Professor Feelgood (Page 43)

“It’s not that I enjoy seeing you suffer. It’s just refreshing to see your ego take a hit.” I pull my computer into my lap. “So, let’s try a quick exercise. Write down the first thing that comes into your head when I tell you to write your story. For the sake of the exercise, start with ‘once upon a time’. It should only be a paragraph or two. Go.”

Jake puts down his coffee cup and slides his butt to the edge of the couch so he can rest his notebook on the table. He frowns at the blank page for a few seconds, his pen hovering over the paper.

I have an urge to take a photo of him in this moment; to capture him in the middle of his creative process. I’m sure Sidney would love some behind-the-scenes material to use for social media and promotional purposes. Of course, that would require me to own a phone with a functioning camera.

“Stop it.”

I blink in surprise. “What?”

“Don’t look at me when I’m trying to write.” He stays hunched over the notebook. “I can feel you staring, and it’s weird. I usually write alone. It feels like you’re watching me masturbate.”

A shudder runs through me. “Oh, gross. Plus, did you just equate your poetry to wanking? Probably isn’t the first time that connection has been made, I suppose.”

His expressions darkens.

I hold up my hands. “Fine. Wank in peace.” I stand and wander around the apartment, trying to step lightly, so my footfalls don’t echo too loudly in the empty space. It’s strange to walk through an apartment filled with see-through walls. Is this what it’s like to be Superman?

I stop near his bed and glance around. I wouldn’t call his style neat, but it’s certainly tidy. All of his stuff is in piles that are orderly, if not organized. There’s an asymmetrical stack of milk crates he’s turned into a DIY storage unit. As I move closer, I see an early Nikon digital camera in a box with a collection of lenses, along with a stack of black-and-white photos. I pull them out and leaf through them. Most are travel pics, and I must admit, just like his Professor Feelgood photos, these have a level of lighting and composition that make them more than just amateur snaps. They’re artistic. They capture a moment in time, along with a punch of emotion: a street market in what looks like India; an ancient, toothless Asian woman throwing her head back in laughter; a small child and a skinny dog hugging on a door stoop, each looking hungrier than the other.

I’m marveling over how impressed I am by Jake’s photographs when I come across a picture of something so rare, only a few people have ever witnessed it. It’s an image of Jake smiling. Not only that, but I’d go so far as to say he looks … joyful. He’s lying in bed, and it’s clear from the angle of the picture that it’s a selfie. Beside him, a woman with tousled, blonde hair is burying her head in his shoulder, seemingly camera shy. I can’t see her face, but it’s clear from the way she fills out her tiny black bikini that she has an amazing body.

Hello, Ingrid. Nice to finally meet you.

I go back to studying Jake’s face. It’s been so long since I’ve since him smile that wide, I’d completely forgotten about the dimple in his left cheek. It only ever came out when he was full-on laughing, which was almost never.

Underneath the pic are more of the same; Jake laughing as Ingrid hides from the camera. I wonder what was going on in this moment. Was he always this free with her? Is that what made him fall in love?

I hear a noise and turn around to see Jake standing right behind me.

“What are you doing?”

I freeze and cringe. I couldn’t feel more shameful if he’d caught me rubbing his underwear on my face. “Uh … snooping?”

He takes the photos from me. “At least you didn’t try to lie about it, I suppose.” His tension leeches into me. “While you’re at it, do you want to see my browser history, too?”

With a heavy sigh, he flicks through the pictures and stops on the last one. In it, he’s throwing his head back, and Ingrid’s face is in his neck. Is she kissing him? Biting him? It’s hard to tell.

“So, I take it that’s Ingrid?”

They look like any young couple in love, except I know Jake, and being that relaxed with someone wouldn’t have come easy. He’d have needed time to get to know her; feel comfortable with her. She would have needed infinite patience to break through all the static he carries in his brain.

“Yeah,” he says, looking over the image. “That’s her.”

He stands still for a moment, and the way his eyes glaze over makes me wonder what’s going through his head. Does heartache always stop you in your tracks? Does it bend time and take you back to the exact moment someone punched a person-shaped hole in your chest?

“Where were those taken?” I ask, moving a little closer.

“Bali. It was the week we met. Everything was still new, and … pure.”

“She looks beautiful. What I can see of her, anyway.”

His thumb moves along the side of the photo. “Actually, she had a huge scar on her face from a car accident. That’s why she’s hiding her face. She hated having her picture taken.”

I look back at her, shying away from the camera. “Oh, my God. The poor thing.”

“Yeah,” Jake says with a sigh. “Her face may have only been a four, but she made up for it by having a body that was a full-on ten.”

I flush with anger on her behalf and punch his arm. “What the hell, Jake?”

He pulls away from me. “Damn, Asha, it was a joke. Like everything else, her face was goddamn perfect. I’m not allowed to make fun of the woman who destroyed me?”

I must learn to take everything he says with a grain of salt. I should know by now that he’ll make a joke out of anything, even the woman he loves.

“So, this Ingrid must have been a pretty spectacular woman to crack your flinty facade.”

“She was,” he says, flipping through the pictures again. “Is.”

“Were you being serious yesterday when you said you’re not going to contact her? And what if she does turn up and beg for forgiveness? Could you get over the hurt she caused and take her back?”

He glances at me, eyebrows raised. “Look out, princess. For a moment there, you actually sounded interested.”

“I am interested.”

“But just for the sake of the book, right? Not because you care about my wellbeing.” He turns his back on me and walks over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know if I’d be willing to risk everything again. Not after how it felt the first time.”

He glances over at me, maybe expecting I’d ridicule him for being so open. It’s tempting, but honestly, the expression on his face is so raw, I feel sorry for him.

He shrugs. “Loving someone is the easiest thing in the word. Making them love you back is the hard part.”

I nod, and he looks away. For a few seconds, he seems lost in thought, staring off to the side of the room, brows furrowed.

“You ever lose someone you truly loved?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah,” I say, looking at the floor. “Once.”

He nods. “Right. Jeremy. Stupid question.”

Even stupider assumption.

My next words are out of my mouth before I think them through. “How’s he doing these days?”

His focus flicks to me, lips pressed tight. “You really want to know?”