True (True Believers #1)(13)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“The point of Streetcar is not for you to want to be buddies with these characters. It’s to explore relationships.” Tyler was looking at my professor’s description of the intended essay on my tablet, his lips moving as he read the instructions. He had the book propped open with his forearm, and I didn’t even care that he was cracking the spine. The book was cracked, in my opinion.

“All their relationships are delusional, from what I can tell. Blanche hides in the dark so men don’t guess her real age, she and her sister pretend that nothing bad has ever happened, Stanley doesn’t do anything but play poker and boss Stella around. If they would just like communicate with each other, they could resolve all their issues in ten minutes.”

“That’s what makes the book so realistic,” he told me dryly. “Real people don’t discuss shit with each other.”

He had a point. I didn’t really discuss my emotions with anyone, either. I had spent most of my life being a silent observer. “Oh.”

In one fell swoop, I got it. Literature wasn’t intended to be about perfect people, it was about flaws, very real and very deep human flaws.

“What’s that? Did you hear that?” Tyler cocked his head to the side and cupped his ear. “It’s the sound of the lightbulb clicking on over Rory’s head.”

“Ha ha. Okay, I guess I get it. But I don’t know, shouldn’t there be like a lesson or something from a story?”

“Why?”

Shifting on my seat, I tried to find the words to express my frustration. “I guess what is the value of a book if there isn’t a lesson?”

“That’s the scientist in you speaking.”

It was, but I still wanted to prove my point. “For example, Stella is being abused by her husband, yet not only does she tolerate it, she seems to enjoy it on a certain level. Is it healthy to perpetuate that kind of abusive fantasy to female readers? Why would she think it’s sexy to have her husband throwing shoes around and breaking things in the height of passion?”

“I think that may have something to do with your, you know, status.” He flashed his fingers in a V to me.

Really? He was not talking about Victory or Peace. He was referencing my virginity.

“You haven’t, um, experienced how hot getting a little rough can be.”

Stunned, my cheeks burned with embarrassment. The image of Tyler picking Jessica up and tossing her onto the bed in a fit of overwhelming lust crowded out my rational thoughts, and I felt nauseous.

“You’re right. I don’t.” I probably never would either. “But hitting a woman is never okay.”

“Of course not!” He looked offended. “Hitting her and throwing a shoe are two totally different things. Any sort of direct physical contact is not cool. Neither is forcing her to do anything she doesn’t want to.” He gave me a long look. “I think you’d know my feelings on that.”

He was talking about Grant. Humiliation washed over me, and I was back on the stained carpet, shoving ineffectually at Grant’s chest, trying to break his hold. I was grateful to Tyler for his actions on my behalf, but that didn’t mean I wanted to be reminded of them. The truth was, he knew far too many personal details about me.

“I’m done studying.” I yanked the book out from under his arm and shoved it into my backpack. Snapping the lid shut on my tablet, I jumped out of the booth.

“Wait, Rory, I didn’t mean . . .”

“I know.” I cut him off, because I would be a hypocrite if I stood there and refused to be reasonable after I had just complained about characters behaving the same way. But that didn’t mean I wanted to go into any detail.

“Sit down. Please.” His hand reached out and grabbed my wrist.

If he had left it like that, I probably would have jerked away. But he slid his fingers down across my sensitive skin until they were entwined with mine. The feeling was so intimate, so unexpected, that I plunked down on the wooden bench, speechless, all embarrassment driven right out of me.

He squeezed my hand and stared at me intently, his knee bumping mine. “We’re good?”

I nodded. “Yeah. We’re good.” I wasn’t sure why or what good actually meant, but I didn’t really want to leave.

***

“Hey, Rory, how are you today?” Joanne asked as she passed by me with a cat cradled in her arms.

“Good. How are you? How are the kids?” I was on the floor at the animal shelter Friday afternoon, running a brush across a Yorkie named Licorice. His eyes were watery, the left one cloudy from a cataract. He sat patiently between my legs and closed his eyes each time I stroked the brush through his fur. The longer we sat there, the closer his warm body leaned toward mine.

“Driving me crazy. Back talking and going over on their texting allowance. Then Heather had the nerve to sneak out of her room, steal ten bucks from my purse, and meet up with that loser gangbanger at the bowling alley.” Joanne was in her forties, curvy, with blond hair that she still rolled and sprayed in the way she probably had in high school. She was supersweet and great with the animals, affectionate with me. Yet every time I saw her, it seemed like one of her kids was off on a rebellious streak. “I don’t know what to do. You’re young. What the hell is going through their heads?”

I shook my own head. “I have no idea. I never did any of that stuff. One time I got mad and told my dad to shut up, then I cried and apologized for the next two hours.”

She set the cat down on the table and scratched him behind the ears. “I wish you were my daughter.” Looking around the room, she added, “Have you seen Lois? I need to give this guy his insulin and his chart is missing.”

“I saw her go to the front reception area like five minutes ago.” Leaning forward, I gave Licorice a kiss on the top of his fur. Joanne’s comment about being my mother, a casual compliment, made me feel melancholy. I’d been feeling weird since I’d left the coffee shop the day before, Tyler giving me a wave and not even a backward glance as we had headed in our two separate directions.

I didn’t understand what he was doing, what he wanted from me. Because in my experience, people wanted something from each other. To use them, to gain friendship, for a romantic relationship. I didn’t think he had any of those three as his motivation, and it was like a Rubik’s Cube that I kept turning around and around with no solution.

That’s why I liked animals. They were uncomplicated. You knew in the first five minutes if they liked you or not, and their affection was genuine. I had started volunteering at the shelter midway through my freshman year, and while I only went there once every two weeks because of my school and work schedule, I loved it.