Into the Velvet

Seven Days Until

The University of Chicago was huge.

Finding the Cobb Hall on the fourth floor had been a logistical challenge, though not impossible. I only had to follow a cluster of eclectically dressed academics to find the 'The Ren,' as they called it.

The Renaissance Society, a contemporary art museum and cultural meeting hub, was what Google Maps had set in my sights. Once I was there, it had been all too easy to slip through the museum doors.

Ironically, my expedition had nothing to do with college window-shopping. My priorities had not only shifted. They had veered off track with an unexpected turn, speeding down the wrong side of the road. I wasn't doing this for me. Knowing so little about the man I loved meant grasping at the most far-fetched straws. Desperate times called for unconventional measures.

"Who are you, Henry?" I'd asked him during the drive home.

He'd barked a short laugh that was hard to hear in the battering wind. "You know every inch of me now. Isn't that your answer?"

His attempts at deflecting weren't good enough. Henry had opened all the windows, embracing the icy wind as he tore through the vacant streets. He seemed to need the cold. My own hair thrashed against me.

"That's not the same," I protested, facing him squarely. "I know who I think you are, and I've always loved the thought of you. But I don't know anything about your life."

"You know plenty." His dimples returned, flashing with his smile. "I love the way you see me. I won't let anything to change. That's more than enough."

Couldn't he see how much of myself I'd given him? And how little he'd given in turn? "I know that you like your job," I began, listing off facts with my fingers. "I know that you love a drink. You're clever and reckless and ridiculously good looking. You hate cramped spaces and dealing with strong emotions, and you're always looking for an escape."

Every compliment widened his smile. By the end, he seemed immensely satisfied — with himself. "Then you know everything about me. That about sums me up." His hand rested against my inner thigh. "But if you want to tell me I'm good looking again, I'm all ears."

I closed my window and said nothing. He'd deliberately missed my point — this wasn't an isolated incident.

Once the streets were familiar again, he sighed. "Look, Louise. I moved to this town feeling like a statue. You made me come to life. And despite how wrong it is to be together, I'm a sick brute of a man and I still need you. I don't want to ruin what we have."

"How?" I countered, turning towards him in earnest. "How would knowing more about you change anything? I just—I want to understand."

"You understand me better than anyone else." He turned into the diner once more, parking beside Olly's car. Maurice was nowhere visible. "What more is there to know?"

"I want to know why—" I couldn't finish. My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth.

Henry killed the ignition with a callous twist. Then he sat and waited. "You want to know what?" he asked.

Henry made me feel what old records had once sung about. But he couldn't be mine. Not in the simple way that others took for granted. Day and night, the same image burned through me, leaving me parched in my sleepless nights.

Henry and I in the naked daylight. Walking together, holding hands, with nothing to hide from anyone.

I move closer and pressed my face into my chest. Wanting to speak the words. Needing to protect myself from his rejection. "Why can't we be together, Henry? What's the real reason?"