See Dot Smile

The REAL Fight

"What do you want?" I ask stiffly.

He clears his throat, but his voice still cracks when he starts talking. "Dot, the other night was..."

"A mistake. Got it."

"No. It wasn't. That's not what I was going to say."

"Where's Ali?" I ask, flipping my drawing back over and picking up my charcoal pencil, like Joshua's presence is secondary. And temporary.

"She's at practice," he says. "I'm waiting for her so I can drive her home."

"Wow," I say, gouging at the area under David's belly button. "She's got you whipped. So happy you guys are back together, by the way."

"Dot, please." He takes a tentative step forward. "Just listen. I'm sorry I didn't call. It's because... I told Ali what happened between us."

"You what?!" The charcoal pencil snaps in half, and I shakily wipe the residue onto the edge of my paper, further ruining it.

"She asked if anything happened with you while she was away. I didn't want to lie to her."

"Why would she ask you that?" I'm trying not to let him in. But he keeps coming closer.

"Because she's not stupid, Dot." He steps boldly into my space and sets his backpack down on the table. We're in it now. "She knows."

"Knows what?" I flush.

He makes a grunting sound and grabs the edge of the art table to steady himself. "She knows there's something between us. She's always known. And she's always been jealous of you. That's why I tried so hard to stay away from you all these years. I didn't want to do it. I had to. For her. And for me."

I look down and realize I've crumpled my drawing in my clenched fist. I try to flatten it against the table, but I can't see straight. Angry tears are building in my eyes. I abandon the table and throw the failed drawing in the trash.

"Did it mean something to you?" I ask, trying to keep my voice from sounding needy.

"What?"

"Did you tell her what happened between us meant something to you?"

Silence.

"I get it," I say bitterly. "You won't lie to your cheating girlfriend, but you'll lie to me. That's fucking great, Joshua. Fucking amazing."

"I didn't lie to you."

"Really? I remember you telling me how special it was being with me the other night."

"It was special."

"Oh yeah, because I got you off with your pants on, right? First time for everything?"

He looks away, ashamed. "Dot, stop."

"Stop what? Getting real with you? Here's something. I lied to you."

"What do you mean?" His eyes meet mine, bravely.

"You asked me if I finished. I told you I did. I lied. I didn't even come close."

He looks like I punched him in the stomach. And it makes me want to do it for real.

"I'm sorry," he says sadly. Like a baby. Like a fucking coward. "I mean, I'm sorry you couldn't tell me the truth about it."

"And bruise your miniature ego? God forbid." I'm not in control anymore. The words are coming out like preloaded ammunition. I'm hurting him and I don't care. I don't care anymore. "But now that I've gotten that out of the way, let me just say how sad it is for you that you couldn't get me off. I'm so cranked up, Joshua, I get off in my sleep some nights. Hands free. And you couldn't even do that for me? I'm starting to feel sorry for Ali at this point."

"Stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop talking like that!"

"Like what?!" I shout over the emotion building in my chest.

"Like some trashy girl who doesn't give a shit about people and doesn't think feelings and sex go together. That's not who you are! So, stop talking like that!"

I cross my arms defiantly. "Maybe this is who I am now."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want," I say cruelly. "It was a hookup. That's all. It won't happen again. Let's just forget it happened at all."

"I won't."

"God!" I clench my fists and storm toward him. He cowers to keep me from slamming into him. "What is your goal here, Josh?" He winces at the sound of his shortened name coming from me. "What do you want from me!?"

"I want you to admit it was more than a hookup." His lip is trembling. His eyes brimming with tears. "That it meant something to you."

"Why should I?!" I'm inches from his face. Spitting. "It didn't mean anything to you!"

"OF COURSE, IT FUCKING DID!"

My heart throbs painfully in my throat and I'm fighting back tears.

"Jesus Christ, Dot!" he chokes out. "I have been in love with you since seventh grade! Do you really not know that?!"

"How would I know that?" The tears are falling. I swat at them angrily. "You've been parading your perfect romance in front of me for the last three years. Was that some clever way of seducing me?"

"No." He puts his hands over his face and takes a shuddering breath into them. "I don't... Things with Ali, they just happened. High school happened. And I let it because I needed to survive it all. A girl liked me, and she was pretty, and we got along, and she said I made her feel good. I wanted to keep doing that. I didn't know we'd be together for so long, or that she'd be my first, or any of that. It just happened."

"Like the other night just happened."

"That was different," he says firmly, meeting my angry eyes and softening them. Enough to make me hate myself for letting it happen. "And it was special. And it meant something. I swear to God, Dot, if I could go back in time to that night in the Hamilton's pool and ... tell you ...something ... or kiss you, I would. Then maybe things would have been different."

"Why didn't you?" I challenge him.

"Because I was thirteen!" he cries. "I was a kid. I was skinny and terrified and clueless about girls. I didn't want to scare you away. You were my best friend, and I needed you. And even then, you were so fucking out of my league it's ridiculous. I wouldn't have been able to do anything for you. And now, it turns out ... I still can't."

His eyes drop to his shoes. He sniffles and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. "And you never acted like you were anything but happy for me and Ali. I thought you wanted us together. Maybe if I knew you felt something else ... that you wanted...

"Never mind. If you have something to say, say it. Because I didn't just tell Ali about what happened the other night. I told her how I really feel about you. She doesn't think it's a good idea for you and me to talk anymore. Not if I want to make things work with her."

"Is that what you want?" The voice is mine, but I'm not behind it. I'm somewhere else. Anywhere else.

"I don't know what I want anymore," he says. And it sounds like the truth. "But I know it's not this. I never wanted this. I'm sorry."

I unclench my fists and exhale. He meets my eyes one last time, searching. Everything I want to say is buried. Under anger. Jealously. Regret. He won't hear it. Not today.

He nods and collects his backpack. He walks to the door, slowly. Like he's hoping I'll stop him in his tracks and pull him back in. To finish what we started.

But I can't.

It's not that I don't want to. I do.

I just ... can't.

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