Building Friction (Part 5)

By the time that I made it back into the house, Geoff had apparently decided to take off. I wasn't even sure what I was planning on saying to him, but knowing that he was gone left me with a strange sinking feeling. Even though he had proclaimed that he was through with the situation, I still felt as if there was more to be said.

The party continued on unabated for a couple hours more, and I ended up drinking my weight in liquor before finally deciding to call it a night. Sean offered to give me a lift home and I took him up on it, stumbling out to his car and bidding a loud and nonsensical farewell to the remainder of my friends that were crashing at the house for the night.

I only lived a 5 minute drive from the house, and Sean ended up propping me up and half carrying me to the front door. Once inside, I staggered over to my terrarium and peered through the glass at my pet Ball Python, Zoe.

"Hey, baby!" I purred, watching her slither back and forth when she saw my face. "Wassa matta? You hungry girl? Imma gunna haf to get you sum food tomorrow!"

Sean dropped onto my couch, hard. "I still think it's weird that you have a snake named Zoe, Chloe." He chuckled at the rhyme.

"Hey! Thass what her first owner named her! I jusss kept it so she wouldn't be confusssed." My slurring was growing almost as heavy as my legs were starting to feel.

"You mind if I crash here?" The question was almost a moot one, as I watched Sean stretch out over the cushions and close his eyes.

"Iss OK," I said and then retreated to my bedroom. Struggling to keep my balance, I kicked off my platform sandals, then yanked my top off over my head. I glanced at myself in the mirror over my dresser. Turning around, I looked at my ass, encased in my fitted, but not too tight jeans. "Psssssh. I have a GREAT motherfucking ass!" I protested to the empty room. "He should be so lucky!"

I sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled my jeans off one leg at a time. I was asleep within seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

As my sleep wore on, images of Geoff and his bright eyes and knowing smirk swirled around in my head. We were back on the side of the house, except the argument had turned heated in a much different manner. He was lifting me off of my feet, pressing me harder against the stucco wall, running kisses down the side of my neck. I raised my legs and wrapped them around his waist. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. I was cooing "Yes, yes, yes!" into his ear and holding on for dear life to his neck, my hands digging through his thick dark hair.

I shot straight up in bed, blinking away the dream vision and looked over at my clock. The red numbers were glowing 10:40 back at me. It was a Sunday and I was off work. Aside from writing, I also served as a substitute teacher for the Jr and Sr high schools in the local county. It left me free on the weekends and opened up enough time for me to write. Sundays were always my free day, mostly relegated to running errands and giving me the opportunity to prance around in my underwear if I felt like it.

I could hear Sean preparing breakfast in the kitchen, so I threw on a robe and padded out into the apartment. He was making his patented after-drinking meal of omelets and orange juice. I never minded having Sean crash over since he never attempted to drunkenly make a pass at me and always treated me to good food in the A.M.

"So what the hell was up with that guy last night?" he asked, then delivered a steaming plate to the spot at the table where I'd pulled up a chair.

"Hell if I know." I speared a large bite with my fork and stuffed it in my mouth. "I'd never met the guy before."

Sean sat down with his own plate and started eating. "He seemed to know you though. Or your writing at least."

"Would seem like it, yeah." I pondered over what Geoff had said. He'd read enough, but not everything. I'd been writing for the website for 6 months now, contributing more or less one piece a day. The article that he mentioned was originally posted almost 4 months prior. He would have had to have gone digging to find that one. "I still think he was an ass for trying to judge who I was based on it, though."

Sean cleared his throat noisily. "You know you're my friend, right?" He wasn't directly meeting my eyes as he tentatively posed the question.

"Riiiiight...?" I drew the word out slowly.

"I know you won't like hearing this, but I think he had you pretty dead on." Sean quickly shoved another bite of food in his mouth and looked down at his plate.

"All he did was make snap judgments of me based on some writing! It's not like the guy had actually spent any time with me!" My fork clinked loudly against the plate as I stabbed at some more egg.

"I knew you for at least 6 months before you started to let down your guard. You're not exactly the easiest person to get to know, even if people DO hang out with you. Going on the information that he had - your writing - I think he was pretty accurate. You DO come off like a pretentious know-it-all," Sean's body seemed braced for an attack.

I sighed. As much as I would never admit it around someone else, Sean was right. It was easier hearing it from someone who had taken the time to look past my public proclamations and converse with me on a person to person level than it was to get it from an unknown source. Sean was actually one of the few who didn't really read much of what I'd written and based his opinions of me on what he'd seen first hand. I knew that I could trust his opinion. And trust was a hard thing to come by with me.

I'd never lived the type of hard life that most people I knew had. Growing up, life was more or less cake in my household. I had two parents, a solid family unit and wasn't mistreated, abused or neglected. If anything, I was showered with attention. Somewhere along the line I had developed an inferiority complex that I hadn't been able to shake even to this day. No matter how much praise or recognition that I earned, it always felt hollow. I'd spent my whole life reaching, and my fingers were always just inches from touching whatever it was that I was striving for.

Sean was finishing up his food and heading over to the sink to dump his dishes. "Look. Don't take what he said to heart. That's only a part of you. You're only like, I don't know... 25 percent bitch? The rest is pretty OK." He ducked as I threw my napkin at him, then smiled.

"Asshole!" I chirped.

"I'm going to take off. You're going to be OK, right?" He was gathering up his jacket and keys.

"I'm good. See you at the Good Bar tomorrow." Sean was set to play an open mic on Monday night. While everyone loved his music, I was one of the few people he could count on to show up to even the minor gigs.

After he was out the door and I'd finished up cleaning the dishes, I plunked down in front of my computer and opened up the file for the day's article. It was about what qualities I thought that a nice guy should have. Ironic, considering the events of the prior evening. I opened up my e-mail, attached the file and sent it to my webmaster, then started to go through my inbox.

"SICKNESS IS AT IT AGAIN" read the first entry, addressed from Steph. Aside from Steph, my most avid reader was my only real detractor. The majority of the feedback that I received on my writing was from fans who never questioned what I had to say. This guy was different, however. FeedTheSickness was the only name I knew him by, a screen name that was accompanied by a picture of Iggy Pop. Sickness and I had been battling back and forth over my pieces for months. He had a negative comment for practically everything I'd written and didn't hesitate to tear me up instantaneously whenever a new piece was posted.

This time he was knocking my piece from Friday, one about not liking when my friends tried to set me up with people who were never a good match for me. More lovely irony.

"Another shining example of Chloe's 'Whoa Is Me!' complex," the comment began. "'I have to suffer through my friends' giving a damn about my social life. Why can't they understand that I am a unique individual? That I am beautiful and special and can find people to insult and turn down all on my own?' Well, excuse me if I could give a fuck, my dearest forlorn writer. I'll even spare you the 'some people should be so lucky' speech that you so rightfully deserve to hear, as I have just returned home from a night of being tormented by a woman just like yourself. Beautiful, smart and talented, yet so fucking jaded that she'll end up in a room full of cats and a stockpile of C batteries."

I clicked on the "reply to this comment" button and began typing. I had to always steady myself before replying to this guy, trying to think up a respectably witty and sarcastic retort rather than the defensive reaction that would have led him to believe that he'd gotten under my skin. Sure, he managed to do that a good portion of the time, but I didn't want to put that on display.

"It's easier to live jaded when you have a snake and rechargeable batteries. But good guess. You actually came within the ballpark on that one for once." I considered backspacing and not including the batteries part, an admittance that I was reliant on my electronic friend, but decided to let it stay. My readers tended to love those little bits that humanized me.

As I was going to shut the page down, something suddenly struck me. Sickness had left his comment close to 1 in the morning. He'd said he'd just returned home from a night of being tormented by a woman just like me. I blinked hard at the screen, as if it would open up and give me the information for this guy.

Finally, I just shook my head and headed towards my bathroom to take a shower. I needed to head over to the pet store to pick up some rats for Zoe, who was actively kicking up a storm in her box. If this reader really was Geoff....

Fuck, I thought as I stepped under the stream of hot water. What if it WAS him?