smile. I understand something, and I've caught a flaw in his perfect thoughts. Score!
He smiles for a split second. "So, you were listening."
I roll onto my back and look at the yellowed ceiling. "I'm always listening. I have no idea what I'm doing half the time, but it's not from tuning everyone out."
"You're too hard on yourself."
Silence surrounds us for a long time, and then I finally say what I've thought all along. "You hardly ever say my name." He glances over at me but doesn't reply. "I remind you of her, don't I?" I remind you of the woman you lost, the one you're still in love with.
Trystan inhales deeply and rolls onto his side, facing me. "It's easier to not call you by your name. Saying a profession conjures you alone. Reaching for a name is dangerous, especially when the woman a guy is with reminds him of another." He watches me, gauging my reaction.
"What do you think will happen if you say her name by accident? Do you think I'll be offended? Or spontaneously combust? Poof." I make a fist and open it as I say the last word, before smiling at him and then shoving his shoulder when he doesn't answer. "It won't bother me."
"Ah, but it will bother me. So, it's safer this way." His smile is so sad, so tragic.
"But it keeps you trapped. You're with her, but she's not with you."
"I could say the same thing about you and Sean. You gave him your heart and he still has it, yet you're here with me." I look away. Too many painful memories blur together and I can't bear to watch them flash behind my eyes. Trystan reaches for me, taking my hand in his, and tangling our fingers together. He repeats, "The future—what do you want? Something real, not a fantasy."
He means not Sean with a picket fence and a smile on his face. After a moment, I try to picture something, anything. I finally confess, "I don't know. Everything got messed up."
I don't know what changed in that moment, but suddenly I'm telling him how my parents died, then about college, how I was worried about getting into graduate school, but I never even made it to graduation. Guilt bubbles up about Amber and Naked Guy, even though he hurt me. They both did, but it's my fault they're dead. Their lives are over, and no matter how nasty they were, the guilt is eating me alive.
Trystan takes my chin and holds my gaze. "All those things are behind you. What's ahead of you? Where do you want to go from here?" His blue eyes are a shade darker than Sean's, with flecks of amber scattered like golden coins tossed into the sea.
When he releases me, I confess, "That's just it. There is nowhere to go. I have no money, Miss Black won't let me leave, and I'm not stupid. I know she doesn't want me on Long Island to be a madam. She's lining things up so it'll look like I was the one in charge if things go to Hell and not her. She'll be protected behind her wall of thugs and filing cabinets. I'm barely a call girl, nevermind a madam."
"How many men, or uh—women—have you slept with?" He almost blushes asking the question. The way his gaze drops is so sweet and unlike anything I've ever seen him do.
I bump his shoulder. "I told you, I'm the worst call girl there ever was—I had one client, who I only slept with after falling in love with him, and the other clients didn't get sex." I laugh because it seems too ridiculous to be real.