CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR –
Chris’s POV
The night air held a brisk chill as Megan, and I emerged from the cafe.
We paused awkwardly on the sidewalk, a tension crackling between us after our weighty discussion.
I could feel the tips of my ears burning just being this close to her beauty and intensity.
“Well…” I started, immediately wanting to kick myself for sounding so feeble. Get it together, man. “I, uh, should let you get going then.”
Megan nodded, glancing away momentarily. “Sure, unless you had any other… relationship queries?”
There was that teasing lilt in her voice that always made my heart stutter. I felt a sheepish grin tugging at the corners of my mouth despite my nerves.
“N-No, I think we’ve pretty comprehensively covered the, uh, parameters of our understanding. For our understanding, I mean.” I cringed inwardly at my verbal stumbling. So much for sounding suave and unruffled.
But Megan simply arched an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk playing over those full lips that constantly drew my wandering stare like a magnet.
“I’ll try to have notes compiled for our next story meeting then,” she rejoined lightly. “Can’t have the lead writer unprepared when we start workshopping this ‘committed courtship’ narrative in earnest.”
I adjusted my glasses self-consciously, feeling each breath grow shallower under her teasing gaze.
“R-Right, of course. Wouldn’t want to portray anything less than steadfast professionalism through this… unorthodox collaboration.”
There, that sounded marginally smoother. Maybe I could still salvage a modicum of authorly dignity here before she dismissed me as a hopeless, babbling fanboy completely.
Megan’s expression softened fractionally as she studied me – making me feel both pierced and utterly transparent in the same heated instant.
“Well, I should get going,” she murmured at last, drawing away from the bubble of charged air between us. “But I’ll see you soon, Chris. We’re in this together, okay?”
I could only nod dumbly, too overwhelmed by the promise and acceptance burning through those whiskey-warm depths.
Then, just like that, Megan turned and strode off into the night with that effortless leonine grace that never failed to rob me of coherent thought.
I stood unmoving long after she’d vanished around the corner, lungs feeling too constricted to fully expand. So much for playing it cool in front of her – the sheer force of Megan’s presence short-circuited every synapse until I devolved into a stammering schoolboy all over again.
How was I meant to keep up even a veneer of leading man sangfroid through this pantomime when she disarmed me so utterly already?
Dragging a hand through my disheveled hair, I started the trudge back towards my apartment with a weary shake of my head. I needed to get a grip before this whole scenario spiraled completely out of my control.
……….
Shedding my jacket and toeing off my shoes, I tried to shake off the palpable tension crackling beneath my skin. The apartment felt overlarge and utterly silent after being immersed in Megan’s whirlwind orbit these last few hours.
I sprawled gracelessly on the sofa, already feeling the weight of isolation and self-recrimination crashing over me in waves despite her reassurances.
What was I thinking, volunteering us both for this increasingly complicated, ludicrous sham of a scheme? All under some misguided delusion that displaying stoic solidarity would convey noble romantic intent to Megan.
I snorted humorlessly to myself. As if I could even feign upholding that kind of suave, leading man archetype for more than five minutes around her without devolving into a mumbling, awkward mess once more.
My cheeks still flushed with embarrassment recalling every strangled attempt at casual rejoinders and dignified aloof prosaicness this evening. Each one only seemed to highlight how utterly disarmed and infatuated I became in Megan’s overwhelming presence.
Good Lord, I was like a virginal altar boy mooning over the very concept of pursuing intimacy with this fierce, radiant woman. Let alone realistically simulating any convincing courtship rituals befitting her staggering beauty and allure.
Just being tasked to compose approximations of amorous longing already felt tantamount to being waterboarded with erotic subtexts I could scarcely breathe around – let alone hoping to project with any coherent sincerity.
A clammy sweat beaded on my palms as shameful yearnings rose up unbidden at the very thought of portraying any sort of ardent lover in Megan’s orbit – let alone the torment of pantomiming any physical adulation.
She’d seen through me within seconds tonight just by invoking the mildly affectionate pet name “Mr. West.” The flustered heel spin in her immense wake seemed only inevitable after that.
How was I meant to maintain a facsimile of cool inscrutability when even the most mundane interactions disintegrated my composure to panicked incoherence?
My fingers drifted over the grooves in my knit sweater sleeve, outlining ellipses unconsciously in that self-soothing habit. I’d sworn off indulging these particular pathways years ago – the cycle leading to rabbit holes of obsessive projecting and self-loathing always proved more destructive than cathartic.
But in the wake of tonight, all bets seemed irrevocably off.
Here was yet another instance of allowing my reckless yearnings to overwhelm any rational safeguards or distanced aspirations to integrity on the page.
Now Megan and I were both signed, sealed and delivered into a Faustian Devil’s Bargain courting maximum humiliation and creative desecration with each future transgression.
A thick lump welled in my throat as my features contorted, half in muted self-disgust – half from the pangs erupting through my core like seismic shockwaves.
The prospect of subjecting our opus to mockery while indulging each undeniable facet of my all-consuming fixation stung with almost caustic intensity.
My hands instinctively fisted into the upholstery as if bracing for impact with crushing force.
But that wasn’t even the most mortifying inevitability rapidly crystallizing, was it?
No, far more devastating and ruinous loomed the inevitability of Megan herself glimpsing past this flimsy wallflower dweeb’s fragile facade soon enough.
Of ultimately recoiling in all-encompassing revulsion once the unvarnished truth about my rot and perversity seeped into the open at last.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be such an injustice for things to devolve down this penitent path after all, a forlorn voice echoed through the chasms howling inside.
To tear away every emblazoned scripted layer enshrouding my repressed hungers from their birthright at last: ruin and dissolution.
Let Megan bear witness first-hand to the pustulant underbelly lurking within this ostensibly noble literary acolyte who deluded himself into some passing fancy about transcendent aesthetics and soulful muses.
Until the entire charade inevitably collapsed under its own grotesque gravity – leaving nothing other than the cravenness all along.
Perhaps then the scales might rebalance, and I could begin chipping away at this priceless, unforgivable sin through ritual acts of public debasement.
My throat constricted with a torrent of emotions threatening to boil over.
I fought them back with what tattered vestiges of control remained, focusing on shallow breaths and envisioning pillars of light breaching the dimness surrounding me.
When it passed, I rose numbly – padding towards the study where I conducted my meditations and woodworking sessions to re-center.
Settling into a lotus position on the tatami mats, I prepared to lose myself in repetitions and focused breathing once more.
The cycle would begin anew, cleansing my spirit through each rigorous mental and physical repetition while striving for that elusive transcendence.
But by the time I slipped into a trance, the same sinking premonition had already resurfaced like a droning whisper through my subconscious mind:
That ultimate dissolution was not only inevitable…
But likely the only sincere penitence which could ultimately reunite me with my innermost dignity completely shattered tonight.