Unworthy Of Love (BXB)

23. The Aftermath

"Raven, talk to me," I say. "This is getting weird. Just say something."

I glance at him, unwilling to take my eyes off the road for too long. He's still sitting with his head rested against the window, gazing at the night highway illuminated by the street lights and topped by the black cloudless sky. He's been quiet since his brief encounter with Jared. He's allowed me to usher him back to the car without a single word, buckled in when told to, but ignored all my attempts at conversations.

At first, I assumed he just needed some time to digest the events of the evening, but now his state is beginning to bother me. He's never struck me as a particularly stable person. Could the emotions of tonight have unhinged him even more?

On the other hand, how much of a shock could an encounter with a washed-out rock band be?

"Come on," I say. "If you don't talk to me now, I will pull over and pour cold water on your head. I have to make sure you're all right."

"Threats," he mutters. "It's always threats with you."

I let out a relieved chuckle. "Nothing else works on you." He doesn't reply, so I keep quiet for a minute or two before saying: "By the way, I forgot to take a picture of you with Jared. Everything happened too fast."

I wanted to get this off my chest since the moment I've realized my mistake, when the car with the band was already driving away. I half expect fury and complaints, but it seems that in his current state, he can only produce a very subdued version of his usual reactions.

"It doesn't matter," he says quietly. "I was there. I saw the show. I actually met them." He stretches out his right hand, peering at it as if it was some rare artifact. "He shook my hand," he says slowly. "He wrote all his hits with that hand. He plays his guitar with that hand."

I can think of a couple more things, way less glamorous, that Jared is surely doing with that magic hand of his, but I keep it to myself.

"Yeah, that's cool," I say instead.

"It's more than cool," he says in the same slow, dreamy tone. "It's the happiest day of my life. Like, nothing ever came close."

"Well, that's..." I'm not sure how to react to this. "That's okay, I guess."

He chuckles. "You so have a way with words."

I smile, relieved to hear his sarcasm returning. "I'm multi-talented."

I glance to find him smiling back at me. I return my eyes to the road, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.

"What?" I say.

"Thank you," he says.

I hum, surprised. He's actually never said that before, even though since I've given him the tickets he's been showing his gratitude in all kinds of indirect ways, ranging from good behavior to offers of blowjobs. I'm waiting for him to add some of his characteristic jokes or stingy remarks, but 'thank you' hangs alone in the air, and it seems like that's all he wanted to say.

"You're welcome."

I feel his eyes on me, but I make sure to keep mine on the road. It feels like something is different about him. Like if I look at him now, I might see the real him, without his usual shield of sarcasm and defiance, and somehow that would be even more intimate than what has happened between us at the show. I'm not sure I'm ready for it. The barriers he's created around him have been protecting both of us, I guess. Without them, I might, perhaps...like him a bit more that I'm comfortable with?

"Uhm, look," I say, desperate to break the silence. "I was thinking...I have a game on Tuesday. Would you like to come see it?"

"To see you play? Sure, I'd love to."

"Do you like baseball?"

"I don't know shit about baseball. I like you, though."

I clear my throat. "Uhm, great, but it's going to be about baseball, not me, all right? Perhaps I should explain you a couple of things so that you would understand the game."

"Fine," he says. "Could I get a couple of pom poms and do some cheer-leading?"

I shudder at the thought. "No, if you intend to do that, you absolutely can't come."

"All right," he says. "No pom poms. I'll just sit there nicely and watch the game."

"Yeah, that's how it usually works."

"Cool," he says, and then we're quiet again.

I keep on driving in silence, vaguely aware of the warm cozy feeling inside my chest, and after a while, I become aware that I'm smiling, too, although I can't quite tell why.

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