Take it Slow

She was absolutely wrong about him.

That was it. It had to be. Because Lux was sure that in all of the hundred and one scenarios she’d churned in her head about Ben, this one was not it. He wasn’t the kind of guy who pampered girls he had sex with. He could bring a girl to her knees, yes, obviously—and that was painfully wonderful—but he didn’t clean girls up. She knew that about him. Or, had thought so, until tonight.

Benjamin cleaned her up with a warm towel and righted her skirt. Lux was suddenly, inexplicably self-aware that she was still in his home. What she needed to do was leave. Perhaps, given the right mood, she could even toss a couple of excuses his way, and knowing Ben, he’d take her words as it were and leave her be. But, no, she wasn’t thinking clearly. She was still high on his kisses and touches and the way he’d whispered her name breathlessly as she clawed at his shoulders.

There used to be an after in sex and make-out sessions. Before Ben, Lux had familiarized herself with the sweet dynamics of the events after sex. She’d dated guys. They’d had sex. She’d cuddled with them. Sometimes, deliberately, she’d even engage them in intimate, nuanced conversations. With Ben, though, it seemed like she was starting over. Like the beginning of a beginning; like a strange inkling of something vastly unfathomable was mounted around her shoulders.

Ben stood at the foot of the bed. He was already halfway dressed, with his pants and belt, as if he were on the verge of running away. Lux wanted to laugh at this; wanted to threaten him with the blinding blow of something only she knew: this was his house. As if he didn’t know that. Maybe he didn’t, though. Maybe with the awkwardness brought on by the blatantly disturbing sweetness of their sex, he’d forgotten that he’d brought her to the safety of his apartment.

How long had she known him? Three, maybe four weeks, but she didn’t really know him. She didn’t know him. They’d spoken on the phone a couple of times. She’d asked him the usual questions: Where was he from? Did he still speak to his parents? Was he interested in a relationship or a fling? Did he live alone? Where did he work? Did he love his job?

He said he’d lived in London for a few years which would explain his accent but not answer the question exactly. She didn’t know if he was American.

He said he lived alone and didn’t do relationships. It made no sense—relationships, not living alone—and she had to listen attentively so she didn’t mess these things up. He was an accountant for one of those firms that used fancy words like amortization, but he wouldn’t tell her the name of the firm. What did he think she’d do if she knew? Stalk him at his office with a placard calling him the love of her life in every language except English?

God—it made her feel so desperate and cheap. Why had she come anyway? She’d imagined him, aided by the photos he’d sent of himself, and had concluded that he was the kind of man that shagged a woman on the floor of his apartment.

If he accidentally choked her too long and too hard and she stopped breathing and he had no choice but to stuff her in his freezer or an old suitcase, well, then, it was no one’s fault. But still, why had she come?

“Are you heading out?” Her voice sounded hoarse even to her ears. In high school, a couple of students had labeled her as the girl most likely to lose her voice. It was stupid but she’d understood them because it was no secret that Lux had the kind of voice that always sounded like someone was sitting on her chest and forcing a hand down her throat. Still, hearing herself speak right now with that tiny, lazy voice filled her with embarrassment.

Ben shook his head. “I…kinda thought we could watch a movie together?”

He made it sound like a question, like he wasn’t sure what her answer would be but mostly, he wasn’t sure why he was suggesting something so fundamentally intimate.

“Oh? What movie do you have in mind?”

“My movie tastes are what one might call bland.”

She laughed. The embarrassment died down a notch. She climbed out of his bed and put on her shirt. Her bra was still on the floor. She didn’t bother to pick it up. “Well, let’s go and check. Who knows? I might like one or two.”

Only when they were in his living room rifling through his movie case did she realize he’d lied to her. About his movie tastes being bland. He had an assorted collection. She found some of Lara Croft’s movies like Tomb Raider and smiled when he shrugged. When her fingers touched Shutter Island, they both agreed without words that this would do.

It was too sad. She’d watched the movie before and she’d cried. Bawled. Promised herself she’d never watch anything sad ever again. Yet here she was, for the first time in Ben’s apartment, opting to watch something she knew would make her cry.

He paused the movie in the middle of it because she was already sniffing. He took her hand in his and rubbed circles along her wrist. She shivered involuntarily at the touch, as though she was standing at a vertiginous altitude.

“Hey,” he said to her. “I told you I didn't have the best movie selection, didn't I?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to stop herself from crying. Her last boyfriend had told her there was nothing anyone hated more than unnecessary tears. Even worse when it was caused by a movie everyone knew was fake.

“Lux…hey, love, don't fucking apologize. I can't put on a sad movie and expect you not to cry. It's impossible. Shit—did that come out wrong?”

“No.”

“Good. What I’m trying to say is that you shouldn't apologize.”

“Okay. Alright.”

They should talk and not about movies. About important things like, say, their inability to talk or be comfortable around each other. For goodness sake, they'd already seen each other naked. She'd moaned his name. He'd grunted hers. They'd fucked each other really well. Now, it was time to…to…

To…

He went for the jugular, anyway. “I never do this.”

At least he was opening up. She followed suit. “You never do what?”

“This.” He moved his hands between their bodies like that was enough to get her to understand. “Have sex and watch movies and talk. I know that makes me sound like a douche but I like being honest and upfront and I told you in the beginning, right? That I wasn't looking for a relationship. I'm…usually bad at not being a jerk so I always try to be honest in the beginning.”

She didn't remember him being so talkative. It was actually nice. Cathartic. “And I told you I wasn't on the app for a relationship.”

“Yeah but not because you don’t want a relationship. You just don’t think you can find a true relationship on the app so you settle.”

“I never said that.” He was right, Jesus, but he didn't need to know that. “And why would you even think that?”

“It’s the look in your eyes.”

“What look?”

“You have a look that's both sad and teasing, as if you can't decide which to fall into. I saw it when we fucked.”

“So, that's what this is? Kissing me and making me watch a movie with you? It's because you pity me. Because you think I’m incapable —”

“Of course not.”

She ran a hand through her hair. She had crazy, stupid curly hair that always got in her eyes and face even when she cut it. Usually, she liked her hair but not today. Not even when it was doing its best to shield her from this stranger who seemed to know the inner workings of her mind like a second skin.

She deflated, understandably. “Your method of therapy is extremely unconventional. Sex before opening me up? Come on, Ben.”

Ben chuckled. He found her funny, maybe. “What do you think? Should I quit my job and become a full-time therapist? You'd be my first client.”

“Or victim.”

“Nobody differentiates these days.”

“I have standards, Ben.”

This time, when he laughed, she laughed too. Half of the tension paused, leaving room for need and honesty and ordinariness.

He still hadn't pressed play on the movie, which was all good because Lux didn't want to watch the second half of the film. She wanted them to keep talking. Which, to be fair, he seemed partial towards.

They talked about her song choices which led to him playing something from the Neighborhood. They didn't dance but she wanted to; she would have liked it if he’d asked her. Okay, she could have asked him to dance but again, what did that say about her? She'd already gone against every line in her safety book by following him home and having sex with him.

He'd given her so very little of himself, so little that he'd been surprised she'd shown up and agreed to follow him to his apartment. If she asked him to dance, that would just make her seem more pathetic.

He asked her questions about her school, her job, her friends and she talked until she couldn't remember the exact moment she'd ever stayed quiet. Yet, when she asked him about himself, about his mother, if he had any family around, he clammed up.

“You ask a lot of questions but you don't ever talk about yourself. Why's that, Ben?”

He shrugged and it upset her. Or no, it wasn't quite the shrug that offended her in itself but the meaning behind it. That he didn't think he owed her an answer. He didn't think he needed to right a wrong.

And fuck, this was so wrong.

She sighed. “So, this was just sex to you?”

She didn't mean it how it sounded. Lux was a twenty-five-year-old woman with a Lit major under her belt. She worked at the local library, at the section often favored by emotional poets and half-depressed hippies, and she liked it. Her mother still called her Akanji, which was the name she'd been given at birth. She'd changed it to Lux because it was easier to pronounce.

But her mother knew how to pronounce Akanji because it meant The One Whose Touch Gives Life.

Her father was very polite. He called her Lux, never her Nigerian name.

She was beautiful and loved and had the kind of body made for goddesses. She didn't…never asked questions like: what are we? Was this only sex for you?

She wanted to tell him that if he wanted only sex, there was no need for movies or conversations but the words had metamorphosed into a question.

“I told you what I wanted from the beginning,” he said.

“But you were asking—”

“I shouldn't have. I'm sorry.”

“Jesus—you’re one heck of a guy, you know?” It sounded accusatory even to her own ears. “I should go. It's late.”

“Don’t be like that, Lux.”

“I don't understand.”

“Don’t leave just yet.” He was giving her one of those looks that made her pulse race. Got her horny without intention.

She rolled her eyes at him. “What the hell do you want, Ben? Make up your damn mind, please!”

“I…I…”

She waited but that was all.

Thirty-nine-year-olds were gods in their own way: private, reckless, and a touch out of reach. Swear to God, he didn't have a perfect face. His nose looked a little crooked, like he’d let someone smash it on purpose and his eyes wore a penetrative look that made staring a little like fighting. Yet, even with these subtly placed imperfections, this man—Benjamin Finch—was outrageously good-looking.

He was so out of her league it was hard to comprehend. How had she not seen this before?

She gathered her things. He walked her to the door, down the staircase, and outside to the evening breeze without protest. He dug around for his wallet and brought out two crisp hundred-dollar bills.

“For the cab,” he said. “I’m really sorry for tonight, Lux. You are very beautiful, kind, and wonderful. You are the sort of woman any man would die for. You are the first woman in a long while who's made me feel like I could breathe. And it feels so good but I'm not ready for more, for love. To be honest, I don't think I’ll ever be. Please, don't resent me.”

She refused to take his money. His words were so sweet and pure it made her ache. She would have loved him. Given time, she would have taken out her whole damn heart and let him squeeze it. Let him own it for good. “You are a good man, Ben. I just hope you find peace.”

She let him kiss her cheeks before leaving. There were men like that, she thought. Men who were so used to being lonely or left alone that they didn't think they were capable of love. It made her want to cry. The whole world needed love.

Two weeks later, she saw him under the People You May Know section on Facebook. She clicked on his profile and found his most recent photos. There were quite a few but in every one, he wasn't alone. There was a woman, blonde, beautiful, tiny on his arm. Two little boys stood in front of his smiling profile. He captioned it: My wife and boys are my world.

She threw up on her kitchen floor.