Don’t think too much. The best pictures come naturally.
–Chiara Ferragni
Gwen
The next day, Brent’s gone when I wake up. Marc and I will be driving back to the city. Alone together for almost two hours.
What was I thinking?
I was thinking that Marc is the most attractive person I’ve ever known, and I want to sit in his lap, kiss him senseless, and then do other, dirtier things that I can’t think about without bursting into flames right here and now. Why is this happening? I don’t want or need complications.
I’m supposed to be focusing on my career.
And for crying out loud, I’m supposed to be dating his brother. I have to forget that thing I can’t stop thinking about ever happened. But how can I do that when the phantom taste of his lips on mine is so strong, so sweet and soft and sincere?
I stuff a sweater into my bag and yank the zipper shut. It’s not like we could happen even if I wasn’t planning on leaving the country. Can you imagine? First I date Brent, then suddenly I’m showing up with his brother? Everyone would know it’s a scam. That would ruin Brent. I like Brent. But not like I like Marc. And none of this is relevant anyway because I’m leaving New York as soon as I can.
Then why are you still thinking about it?
“Uuugh, I am so fucked.”
“Did you say something?” Janice is standing outside my door, watching me, her eyes guarded and suspicious.
“I said I like trucks.”
“That doesn’t sound like what you said.” She leans against my doorframe, full of teen arrogance and jealousy. “So you’re driving home with Marc today?”
“Yep.”
“You know, he’s a really great guy.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Maybe even better than Brent, in a lot of ways.”
I know she’s trying to turn me from Brent. Young crushes are so heartbreaking. But it’s still an echo of my own thoughts.
“Are you almost ready?” Marc is suddenly next to Janice in the doorway and when I meet his eyes, my stomach drops. He’s freshly showered, making his hair darker than normal, but he didn’t shave so there’s the perfect bit of stubble around his mouth and along his jaw. I’ve never seen it before. He’s always so clean-shaven. The added bit of scruff makes him look even sexier than usual. I wonder what it would feel like against my face. Or my chest. Or lower.
I swallow. He asked me a question.
“Yes.”
He nods, smiles softly, and then turns and walks down the hall.
After Janice rolls her eyes at me, she turns and follows him.
I take a deep breath.
I can do this.
Jenny packs us a small cooler full of leftovers. The entire family comes outside to say goodbye and there are hugs and kisses and then we get in the car.
We’re silent as he maneuvers the car through the neighborhood and I watch the houses pass by.
It’s the most uncomfortable silence I’ve ever had with Marc, and it’s my own fault. I need to stop thinking about last night.
I wonder if he feels the same because he tinkers with the radio for what seems like forever before finally settling on some classic rock.
“No reggae this time?”
“Did you want to listen to something else?”
“No. This is fine.”
More silence.
Should I mention the kiss? He isn’t mentioning it. He said he was sorry. He obviously regrets it. Maybe he’s like most of the men I’ve met: he’s attracted to me, but there’s nothing beyond looks or what they could get from me to use for their own benefit. Maybe that’s really all I have to offer. Or maybe it’s like Lucky, a way to control and manipulate. But no, Marc isn’t like that. Right?
I want to ask him. The question is on the tip of my tongue—Are you really sorry about last night? But I can’t do it. I can’t put myself out there like that. What if he says no? Or what if he says yes?
That might be worse. The feelings growing inside me are new and fragile, like the most delicate flower in the middle of a thunderstorm. Can I trust myself? I thought what Lucky and I had was real, too. In fact, I thought I was in love with that motherfucker. I’m not exactly the best judge of character.
“What are you doing for the rest of the weekend?”
I shrug. “Working. You?”
“Same.”
Silence.
He clears his throat. “There’s a Citgo up here that Brent and I stop at for the most unhealthy road snacks we can find. Want something?”
“Sure.”
The Citgo is a typical gas station convenience store, rows of sodium-infused snacks, candy, a soda machine in the corner, and a row of glass refrigerators in the back.
We head down one of the aisles. Marc reaches out and grabs a box of Zingers and tosses them to me.
“Pumpkin-flavored Zingers?” I grimace. “I’m basic, but I’m not that basic.”
He takes the box back. “They actually sound kind of good.”
I laugh. “You eat them then.”
“I will. And I bet you’ll want one.”
“I bet I won’t.”
We grab a few more things and get back in the car, and this time the silence is not quite so deafening.
“I’m glad you came with us,” Marc says. “It’s nice to have company on long drives. If you hadn’t come with us, I’d be driving back alone.”
“Well you can thank Marissa. If it wasn’t for her articles, I wouldn’t be here.”
He chuffs. “I’m not sure we can give her credit for anything positive in our lives, but that’s a good one.”
I clear my throat. “Have you seen her at all since . . . ?”
“No. Thank God. We haven’t heard so much as a peep from that corner, other than the article about you and Brent being a hoax.” He glances over at me and then turns back to the road. “I’m sorry you’ve gotten dragged through the muck because of all this.”
It’s interesting to me that Marc is apologizing even though I’m doing this whole thing for Brent, right? “It isn’t the first time Marissa has written bad things about me. I’ll survive.”
“You know, she talked to me about you. After we first met at the photo shoot.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“She was worried about Brent dating you. Now I know the real reason why: she wanted him for herself.”
“Did she say why she was worried?” I ask, against my better judgment.
“Something about how you were flighty and unreliable. I think those were her exact words.”
I shake my head. “She’s one to talk.”
“My thoughts exactly. How did you meet her, anyway?”
“Oh, you know, when I was modeling, she was always around. And I think she’s still friends with my ex, Lucky.”
“Mr. Cheekbones? The guy we saw at Raoul’s?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask what happened with him?”
I shrug. “Not much to tell. He turned into a raging control freak who treated me like I was worth less than the scum on his shoe.”
“How did you get involved with him to begin with?”
“I met him on a job when I first started getting work in the city. He was so . . . well-connected and confident and put together. I had never met anyone like him.”
“And those cheekbones.”
I smile at his sarcastic tone. Is he jealous? “He does have nice cheekbones. They’re implants.”
“Gross,” he grumbles.
I sigh and continue. Might as well tell the whole story. “He was nice, at first. Modeling is a rough gig. There’s a lot of expectations. Lucky understood all of that. He made my life easier. But then he changed. And the change happened slowly enough that I didn’t notice it at first. It started with an offhand comment when I wanted to go out for a burger one night. Then it got worse and worse.”
“He didn’t want you to have a burger?”
“He didn’t say it like that, it was more like . . . ‘oh you know if you eat that you’ll probably have to throw it up since you have a bikini shoot tomorrow.’ ”
“Are you kidding me?” His voice tightens, and the look he tosses me is filled with shock.
My chest twinges with shame. “It’s hard to explain, but what he said wasn’t wrong. It’s what most models do. And after a while with a bunch of those comments adding up over time, mixed with him telling me how much I meant to him and how beautiful I was . . . it was like I was brainwashed. I had already been living in this world where looks are everything and Lucky used that to manipulate me.”
“It was wrong for him to treat you that way.”
“You’re right. And that’s why I left.”
“I’m sorry.” He reaches a hand in my direction, lightly squeezing my wrist, his eyes still on the road. “I don’t mean to sound like you did anything wrong in any way. You didn’t. He’s the asshole. You’re a strong person for getting out. A lot of people can’t. How did you manage to leave?”
He leaves his hand on my wrist, warm and comforting, and it soothes some of the tightness in my chest.
“It started when I got the job with Victoria, which happened almost by accident. I had been taking a bunch of shots for fun, mostly of Lucky and some of our friends. I showed them to her and she loved them. Until then, I don’t think Lucky really thought I would leave the industry. When I got the shoot with her, suddenly it was like everything was real. And then his behavior deteriorated. He was angry all the time about every little thing I did. It got to the point where he would get mad at me for going to lunch with a friend, or forgetting to put the cap on the toothpaste. He would convince me that I had done something terribly wrong, even though logically I knew that I hadn’t.”
I shut my eyes, remembering. Once the words start, I can’t stop them. It’s like the floodgates have opened and there’s no way to shut them against the tide of water spilling out.
“I wanted to leave. I was going to, anyway. But then I walked in on him with Becca. She was my friend. Or at least I thought she was. They told me I was an idiot for thinking Lucky and I had ever been monogamous. Didn’t I know he had been sleeping around this entire time?”
I shake my head and open my eyes, keeping my gaze on my lap.
“It was like he wanted me to catch them, as some sort of punishment for leaving modeling. And Becca . . . well I don’t know why she did it. Maybe jealousy? Not that I had much to be jealous over. After that, I lost it. I went into a deep depression, wouldn’t return any calls, not even from my family or Victoria. My sister had to fly out and drag me out of it. After a lot of talking with my family and with a therapist, I put myself back together and then started at the bottom. It was hard. I had to learn to forgive and move on. The forgiveness wasn’t necessarily for Becca and Lucky, but for myself. Understanding that it’s okay for me to make mistakes. Learning from them and moving on.”
He’s silent. I open my eyes and look over at him.
His thumb rubs against my wrist. “And now we’re here.”
“So we are. Sorry for all of that verbal spewage. Do you want to jump out of the car screaming yet?”
He laughs. “No. Not at all. I think it takes a lot of strength to come back from something like that, dealing with someone like Lucky. It makes me wish I had punched him when we ran into him.”
“He’s not worth it. But I have to admit. It’s one of the reasons I’ve been so focused on my goal. It’s like, if I can get someone to pick up my idea, I can prove to myself that he was wrong. I really am good enough. That I can do this.”
“I think you already have.” He glances over at me and our eyes connect. His hand squeezes mine and he returns his gaze to the road. “You said Marissa is still friends with him?”
“She befriends anyone and everyone who can get her information that sells magazines.”
He scoffs. “I can’t believe I dated her for two months.”
“Two whole months, huh? How did you guys meet anyway?”
“At a charity event. She was there and she was so sincere and I fell for it. She didn’t even care about the scars.”
“Marc.” I wait until he’s looking at me. “Nobody cares about the scars but you.”
“I know that’s not true. Marissa did care. She just pretended she didn’t.”
“Okay, now I think she’s a total psycho and a terrible person but how do you know she was pretending? Maybe she really didn’t care.”
“She never touched them, but that’s nothing new. Most people avoid looking and touching. She was good at pretending, but she never got close.”
“I’ve touched them.” I have to laugh at myself. “I touched them and we barely knew each other.”
He meets my eyes for a few long seconds. “I know.”
His hand has been loosely gripping my wrist this entire time, but now he squeezes it once, gently, and removes it, turning his eyes back to the road.