I cannot convince him to stay. I am not sure if seeing him hurts more than it helps. He has done a complete 90-degree turn on me. He has betrayed everything that we represented together. When the party is over, after what feels like just a polite hug, he is gone again.
I thank Connie and Frank for the party and tell them I want to be alone for awhile. I can tell they are worried about me, but they don't stop me. They can't anyway. I am eighteen now, and I go outside for a walk. Alone.
As I am walking, I feel the tears well up in my eyes.
"Are you all right?" I hear a voice say.
A young guy, maybe twenty, is now walking beside me.
"I'm fine."
"Do you need someone to talk to?" It is clear he is just another New York City guy trying to pick me up.
"I don't really want to talk about it."
"That's cool. "
I notice he is wearing paint-splattered jeans.
"Are you another artist or something? Seems like everybody is around here," I say.
He tells me he is a painter and studies at the Art Students League. It doesn't really matter what he says. I don't believe him. Suddenly I no longer care.
I bring him to Connie's apartment and I know I am putting both Connie, Frank, and myself in dangeR by doing so. But I also know there is no longer such a thing as being safe.
When I bring him into my small bedroom in Connie's apartment, he is quite shy, but I can tell he is anticipating sex, and I am the one who is the aggressor. I unbutton his shirt, he undoes mine. And before long we are naked, and then he tells me that he has a condom in his wallet. I tell him to go get it while gripping the sheets so as to cover my naked body.
And now as we are doing it, I don't have any visions like I used to. There are no heavenly visitations. Just the sound of the faucet in the bathroom dripping. Just his quiet breath, and his scent which is so unlike Blake's. I cannot specify the aftershave this young stranger is wearing, but it is both pleasant and yet foreign.
Everything feels so real and normal and grounded. I hear the honk of horns outside. The house phone rings, and nobody answers. And then my cell phone rings as if on cue and I practically fall out of bed in hopes of Blake's call so that he can tell me he has changed his mind.
But there is nobody on the other line.
I can't remember the name of the boy, and I don't plan on ever seeing him again. But at least he leaves peacefully and I am not found slain in my bed. I just want to be close to somebody tonight.
I just want to get to the feeling I am searching for, the feeling of immortality, of everlasting bliss, but I can't for the life of me find it anymore.
End of novel
Ivan Jenson
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Billie Girl
Mystery / Thriller17 year old Billie is a quirky girl who is super proud to be a virgin. She is in love with a troubled young poet named Blake. She walks with him after dark, defiant in the face of a killer loose on the streets. To them, inviting death is positively...
