11

With his forehead wrinkled he fought with his own perplexity, without knowing if that woman was a humorist, an actress, a mad person or the three of them together.

"Are you kidding me?"

"No." Helen picked up her bag, thrown into one of the armchairs. It felt lighter than it was before, maybe because se was anxious, and her muscles contracted.

Octavian started forward to grab her arm, but contained the impulse; as touching would only make her scream again. Also Helen was turning around, to check if she had taken her bag properly, and for a strange motive stood looking at him with big owl eyes. She hoped he'd said something, "sorry" would make the job.

But Octavian had nothing to say, he couldn't read Helen's mind so he had no idea why that crazy woman (man?) was waiting for. He had absolutely nothing to say.

Had him, actually? Maybe?

All he had was a thing. One thing that he was extremely used to take granted anytime he wanted, and the person in front of him was preventing him to do so, he would have to sleep alone and anxious in a Friday. This wasn't cool. Not at all, neighbour... Octavian wasn't much like a drinker, but he had some shots with Helen. Such strong shots and an immense desire to please himself like always, Octavian was submitted to alcohol effect. And mixing alcohol and testosterone is dangerous.

"Helen", he said, "I understand your sexuality, and I understand you want to leave through that door and never come back. But I also understand about a few other things that might interest you..." he paused.

She had her palms sliding against each other, the little rings almost cutting her skin from so much scratching. She had the courage of looking at him, and his eyes, of some color she couldn't quite know, were now black because of the absence of light. His face was curiously divided- one side darker, one side orange, from the lampshade's orange. His voice carried a bit of emotion and curiosity within pauses and wavy words. She felt curious too, to know what his mind would be thinking. After being rejected by a - lesbian - would a player of his kind have anything else to offer?

"After all this time we've spent together", Octavian said slowly, as if still processing the right way of spelling words. "If you are lesbian, you might know a lot of stuff with women. I have plenty of girl friends that might suit you well. They like crazy stuff, these ones I am thinking of... One of them lives near Haney Place, she wouldn't take 10 minutes to get here. So what do you say, Helen? What about experiencing a whole new... experience?"

Helen couldn't believe her ears. Was he... No! That was the most immoral, repugnant idea she had ever heard. Even in college... she was as pure as her mother, as pure as the purest of waters- married in early life, when youth and family were the base of her thoughts.

"You are a psychopath."

"I prefer creative."

"Goodbye!" She screamed, crashing the door shut behind her; and by doing so, leaving Octavian sink alone into his own bafflement. It was as if, instead of words, she had thrown hot lava onto his face. A lava that burned not outside but inside, into his masculinity.

Poor Oc, but who asked to be such a jerk?
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