Blue Dream (7 page)

Sadly, the moment is short lived. Heavy footsteps echo in the hallway, which sends her away like a mouse sneaking away from a distracted cat. “Later Ryder...”

“Later...” On that note, I slip into the bathroom where I dampen my face with cold water to help swallow my pride. Pretending not to care about someone takes a lot more energy than actually caring about someone ever did.

Blowing out fake smoke rings in itself is oddly therapeutic. It's a tactic I'm sure most therapists would frown their pretentious faces at. I don't give a shit. It works for me. I don't hate it.

“The moment you had with Presley-”

“Please don't say her name.” The strength and tone in my elocution is non-negotiable. Firm but filled with enough zeal it would be easy to mistake her as a current love instead of a past one. I'm not even sure she is a past love, so much as the only love.

“Fine.” Doc nods. “The moment you had with Blue Dream...how did it feel?”

I pretend to ash. “Like standing at the gates of Heaven. Light touching your toes. The warmth all right there for you to have.”

“You were robbed of that moment. That security. That high. So what did you do as a result?”

“I replaced it with another...”

“Let’s smoke,” Morgan, Bambi's best friend, anxiously says the second Thomas, one of their friends, locks the front door to her house.

“Alright,” he shrugs as he approaches us sitting in her downstairs living room. “Bong?”

“No,” Bambi whines. “I always fuck that up.”

Morgan giggles and drops down onto the floor so we're all siting around the coffee table, “Sad.”

“You know I'm clumsy.” Bambi pouts at Thomas. “Roll it?”

“I'll take care of you baby.” Thomas insists with a smile that should rev up jealousy of some kind, but it doesn't. I can't even muster the energy to fake giving a fuck about her. Especially not after touching Pres again. I was so close to her today. “You smoke?”

I don't realize the question is directed at me until her fat elbow is in my side. At that point I look up. “What?”

“You smoke?” he repeats removing a bag filled with what has to be weed.

Bluntly I answer, “Never tried.”

“You’ll love it,” Bambi chuckles and kisses my cheek.

With no response, I stare as Thomas starts his process. I watch as he gathers the product. Rolls a blunt. I watch as he lights it, inhales it, and passes it to Morgan. I watch as Morgan takes a hit, giggles and passes it to Bambi. I watch as her two lips suck like a pro before she uses her stubby fingers to pass it to me.

“Come on Ryder,” Thomas encourages. “It'll make you forget about all that bullshit that bothers you.”

There's so much that fucking bothers me. Being here bothers me. Being surrounded by smoke instead of the smell of oranges from Presley's favorite hand soap bothers me. Knowing there's a good fucking chance I'll never have that smell in my life again bothers me. I put it between my lips like I watched them do and I close my eyes while I take a hit. I replace the pain from the lost moment in the hallway, the pain from wondering if the guy Presley's dating is kissing her or touching her, the pain from not being able to stop fucking up again and again, with a sweet soothing sensation of serenity. Not as amazing as the one I used to get being around Presley, but enough to make it okay that I'm not there now.

“That's some good shit, right?” Thomas questions taking it from me. “I only smoke the good shit.”

“He wasn't wrong,” I sigh, the back of my head hitting the wall. “He did smoke some good shit. It was smooth and easy, like fresh wet and shaven pussy. It was always perfect.”

Doc doesn't comment.

“After we got high, Bambi and I went into Morgan's room and had sex for the first time.”

“It was your first time in years.”

“Yeah.”

“And your first time together.”

“Yeah.”

“And you were high.”

“Now you're just going to state obvious things?” The cigarette imitation dangles from my lips. “Yeah. The first time I had sex with Bambi I was high, as well as every time after that.”

“You never had sex with her sober?”

“No. Not...Not actual sex.”

“But you and Blue Dream-”

“No,” I cut him off before he can continue. “I told you that already. The other shit we did was enough. I loved her.
That
was enough.”

Doc folds his arms. “What about after Bambi?”

“I dated Bambi for the rest of my senior year,” I mumble.

“I meant, women you slept with after Bambi. Did you sleep with them sober?” When I shake my head he questions, “So Blue Dream was the last woman you were with sober?”

“I told you. I fooled around sober. Occasionally.”

Doc's stern look shuts my mouth. After a beat he asks, “Do you find that significant?”

His question makes me cringe. My body tenses. I dig my hands into my hair, pull, and rock. The desire to dodge the question, to change the topic, claws at my conscience. The desultory emotions I'm accustomed to begin to settle in.

“Ryder.” The way my name is stated causes me to close my eyes even tighter. “Answer.”

“Yes,” my hoarse voice replies.

“By not fucking them sober you gave yourself an excuse, a justification to the actions you knew you felt like shit for doing. A fail safe.”

“Look what happened the last time I made a decision completely sober! I left the only person in the entire fucking world who gave a fuck about me because I thought for just a split second in time, I'd be wanted in my own family!”

“Family is important to you.”

“Family is all I've ever wanted!” I scream.

“And that's why you walked in here today,” he calmly says unfolding his arms. Baffled by the statement, my jaw drops, and the candy falls. “You visited your brother. You spoke. From your shaken demeanor it is safe to assume he said something to you that you needed to hear. However, you needed to decide that family is important to you. You need to decide your time in here is up. You need to decide why it is...”

Without another word, I watch as he picks up his clipboard and exits the room leaving opprobrious feelings lingering.

Presley

Theory 2: People Lie For Love.

Xander gets out of his car, annoyance still seeping out of him. “I don't see why we couldn't take one car.”

“I told you,” I repeat slowly. “I have to go to Katherine’s in an hour.”

“This is my boss' house,” Xander complains while adjusting his tie. “Can't you blow her off?”

“No I can't blow her off.” Not that I want to. I want to be around Katherine and her terrible questions. At least then I indulge in fleeting memories of a time when my life wasn't defined solely by the amount that sits in a bank account and how many promotions are to be had.  “This is important to her.”

“Well this is important to me,” he argues as we approach his boss' front door.

“Hence why I'm here now. Can't that be enough?”

The front door is opened by a butler and we're ushered in. “Your coat, sir?”

Xander sheds his jacket, hands it to the gentleman without so much as a thank you, and proceeds to chewing me out. “It's not enough, Presley. I should come first. I should matter most.”

He's not wrong. We've dated longer than Katherine and I have been friends. He should be at the top of my priorities list. That's the problem with shoulds versus the way things actually are in my life. They rarely match. We
should
be engaged in sex or any variety at least once a week, not once a month, and we
should
be thrilled to see one another, not dodging phone calls or forgetting to speak unless spoken too. In the beginning I liked to pretend things weren't this way. That we went through a sunshine and daisies thing, that we were crazy about each other, but when I'm honest with myself, I know it's not true. Most of the things we've done were because they were logical investments not emotional ones. We started dating because two of our friends were a couple and we were always hanging out anyway. We moved in together because my roommate was moving out and he wanted someone to split bills with. Passion is the Holy Grail in this relationship. He doesn't believe it exists. I don't believe it's able to be found.

“Xander!” His boss excitedly says sticking out his hand so they can shake. “Glad you could make it.”

“My pleasure.” Xander shakes back. “You remember my girlfriend, Presley.”

“Mr. Green,” I greet him.

“Presley,” he smiles in return. “Pleasure. You can call me Paul.”

It is not. The only thing that annoys me more than Xander dragging me to these events to parade me around like some prized poodle at a dog show, is that I am in deed not a poodle, but more like a mutt grabbed from the shelter thrown in a room with purebreds. I get enough of the inadequacy feelings at work without needing it in my face in my personal life at a constant.

A waiter strolls by and my eyes immediately catch a glimpse of something small but edible. My mouth begins to water while my fingers wiggle in anticipation to stop him. Katherine is right. Food soothes the situation when I'm uncomfortable. When I'm unhappy. I can fight it. I can do this. I am not the same fragile teenager I once was.

Paul waves a waiter over. “Drink?”

“Just one,” Xander says in his office pleasing voice.

“One is better than none,” his boss laughs. I bite my tongue. The bureaucracy that pours out of him is enough to get me drunk on stupidity. Men with money typically possess an arrogance I find nauseating. Money doesn't make you better. Money doesn't make you happier. Some of my fondest memory are with the cheapest priced adventures. Love is similar. It's  never been about the over-priced dates or expensive vacations, which for the record we have not had many of together, because what would be the point of flying to a new city to do the same things we can do comfortably in our city? That's the way Xander thinks. Logic first. Everything is a blanket 'what's the point'? Over the years, I've began to adapt similar thinking, further smothering the small voice inside I don't recognize.

The conversation as well as our bodies move to a living space, most would consider a large living room, but it's one that's solely for entertaining guests Paul explains. We sit on a couch beside one another across from him and the woman of the moment in his life. This one is blonde, like they all are, except she was a model for a major make up company, unlike the last three who were all swim suit ones. Paul is not one for actual variety. He has expectations and they're always expected to be met. No questions. No denying. Do what he demands and get what you desire. Only thing Xander wants is a salary large enough to retire in ten years, fifteen if he wants to include me in his life plans.

“So you two.” Paul points between us, conversation about boat shopping finally dead. “You've been together longer than my last four marriages.”

Who the hell gets married that many times? I can't fathom doing it even once any more. Too many marriages are treated with carelessness. Too many have forgotten what marriage should mean. I always thought it was a symbol of joining your spirit with your soul mate. Childish? Maybe. Probably.

Paul lifts his whiskey glass. “Marriage?”

I tense as I glance at Xander. “Is that something you think is important for a business partner to have?”

“Definitely,” he comments creating confusion in me.

When I turn my face back to him, the woman in his lap grabs a crab cake from the waiter walking by. My hands fold tighter together in hopes of keeping natural instincts bridled.

“I feel marriage shows two things I find sacred in business. Commitment and stability. To demonstrate those two aspects in your personal life, shows me that you will take it seriously in your career moves.”

Baffled since his own inability to do those two things is not being brought up, I simply stare on.

“And the difference between seeing the relationship of years that Presley and I share versus that of marriage?”

“You can walk away from each other at any time as you are.” He has a sip. “You have not turned your relationship into something more solid. Harder to break. Yes, divorce is obviously a possibility, but it requires more than an impromptu decision to move your shit out. You have to file legally. Go threw paperwork. Risk your assets. Marriage also shows your ability to take a risk.”

The contradictions of his speech send a pain straight to the center of my head.

“Marriage,” Xander says with a slow nod. “Noted.”

In disbelief and thankful my time is up, I rise. “I hate to break up this conversation, but I have an appointment I must get to.”

“Keeping prior engagements,” Paul states firmly. “I like that. Shows your ability to commit. That your word is trustworthy.”

“That's how I feel as well,” Xander lies.

The ass kissing pushes the crab cakes I've been battling for the last several minutes against my willpower, victorious. “I'm just gonna grab a crab cake and go.”

Xander offers, “Want me to walk to you to your car?”

“I'm fine.” I grab one of the delicious fried offerings. “You two enjoy your evening.”

On my way towards the front door, I have a single bite of the object of my shame. The flavors blend together on my tongue, the euphoric feeling causing me to degust. However, I know I can't have another bite. Since I had that talk with Katherine food is becoming a specter to me and that's not healthy. I'm beginning to see very little in my own life is healthy for me.

**

Katherine offers me a cup of hot tea. I deny with a wave of my hand as I sit in the flush vintage chair that's highly uncomfortable.

She places the tray down on the office desk in her multimillion dollar home. The room itself is the same size as my apartment living room and bedroom combined. This is the smaller of the office spaces. While Katherine doesn't prefer to flaunt her riches on her feet or her handbags, she does make sure she lives in the luxury she feels is suitable for her mood. The day she sat down to design her house, she wanted something that would fill every whim she could have on command from bowling to bar hopping. Her vacation homes are the same way. “Do you wanna marry Xander?”

“I...” my voice stutters. “I...I...I don't want my relationship being used as a pawn for him to make partner. I want...” The end of the sentence fades. I'm not sure of how it should end. I just know there should be an end to it. Not in the mood to deal with flak of my current relationship I change gears. “Can we just get to the point you want to prove for your book now?”

“I'm not using you to
prove
a point,” Katherine tries to dispute. “I am simply listening for testimony that can be presented in the topics I've chosen in a fashion that I desire.”

I cross my legs. “How is that different than what I said?”

“Your way sounds like I'm manipulating your words.” When I don't agree with her she places her tea cup down harshly. “Which I am not!”

In no mood to alienate one of the only people I feel like being around right now, I surrender my hands. “Can we get started?”

“Yes.” She leans back and turns on the recorder. “People Lie For Love....”

“People lie for many reasons,” I mumble under my breath.

“Right, but they lie for love. Do you agree?” After receiving a short nod from me, she continues, “Have you ever lied for love?”

“Xander and I don't lie to each other. There's no point. He doesn't lie to me because he can't see the logic in prolonging something that is going to occur and I don't see the point in wasting that much energy when I could just be honest.”

“What about before Xander?”

Agog, I adjust my body in the seat. “I um...”

“Maybe with Ryder,” his name falls so freely from her lips it infuriates me. I shouldn't be overly protective of someone who damn near destroyed me as much as he showed me devotion like I've never seen since. “Did you lie for him?”

My lips press together.

“Did you lie to protect him?”

A deep breath fills my lungs.

“Did you lie....to protect your relationship?”

I attempt to answer but stop.

On a heavy exhale Katherine lifts her cup. “This really only works if you talk to me, Presley. The book will not include any personal details that will incriminate you in any crimes that you have committed-”

“Cheating is only an actual crime if you're married.”

She lifts her eyebrows. “You cheated on someone?” The slip of information causes the familiar tingling to bury my brain in something salty. Or sweet. Or sticky. Anything to glue my mouth shut. “Presley Morrison, the advocate for honesty,
lied
to someone for love.”

My eyes fall to the ground. “It's not that simple...”

“I'm all ears.”

“Remember that guy who stood up for me at the football game?”

“Yes.”

“Well....we started dating....”

“He's terrible,” Carmen sighs, dropping her cigarette out her car window. “I've had bull dogs more house broken than he is.”

I giggle at the comment, but don't argue. He
is
terrible. He's neglectful. Lazy. And very dumb. Not even average dumb, but 'You're Not Smarter Than A First Grader' dumb, as are most of his friends. “Saving face comes at a price.”

“I'm telling you, I know at least four guys you could replace him with.”

“Dating Blaze looks good. He stood up to Ryder in front of a bunch of people.  They're completely different in looks and personality. This is good for my image.” Bad for my soul, but I'm not even sure I still have one. When Ryder walked away, he took it with him. I'll never get it back. Not even sure I want it back if he offered it. Can't think of a better parting gift to the one person I'd die for, even now. Even with the building acrimony, an English vocab word I learned on the day someone drew a dick made out of shaving cream on Ryder's car, I still would. Almost two months after we split and I'm still pining for him. God this can't get any worse.