Exit Wounds

04 | cool girl

F O U R

NEW YORK CITY, NY

          Sometimes I think about what would happen if I threw all carefulness and worries about my reputation and state of mental health aside and just hooked up with Nick.

          My whole life has been spent living in a gray area, occasionally slipping to either side of a tightrope, but there's always been a clear line to me. The moment I stop thinking about that line, the moment I cross it and do something I've been holding back from is the moment of no return. I've only crossed one of those lines once, back when I decided to leave California, and I've forced myself to never look back, fully aware there's no going back to that.

          Things with Nick have always been somewhat complicated.

          Ever since his last relationship ended, after everything they'd been through—PR stunts, publicity scandals, Broadway drama, show choir drama (one would assume losing your last championship to a previously disbanded group, your biggest rival, would turn into a nasty notch in your reputation—I know he isn't interested in relationships. He's merely a year younger than me, but, as someone who constantly makes a big fucking deal of age gaps, I closed that door early on after I first met him. Realistically, it's not that big of a difference to most people, and I know it's not the age difference itself that irks me, but it's the best way of explaining it.

          He's far more well known than I am, even outside of the theater circle, and I only have a few small projects to my name, so one could argue it's the industry power imbalance that makes my skin crawl, and that's a thought I have to shoot down quickly.

          I don't do relationships, either, and casually hooking up with what's probably my only friend in this city is far from being the wisest choice to make. I don't think he looks at me that way, anyway, and it's probably something I'd be offended by if I were any other person, considering how much time and effort Sadie and I devote to making myself desirable to men, so we've fallen into a comfortable dynamic. I'm supposed to be the cool girl, after all.

          Nick doesn't require too much work. We're both like cats, reaching out whenever we need something, then vanishing for days at a time to mind our own business. He doesn't pry, doesn't demand anything from me I can't give him, and he can cook well enough to ensure I'm nourished when I forget to do it myself.

          I don't want to ruin what we have by willingly misreading the signals he's giving me, but I get lonely sometimes.

          It's exhausting coming home to a cold bed at the end of a long day of work, knowing there's no one in there waiting for me—in a good way; Sadie still remembers the stalking incident from last year—and no one to talk to. Sadie is by my side so often I can't breathe without her knowing about it, so there's never anything new to share with her. I could talk to her about my family and my Californian past, the one thing she doesn't know about me, but, since she's flying with me, it's only a matter of time before she fills herself in. I'd hate to bother her with information that contradicts the brand she's created for me, and I'm better off ruining my own life without dragging her to the eye of the hurricane.

          "You really didn't need to walk me home," I tell Nick, leaning my back against the glass doors of my apartment building. The lights are still on inside, with people sitting in the reception area, and they can see us if they look our way, so I try my damn hardest not to make any sudden moves. Nick has been here before, but I don't want it to lead to unnecessary speculation, especially on the night before I leave. "I could've gotten an Uber, or something."