Tell Me It's Real(33)

“Yeah.”

“So the world might end tomorrow?”

Oh good Lord. “It’s always possible.” Because it could. For all I knew, right now, somewhere in space, a group of ragtag oil workers were trying to stop an asteroid from hitting and destroying the earth by drilling deep to place a nuke inside. They could fail. We could all die.

Damn you, Michael Bay!

“And he’s not your boyfriend?” Vince asked, his voice tight.

I was getting whiplash again. “No.”

“Good. Then he won’t be pissed when I do this.”

I was about to ask, Do what? But before I could, that fucker had moved quicker than I had seen anyone move before. One second he was near the door and the next he was standing right in front of me, his fingers going to the back of my head, his thumbs on my cheeks, and then his mouth was on mine. There was a bright flash and a brzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzaaaaaap! as all the electrical charges in my brain went off at once. But then he started to move his lips over mine and my eyes started to flutter closed like I was some kind of goddamn teenage girl. And even though my synapses had fired off all at once, I was able to think, I can’t believe this is happening and this is not even a real thing and this. Is. Awesome! Then it became even more awesome when he touched his tongue to my lips and I sighed, opening my mouth without even thinking about it. He was the cause, I was the effect. Action, reaction. And fuck if he wasn’t getting a reaction out of me. He tasted me gently, gripping me tightly, and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. I either wanted to bring my hands up to grab him or push him away, I wasn’t too sure.

And then it was over. That first kiss. That tentative moment when there’s a connection like a gold thread stretching between two people, tenuous but hopeful. And it was done. Gone. Snapped. Nothing more than a memory.

Until he leaned in and did it again. And then stopped. And then kissed my forehead. For some reason, that put a lump in my throat.

“I told you,” he whispered against my skin, “I get what I want. You better be ready, Paul.”

And then he stepped away, winked at me, and walked out of the supply closet.

I stood there for a time, muttering to myself. “That’s just… well, I never. I don’t even… who does he think he is? Tasting like coffee and… bastard… this is my work… running out of Post-its and shit. I’ll show you until five o’clock on Wednesday. I don’t need no man. Fucking Kelly Clarkson. She ruins everything. It’s not going to happen, Paul. Not going to happen.”

But.

But….

Even I could not ignore that little teeny-tiny light that seemed to ignite within me like some kind of misplaced hope, a small ray of sunshine on an otherwise stormy day that maybe, just maybe—

“Oh sweat balls,” I told the supply closet, close to panicking.

The highlighters did not reply.





“WHAT the hell am I going to do!” I cried at Wheels that night as we sat on the couch. Man v. Food was on again, but even Adam Richman eating the world’s biggest hot dog didn’t do anything for me (to be fair, it was a repeat; I remember watching that episode for the first time thinking, Yeah, you take it. Take it all. I might be a bit of a perv).

Wheels snorted, cocking his head at me from his spot on my thigh.

“That’s all you have to say about it?” I scolded him. “That bastard kissed me! He wasn’t supposed to do that! I could have gotten fired.”

Wheels barked once, a soft sound followed by a guttural growl. He laid his head back on my thigh, his eyes never leaving me, calling me a fucking idiot in that way he did so well.

“I am not,” I said, sulking slightly. “You don’t understand. Why would he do something like that? Why is he trying to get my hopes up? Is this just some kind of fucking game to him?”

Wheels huffed and tried to roll on his side, away from me, so obviously disgusted with me that he didn’t even want to look at me anymore. His wheels were too bulky for him to be able to lie comfortably on his side on the couch. I undid the harness that kept his little cart attached and removed it carefully. Once this was done, he huffed at me again as if to reiterate his point and rolled over, curling his front two paws up underneath him, his ear stretched out on my thigh.

“Oh, now you’re going to ignore me?” I snapped at him. “What, gonna give me until five o’clock tomorrow to do whatever you say? You’re just a fucking jerk too, you half dog.”

He sighed.

I felt bad. “I didn’t mean that,” I said quietly. “I just don’t think any of this is real.” His bottom wiggled a bit, wagging his imaginary tail. I often wondered if dogs were like human amputees who could still feel ghosts of their limbs long after they’d been amputated. It always made me a little depressed to think about, because I couldn’t stand the thought of Wheels being uncomfortable in any way. “You forgive me?” I asked, scratching his head.