HIM .. Joe Goldberg

SECURE

"DID YOU JUST compare me to Harley Quinn?"

"You're dedicated, aren't you?" Emily laughed. "He's your boy. Mr. J. Joe. Joker. Who could tell the difference?"

"Why would you even make the comparison?" I chuckled. Grey smoke surrounded us, Mira leaned into me as she looked at Emily with doting eyes.

"Because you'd do anything for him."

You break me from my memory when you grab my hip and lead me into your apartment. You stiffen at first, bite your lip. "I'm sorry if it's messy."

In truth, it wasn't. Your apartment is immaculate, the perfect middle class paradise that I could only except from you. There's a writing desk in the main room, beside a fair sized TV. There's a typewriter, obviously used by the overturned paper still propped inside. You're a writer, Joe? Do you write about me?

No ashtrays, no empty bottles. The living space is clean, not even a dish in the sink. I glance in your trash can. There isn't a single beer can. I love you more and more, I swear.

"Do you want anything to drink?" You offer as you brush passed me towards the small kitchen. I watch you open the refrigerator. "I have water. And, um...water."

I chuckle as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I can't imagine how awful I look—ruined makeup, puffy features. It's a miracle you can still look at me. "Water would be great, actually." I say, holding my purse against my chest. For the first time ever, I wish I could hide from you. You don't deserve to see me this hideous.

You reach over the sink into a square cabinet and take out two plastic cups, obviously the stolen residue of one of the tacky restaurants that seems to flood New York City. You open the fridge again and take out a Brita water pitcher. I can't help but smile a bit. Any other man I know would have just poured water directly from the sink, but you have a fancy Brita. You're classy as fuck, Joe. Holy shit, why can you still see me while I look like this? I'm so embarrassed, fuck. Pour that Brita on me, Joe, and hopefully I'll melt away like the Wicked Witch of the West. If not, I'm sure the sight of a wet T-shirt would distract you from how fucking ugly I am.

You approach me, arm outstretched with a glass of water. However, before I have a chance to reach out and grab it, you notice something on my cheek and frown. Your eyebrows pull together, your jaw ticks. I close my eyes and even my breathing and preparing myself to hear what a fucking mess I look like.

You do nothing of the sort, instead you carefully brush your thumb and forefinger against my cheek. I feel your breath fan against my face, the heat coming from the proximity of our bodies, only inches apart. When your fingers touch me, I feel electric just below my flesh, so powerful I'm confident you felt the shock as well.

Seconds that drew deliciously slow, enhancing my senses and liquefying my brain. I forget how ugly I am, shit I even forget about Hannah. All there is is you.

Your hand drops from my face too soon, and I open my eyes to look at you in puzzlement. You're staring down at your thumb. "You had an eyelash on your cheek."

I place the tips of my fingers where you just touched, only now I feel icy and banal and nothing of the howling ecstasy I just endured. I'm now taking to the fact that only you can inflict such emotions inside me, like a powerful force that wields complete influence over my being. You know which switches to flip, buttons that I didn't even know existed inside me become second nature for you to push. I am putty in your hands, Joe, absolutely desperate for your attention, let alone touch.

You look at me concerned. "Is everything alright with you, Brit?"

"What?" Other than the fact that my entire insides were just stunned with an unfounded type of arousal? Yeah, totally.

"I mean with Hannah and all, and before I came to the ice cream shop."

Oh, right. My best friend that I locked in her room and the angry cult leader that is sure to hunt me down.

I shrug and admit, "I could be better."

You sigh, like the prospect of hearing me unwell pained you, and led me to the couch in front of the TV. It's lumpy and colored an ugly dark green, it reminded me of something that belonged in the living room of a 90's sitcom. Nonetheless, I find peaceful refuge as I sit beside you and watch as you switch on the TV. I curl into your side, and you react by reaching an arm around me and draping your fingers over my curves, slowly running them down my rib cage and up the hill of my hipbone then back again. You begin switching through the channels before opening up Netflix.

"What do you like watching?" You ask.

"Anything, really."

You pause. "That doesn't help me at all."

I laugh. "Okay. I like anime, actually."

You chuckle and squeeze my hip. "I woulda never took you for a nerd."

"Hey!" I prop myself up and playfully bat you on the arm. You're laughing as you try to grab my wrist. "Anime is actually sorta cool, okay?"

"Oh, sure."

"Don't be sarcastic with me!" I grab the remote from your hands. "What about you, Mr. Goldberg? Since big anime titties seem to be a no."

"You're so gross," you snicker as you lightly push my shoulder. "I'm actually a man with class."

Oh, I know. I bit back a smirk.

"I like classic stuff, movies mostly. Stanley Kubrick, honestly anything 80's. However, 1996 Hamlet still proves to be the best movie of all time."

"Ew!" I squeal, burying my face in my hands. "With Kenneth Branagh? Omigosh, Joe!"

You're laughing with me and we're both acting stupid and hysterical and God Almighty, it feels so good to be so carefree. Laughter is a blessing after what feels like a century of crying and anguish. To be able to simply joke with someone without any fear or hesitance, to know that you can make no mistake when you're with them and that they feel just as comfortable as you are is above all. I never thought within all my short life I'd ever be able to live like this, not only free and without fear but also happy. Now that I know I can, I'll treasure it forever.

Suddenly, I look at my situation with Hannah in a new light. I needed to do what I did to secure this, Joe. To secure us. Don't you feel as happy as I do? You're laughing with me, tears beginning to dot your chocolate brown eyes, cheeks blushing red with joy. I dare you to tell me you wouldn't kill for this moment over and over, that you wouldn't fight against anything or anyone to ensure the best thing in life stays. People kill for their loves all the time, people do crazy shit just to stay content, because they know how cold and sad and angry the world is without it. Without their light. They need to protect it. You're my light, Joe. You always will be. Ever since I saw you on my porch I knew you were my angel from Heaven.

Hannah was an obstacle in our way, I see that clearly now. Hannah would have ripped us apart, Hannah would have tore you away and kept you for herself. The night we all watched a movie at my apartment, after our date, feels like an absolute nightmare compared to right now, as we laugh and make fun of each other and try to claim whose the bigger dork. You know what the difference between then and now is? Hannah isn't here.