𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝟏𝟎𝟏 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐗𝐕

• 15 •

When I arrived at Keenan's house for the ninth session, I expected the usual: Keenan answers, Keenan makes me wet, Adil arrives, I feel guilty, and the session starts.

However, it was not Keenan who answered the door when I buzzed. It was Janella—not bad at all. My reaction towards the girl now contrasted from my reaction of when the same thing happened before. This time, instead of feeling like a pitiful sack of insecure cabbages, I felt like I was seeing a good friend. I smiled.

"Hey," we greeted at the same time as I stepped into the foyer.

Janella's gorgeous as always. Her hair is in a high ponytail that drew all attention to her face and its beautiful structure, as pretty as ancient Roman architecture—timeless, all-encompassing. Keenan has good taste. Translated to popular culture, she looks like the hot girl that Adam Sandler falls for.

We walked to the living room and even though I know that what the couple has is nothing serious, I felt guilt when the black couch reminded me of a certain sexscapade. I shook my head, "Where's Ki?" I asked, surprising myself with the nickname.

"Shower," she answered, "I told him that I'll pick up something I left, but I'm actually here to store balloons in the basement. Don't tell him," the woman winked. Even if they don't love each other, Keenan obviously means something to Janella. More guilt.

"Does he always wake up late?" I wondered as I walked to a different chair and sat.

"Well, he always stays up late," said the woman, "I'm surprised he even keeps track of days."

I should not be asking too much about Keenan, but the personal reminder didn't make it before the query was shot, "What does he do?"

Before the girlfriend can answer, Keenan appeared, "Stop prying," said the man, his hair wet from his shower. As he walked further into the living room with a cigarette in between his fingers, he rolled his sleeves to his elbows and yawned, seeming like the perfect example of... well, of Keenan.

He stood beside Janella and spoke again, "But if you're really curious, I write. Just because I don't publish doesn't mean I don't write anymore," said my mentor.

Jan, reunited with Keenan, placed a kiss on the man's cheek. She has every right to. Keenan asked, "Got what you're looking for?"

Janella held up a bag, lying smoothly, "Yup. I gotta go," she faced me, "Nice seeing you Gia."

With a smile that complemented her face, she went through the front doors and went about her day. Keenan, as if wanting me to lose my savings on medical care, casually blew smoke in my face.

I smiled tightly, "Can I at least ask why you do it so late at night?" I questioned, referring to his writing habit.

His answer was simple, "My mind works better in those hours," he told me. I fell silent again—awkward because the last time I was with Mr. Pussy Throbber, he offered sex. My weight shifted from one foot to the other. Keenan tsked.

"If you're gonna pretend like nothing happened, at least do a great job at it," Travino told me with irritation dripping from the letters of his words.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry," I glared Keenan Travino style with a hint of Grinch, "Not all of us are great at acting unaffected," I told him, knowing that I had also called him out.