Where I End and You Begin (12 page)

“You’re not a problem,” Daniel says. The vibrations of his voice pass through his body, echoing into mine.

I smile, bitter, even though I know he can’t see it. “Then why are you so desperate to solve me?”

He doesn’t answer, just tightens his hold on me. My hands are on his chest. His muscles bulge under my hands and my mouth is dry. This is the first time a boy has hugged me in years and not wanted something out of it. So why can’t I quiet my body? Why can’t I stop responding to him? I’m going to ruin it. Just letting him hold me is going to ruin it all. And yet, maybe I should ruin it. Maybe I should stretch up and kiss him and change everything. Then maybe he’d go away and leave me alone, to fail in peace...

What is wrong with me?
I think.
Why are you trying so hard to push him away?

I straighten, and push him away, and the relief I feel when he releases me is so powerful I am dizzy with it. I work my tongue, find my voice.

“So. Quid pro quo, Clarice,” I say. “You have something you’d like to spill your guts about?”

I hear him breathe in. “Yes.” Then, “No.” Then, “I don’t know.”

“Got it,” I say. The warmth of his embrace is dissipating, giving me a cooler head. “Let me spill my guts, don’t spill yours. That’s cool.”

“That’s not it,” he says. He sounds pained, and I feel bad for him.

I sigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to spill your guts if you don’t want to. It was just... it made me feel better, thinking it was kind of an exchange. Not, like... I don’t know. Sorry.”

“No.” I can barely see him, looming over me in the dark, but I can tell he’s shaking his head. “That’s not it.”

I stare up at him, wondering how much of my face he can see. “What
is
it, then?”

He is silent for a long moment. “Nothing,” he says at last. “It’s nothing.”

A sharp lance of disappointment pierces through my chest. It surprises me. Did I really want to hear a secret?

I must have.

But I won’t.

“Okay,” I say, and my voice is light. “Then let’s get out of here.”

He doesn’t answer, only follows me out of the diner, and a silence lives between us as he drives me back to campus.

He gets out with me at Marchand, and follows me inside. In the lounge, I pick up studying again while he waits for me on the couch, reading his book, but it’s different now. Our silence isn’t comfortable. There’s a brittle quality to it that forces me to focus on my work rather than face the awkward reality between us now. He brings me lunch and when I’ve finally had enough and cannot cram any more into my brain today, I tell him so and he nods and stands up to leave.

I walk him out to the parking lot.

“See you,” I tell him when he gets into his car.

“Take care,” he replies.

I watch him drive away, and then I turn around, hugging myself, and trudge inside.

I didn’t need a friend anyway,
I think.

M
y mother didn’t like it that I liked ghosts.
Devil’s work,
she called it after she went holy roller on me. Tales of Satan, meant to lead us astray. Ghosts aren’t real, because if they were, then why weren’t they in Heaven or Hell?

I always said they were already in Hell. What worse fate could there be after dying than having to stay here?

Just imagine dying, especially after a violent death. The pain’s been arcing through you, burning away your rational thought, fear clawing your sanity to shreds, and then... bliss. Peace. No more pain. No more worries. No more money troubles, or broken hearts. No more painful memories. All of that gone.

You have escaped the bonds of your body, slipped free of its vagaries and lusts and hurts and needs.

Then you open your ethereal eyes, and everything is exactly the same.

Oh no,
you’d think.
Not this shit again.

I
don’t expect Daniel to ever come back, so imagine my surprise when I wake up on Sunday morning to the sound of knocking on our bedroom door.

“Tanya,” I moan. Of the two of us, Tanya is the heavier sleeper, but she
insisted
on being on the bottom bunk, so it’s her responsibility to answer the door.

She doesn’t respond.

“Taaaanyaaaa,” I say again before dragging myself up onto my elbows and peering over the side of the bed. To my surprise, Tanya isn’t there. Then I remember that she went out to a study group last night. And we all know that study groups rarely mean any studying gets done. She’s probably crashed on someone’s floor or couch or, if she’s lucky, bed.

Me, I spent all last night studying and trying to push away the memories that drifted through my head like flying cinders, burning wherever they landed. But I didn’t drink. The fear had subsided, though it had been replaced by melancholy. I knew from experience that drinking while sad was never a good thing to do. This didn’t stop me from doing it from time to time, of course, I just knew it was bad.

Now I sigh and climb down off the top bunk. “I’m
coming
.” It’s probably one of the guys, wanting to borrow something.

I open the door in mid-yawn. Daniel stands there.

My yawn aborts itself prematurely, and I frown. “What are you doing here?” I say.

“I came to apologize,” Daniel says. He looks strangely nervous.

“Apologize for what?”

His mouth twists. “For... for not holding up my side of the bargain.” A tinge of color touches his cheeks and he looks away from me. For a moment I am confused, then I look down at myself. I’m wearing a pair of pajama pants and a tank top, no bra. I look back up at him.

“What’s wrong?” I say. “You never seen a pair of tits before?”

His blush deepens. It’s fascinating to watch. I can’t recall the last time I saw a guy get flustered.

“Jeez, wait here,” I tell him. I turn and grab my hoodie off my desk chair, pull it on, and return to the door. “Now what’s this about apologizing?”

“I have something to tell you,” he blurts.

I am taken aback. “What?”

“I don’t want to...” He trails off, and as he does I notice he’s holding a brown grocery sack.

I point to it. “What’s in there?” I say.

He looks down. “Breakfast. If you’d like some breakfast. Unless you want to eat canned ravioli again...”

“I’m out of canned ravioli,” I tell him. “You want to eat in the lounge?”

“I have somewhere better in mind,” he says.

All right. I have to admit. I’m intrigued. I don’t want to show it, though. “Is this somewhere better somewhere I have to be dressed for?” I ask.

He tilts his head. “You should put on some jeans and some shoes,” he says. “But that’s all you’ll need.”

My eyes narrow. “Where are we going?”

“Just let me surprise you, okay?”

I sigh. “Fine. Go wait downstairs.” And I shut the door in his face.

In record time, I have a pair of jeans and my sneakers on, and I head downstairs to find Daniel standing in the foyer. Since it’s Sunday, no one else is up, or if they are it’s because they stayed up all night, so we have the house to ourselves for the moment. I look up at him and say, “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s go see this big surprise.”

He winces a little bit at the sarcasm in my voice. I must still be bitter about yesterday.

“It’s on campus,” he tells me. “So it’s not far.”

I wave my hands. “Let’s go, let’s go.”

He exits the house and I follow him out.

We don’t speak as he leads me across the campus. I have no idea where he’s taking me until we stop in front of Seele Hall.

I look up at it. Seele Hall is being renovated and should open again in a year or two. For now, it’s closed up.

I smile. “Are we going in there?”

“That was the plan.”

“How naughty.”

“Yes,” he says. “I suppose it is.” He leads me around the back of the old dormitory, and points to one of the windows. Inspecting it, I find that it’s slightly open, and my smile gets bigger. Reaching out, I haul the window open and clamber inside, and Daniel follows me, closing the window again behind us.

Almost immediately I’m filled with that delicious feeling, the feeling of transgression. We’re
not supposed to be here.
We
don’t belong.
It thrills me, and, strangely, comforts me. I realize that I love how solitary it is in here. Not only are we the only two people here, but we are the first in a long time, and will be the last for a very long time afterward. No one to bother me. No one to interrupt me. In a place like this, you can be truly alone with yourself and your thoughts.

Well, almost alone.

Daniel passes me, and opens the door. “This way,” he says, and walks out into the dark hallway.

We stroll through dusty corridors. Everything about the building speaks of the era when it was built, when things were supposed to last. The doors are heavy and solid, and the plaques on them, proclaiming
Suite 103
or whatever, are made of metal instead of plastic. These were plaques that were meant to last through the cold war, and they did.

When we reach the end of one of the halls, Daniel opens the door to reveal the stairwell. “Going up,” he says, and begins to climb. I follow him, and I note, purely from an academic standpoint, that he has very nice legs, and he is wearing very nice jeans. Is there anything he owns that isn’t nice? Besides his shitbox car, I mean?

Seele Hall is three stories high, and when we finally reach the third floor, Daniel exits the stairwell, then leads me down another hall to another door. This one is marked
Staff Only.

An illicit shiver races up my spine.

Daniel opens the door and reveals another set of stairs, and when we reach the top, there is a thin wooden door. Daniel turns the knob and pushes it open, and then we are on the roof.

“Wow,” I say as I step out on to the gravelly rooftop. “Wow.”

The whole campus spreads out below us. Seele Hall is on top of a small hill, and from our vantage point the land sweeps out and down, a jumbled mess of faux-gothic buildings and autumn trees. There’s no sun in the sky again, just diffuse gray light. The air is cool and soft, and I breathe it in.

“Do you like it?” Daniel asks.

“It’s pretty damn pretty,” I say.

“Perfect place for a picnic breakfast,” he says. Setting the grocery bag down, he reaches in and pulls out a large, soft quilt, which he shakes out and spreads over the gravel, right near the edge of the roof. Then he pulls out two little Tupperware containers and hands me one.

I take it and peer through the foggy plastic. “What’s this?” I say.

“Delicious,” he promises me. “And I brought coffee. Do you drink coffee?”

I drink coffee. I’ll drink anything that promises to keep me awake while I try to get the last thousand words out about the Opium Wars or transcendental moral law or whatever. I nod, and together we sit down on the blanket. Daniel takes a thermos from the grocery bag and unscrews the top, then pulls out two cups and pours us both a nice cup of coffee.

“Okay,” he says. “Now you can open up the Tupperware.

I open the Tupperware.

Inside are small square pastries, like little cups, filled with fruit and cream cheese and topped with large grains of sugar. The sticky sweetness of them hits my nose and my mouth waters. “What are these?” I say.

“Kolaches,” he tells me. “Go ahead, try them. They’re good.”

I give him a look. “I’m not suspecting they aren’t. Did you make these?”

He nods.

I look back down. I have to admit I’m impressed. My baking ability extends purely to premade cookie dough, and most of the time the cookie dough never makes it to the cookie sheet. My mouth always seems to intercept it somehow.

“So,” I say. “You made pastries and planned a picnic. You must have something really big to tell me.” I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye, but he’s looking down at his kolache box like it contains a turd sandwich. I’ve never seen a man look so dejected about breakfast pastry.

“Let’s eat, first,” he says.

I don’t like the sound of this. At all. When a guy says
let’s eat first,
what he’s usually saying is
I’m going to break up with you, but first I need to get my chow on so at least I get something good out of this.
It’s an asshole move.

But Daniel and I aren’t dating, so it can’t be that. It must be something else. Something really bad. For the life of me, I can’t imagine what it is.

I look at my kolaches. There are cherry, and something that looks like fig, and definitely apricot or peach. I like all of those things. What I don’t like is getting jerked around.

“Nooooo,” I say. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, first?” But I’m too late, because Daniel has already shoved a pastry in his mouth. At least half of it. As though he is afraid he will spill the beans on whatever his great secret is.

I scowl at him and he gives me a sheepish look. It takes a long moment for him to chew through the pastry and swallow it, and when he’s done there’s cherry filling on his nose.

“For God’s sake,” I say. Grabbing the grocery bag, I look in and am relieved to find a small stack of paper napkins. “You have fruit on your schnoz.” Snagging a napkin, I rise up on my knees and lean forward, reaching for his face.

My fingers barely touch him, and then his hand comes up and snaps around my wrist.

A jolt of fear goes through me.
So he’s a serial killer after all,
I think.
No one will find me up here, the buzzards will eat me long before anyone figures out what’s going on...

But his eyes are sad and pained, and the feeling of dread in my belly curdles.

“Wh... what’s wrong?” I say.

“I’m a priest,” he blurts.

I drop the napkin.

“What?” I must have misheard him.

But he looks utterly miserable. “A priest.”

I blink. “Like... a Catholic priest?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

I feel very... strange. Not shocked, perhaps... but sad. Disappointed, perhaps, that he has been lying to me. I thought he was different. “What are you talking about?”

“Remember when I said I was taking a sabbatical? I’m enrolled in the seminary on campus. I’m taking a break right now... I mean, I’m not a priest yet, I’m just studying to be one... Father O’Reilly is my adviser...”

Well. That explains why he was filling in for the good Father last Tuesday. And why he has a “background” in counseling.

I tug on my wrist, and he lets me go. Sitting back on my heels, I stare at him for a good long while.

Pieces start to slot into place, and now that he says it, yes. Yes, it makes sense. A guy with a lot of time on his hands. Always well dressed, as though adhering to a dress code. Embarrassed to see tits. Awkward. Doesn’t know what’s stalkery and what isn’t.

Yeah. Perfect sense.

“Oh,” I say. I look down at my hands. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “Probably because I thought it might scare you away.”

He’s right. I would never have agreed to this if I’d known he was a holy roller just like my mother.

Except he’s not like my mother, or like any of those other overly pious, pinch-lipped Puritans back at home. He’s... well, he’s nice. And he doesn’t talk about God. I can’t stand it when people tell me about God. As though every single person in the Western Hemisphere hasn’t heard about the good news of Jesus Christ or whatever.

And now his comments about things being professional and appropriate are starting to make sense.

I can’t help it. I giggle.

Daniel looks at me as though I’m crazy. “What are you laughing about?” he says.

I shake my head. “Oh, nothing. It makes total sense. I’m surprised I didn’t realize it.”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Because you act like such a virgin.”

A flood of color crosses his face, and he is burning beet red. “I... I’m not... it’s not like...” He’s stammering and I want to take pity on him, but I just can’t. It’s too funny.

I laugh harder, and maybe I should feel betrayed, or lied to, or something like that, but really, what I feel is relief, and a bit of secret glee.

I’m relieved, because this is finally one guy I don’t have to worry about fucking. I can’t fuck him. He’s a priest, or going to be. I don’t have to worry about
anything
with him. There was never any danger of dates, or of
feelings
fucking things up between us. He’s pure in the Lord.

And I am pure as the driven mud.

I’m free from the threat of having to fuck him, but it is going to be fun to fuck
with
him.

He’s staring at me askance. “You’re... you’re not mad at me?” he asks.

I try to get myself under control, shaking my head and wiping the tears from my face. “No,” I say. “No, not really.”

The relief in his eyes is almost a tangible thing. “Really?” he says. “Because... after what you said yesterday about your mother, I knew I couldn’t keep it from you any more.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I say. “But why did you keep it a secret in the first place?”

He looks down at his hands. “I don’t know,” he says. “I think, maybe, because I don’t feel right calling myself a priest, or telling anyone I’ve been a seminary student. Not while I’m taking a break.”

Taking a break. From becoming a priest.
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Hey, you know you can’t take a break from being a priest after you are one, right?”

He nods. “I know that. I mean, why do you think I’m taking a break
now?”

“To fuck bitches?”

The horrified look on his face makes it all worth it, and I laugh again.

“You’re making fun of me,” he says.

“Of course I am,” I tell him. “You’re funny.” I shake my head. “And really...
you’re
going to tell me how to straighten my life out? You have no idea how to do that, do you? Because you haven’t even had a life.”

“I’ve had a life,” he says.