Fascinating Villains

{9} - Phone Number

She lets go of my bracelet, exclaiming, "You're telling me! Everyone should just do as they please."

Cheryl raises up from the seat, swaying in her high heels towards the mini-fridge.

I choose against asking her if she is an anarchist and veer the discussion in another direction.

"Does that apply to gender roles?"

The woman picks a bottle of pre-mixed mojito from the cooling device, travelling back to the couch. She sits, getting close to me by crossing her right leg over her left, presumably by inadvertence. My former patient unexpectedly reaches beneath the hem of her crop top, fleetly pulling a switchblade out from God-knows-where. Startled, I watch her as she uses her pocketknife to tear the seal off the bottle and pop the cap out of its neck. Cheryl unceremoniously tosses the blade onto the low table next to us, drawing a copious amount of liquid from the bottle she recently opened. She slams it back down against her thigh once she's done.

"Roles, ha! I've never understood people's obsession with following the rules. What's up with all these arbitrary scripts, rules and restrictions, these expectations, these norms and constructs and ugh..!" She throws her head back in frustration, before recovering her previous position to keep going: "It's all so worthless and stupid! None of it matters, not really. And yet, people make such a big deal over it, like any of it changes anything... In the end, it just makes everyone suffer so much more."

A bitter laugh escapes from her throat, and I am genuinely shocked by the sudden depth I perceived as she began to speak more softly, yet rapidly, as her brows furrowed and her eyes twinkled angrily. I hear my cellphone buzz twice inside my pocket, ignoring it to test my interlocutor:

"Eventually, we all follow a norm or two, right?"

"Maybe you do. I mean, no offence, but even gender and all that is pretty messed up. It doesn't even make sense, it's all a bunch of dumb, meaningless words." The young woman leans forward and away from me, to pour some alcohol into my emptied water cup, whipping back against the couch's back to stare into my eyes. A mischievous grin splits her face in two, however her voice is both sultry and serious as she speaks. "Listen to this, Tanza, society is one big joke. Heck, life is one big joke. Who cares what rules we should or shouldn't be playing by? Cheating is way more fun, anyway. And it always gets you what you want."

I thoughtfully reply: "Maybe that works for you."

My phone vibrates again, but I stay focused on our conversation.

"In fact, it does. I hope my other comment didn't... Ruffle your feathers, as one might say." She shrugs to accompany her remark, ingenuously drinking a fair amount of more mojito mix.

"Of course not," I begin, slightly uncomfortable to be discussing this subject with her. I continue, talking faster than I usually do, nearly spluttering. "Gender is a social construct, and I agree that it's ridiculous. I'm non-binary for a reason."

I cannot remember the last time I spoke of my identity with someone without having to justify myself or hold back my tears, along with a wild wish of just making them understand. Somehow, even though I feel inexplicably embarrassed, she is smiling at me. And not a mocking, condescending, "you're going to Hell, child, better pray" smile. A gentle one. A smile of understanding I have rarely witnessed before.

She picks my glass up and hands it to me. After I accept it, she clinks her bottle of liquor against it, toasting joyfully: "To doing whatever we want! And being who we are."

Cheryl winks at me and, then, proceeds to - more or less silently - slurp down the last of the receptacle's contents.

I barely dip my tongue into the light green beverage, swallow my saliva and the few drops of it hastily, then put it back down. I pull my cellphone out of my jeans' back pocket, furtively entering my PIN code and pressing on my messaging app. The four notifications are messages from my coworkers. Three from Colin and one from Leah.