“Jesus, you’re even aroused by it,” he scoffed.
He was right; sort of. “I’m not aroused by all of it; just certain aspects,” she clarified.
He stared at her with the unblinking gaze of a hawk focused on its prey. “Like the fact that I fucked a man?”
He had fucked a man. His unapologetic tone was arousing. She casually shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at the good-looking man. “We all have our turn-ons.”
“We certainly do,” he agreed, the desire evident in his deep voice.
The man at the bar caught her staring and she turned her attention back to Victor. “Would you do it again? Be with a man?”
“Do you want me to?” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Only if you let me watch.”
He rolled his eyes and looked away, directing his focus onto the older gentleman who was now watching them both. Victor scanned the stranger head-to-toe and gave a quick nod in his direction, shooting him a flirty smile in the process.
"Yes, he's good-looking, but he's not really my type,” his eyes met hers, dashing her hopes of seeing some male-on-male action.
"What is your type?" she swirled the alcohol-free beverage around in the glass.
He swept the hair off her forehead. "You."
"I mean in a man,” she pressed as she brought her drink to her lips.
"Holy fuck, I don't know,” he sighed loudly. “I never know until I see it. The same goes for women. It's not like I have a checklist."
"You know. You’re too systematic in your ways not to have some kind of mental catalog of qualities you seek in a Chapter. "
His expression and tone became exasperated as if he was irritated that she knew him so well. "Fine. If you must know: I like someone who's easily manipulated. A person in denial about who they are. Someone who needs rescuing from themselves."
"So someone like you."
Suddenly defensive, his response came out clipped, "You think I’m easily manipulated?”
She stuttered, “I didn’t mean…” but he angrily cut her off before she could retract her statement.
“When did you get a psychology degree?"
"I don't need a degree to see what’s blatantly obvious,” she spoke softly but with purpose.
His stance shifted into one of a man going into battle and Elsa knew she had pushed a hot button. "One round with me and a peek inside my brain, and you think you have what it takes to dissect someone?"
"I would never presume to know all that you do about the human psyche, but if you can't recognize your own flaws and issues, then that PhD of yours isn't doing you a whole helluva lot of good."
"My issues, as you call them, are only blatantly obvious to you because you stuck your nose in shit you shouldn’t have and asked questions that were better left unsaid. As far as me and everyone else is concerned, I’m just a high-functioning asshole with a degree in criminal psychology.”
Her jaw gaped as she stared at him. His arrogance and denial about himself was physically painful and repugnant to watch.
“You think you can do my job?” his eyes raked over her body. “Then by all means, do it."
"Stop assuming you know my intentions. I never said I could do your job. Not many can. The awful things you've seen, the terrible sadness you've had to deal with... I could never... It takes a special person to take on that responsibility. "
His cynicism waned and his hardened features softened. "Or just fucked up."
"Maybe a little of both." Pushing her drink away, she eyed the scuffed toes of her high heels under the table.
Why did it always have to be like this? Couldn't Victor just tell Mr. Black to screw off for one night so they could enjoy the evening? Frustrated and disheartened, she picked at a piece of lint on his tie. "I've lost my appetite. If you're planning on doing something dreadful to me, then let’s go home and get it over with."
A look of distress followed by guilt washed over him. “Now who’s presuming to know intentions?”
***
An abrupt change of subject was needed. After everything Victor had shared, he wasn’t in the mood for any more drama. “Your birthday is coming up,” he reached across the table and touched the top of Elsa’s hand.
She immediately relaxed but puckered her mouth. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“Thirty is a milestone. Aren’t you excited?”
Her eyes zoomed in on the movement of his fingers caressing the flesh of her hand. “Not really. It’s just another day.”
“Are you afraid of getting older?”
The psychologist in him had always found it interesting how people dreaded their eventual demise. As shitty as things were for him, he welcomed his eventual passing into, hopefully, a happier realm. The only fear he had about growing older was becoming a burden on society. The thought of someone wiping his ass for him, feeding him, taking care of him because he couldn’t perform the basic tasks of life would be like a mental death sentence.
Burden on society. Like his worthless father. Although, he was a burden for a completely different reason.
“Not of getting older,” she pulled her hand out of from under his and glanced around the bar.
She left her unfinished response hanging in the air.
“Then, what? Of being alone?” he dared to ask.
Her eyes shot back to his. “Everyone is afraid of being alone,” she whispered in response.
It was telling that she always answered his questions sideways; never really answering them directly nor revealing too much. She had learned to play his game well. “Not everyone, Elsa. Some people relish their independence.”
He was trying to convince himself of his own statement, but he knew it was total bullshit. He sure as hell didn’t want to face a life filled with loneliness.
“Being independent and being alone isn’t the same thing. Someone can be independent and still want someone to share their life with.”
Something far back in her eyes darkened. Her expression, too. Sadness. But why? She had someone. Fucking Nathan, Goddamn, Duncan. She wouldn’t be alone.
Quickly becoming irritated with the thought of her spending her life with a man who didn’t deserve her love, Mr. Black kicked into high-gear, plotting out his next course of action. It was a wicked plan, but Victor swiftly cut him short and added his own personal touch. It would be her birthday, after all, and no one, should have to go through the kinds of birthdays he had endured.
12: A Gift
Four days of planning is all it took to pull things together for Elsa’s birthday. Surprisingly, Victor had found the actual planning of it, cathartic. In the moments that he would get frustrated with work, he would pick up where he left off to ease his tension.
He had kept his distance during those four days, feeling the need to separate himself from her. After the last Q&A, Mr. Black had harshly pointed out that he was getting too emotionally attached to her. And he was. However, his feelings were stemming from the personal nature of what he was telling her and nothing more.
Emotional detachment disorder.
He had read about it in textbooks; written endless essays on it and even witnessed it directly when interviewing suspects and convicted criminals. It was a subject that hit close to home for him. He had diagnosed himself with an attachment disorder his last year in post grad school. Thinking back, he had been in denial up to that point, always wondering why he could never form normal friendships or why he wouldn’t allow people into his life on a personal level. His failure to form a normal relationship to his mother in early childhood resulted in problematic social expectations and behaviors. It wasn’t pretty, but it was his reality and the aftermath of neglect and abuse he had endured as a child. If he had dared admit his past to any physician or psychologist, he had no doubt they would’ve concurred with his analysis.