The Lie

Unfortunately, I can’t beam proudly at her for too long because Winter comes trotting out of my bedroom with one of my shoes in his mouth.

“Oh, bloody hell,” I swear, reaching for him, but he bounds out of the way, tail wagging, and leaps onto the couch. When I give it another go, he at least drops the shoe and makes a break back to the bedroom. “I swear, sometimes I think the reason he was abandoned was because some gypsy put some shoe-eating curse on him.”

“Now that sounds like it could be quite the indie film.”

“It sounds like something Shia LaBeouf would produce.” I glance at my watch, wishing we had more time here. Truthfully I want to spend the night talking to her, looking at her, not sitting in silence in a cinema—especially while having to suffer through Tarantino’s ego for three hours. “I suppose we should get going.”

She grins mischievously, which only cements the fact that I wish we could just stay in. The spark in her eyes is making my blood run hot. “I love the look on your face right now,” she says.

“What look?”

She steps forward and taps her finger against my chin. “This one. The one that says you’re prepared to be tortured for the rest of the night.”

The movie won’t be the only thing torturing me, I think, so very tempted to take her finger into my mouth and playfully bite it. Even the slight touch of her fingertip to my skin feels hot and deadly.

I grab my leather jacket and give Winter a warning look before I usher him out of my bedroom and close the door. Then Natasha and I head out of the flat and into the night.

We walk side by side down Baker Street a few blocks to the Everyman Cinema, and with a little bit of time to kill, we order a drink at their bar while waiting for the film to start.

“What are you smiling at?” she asks, eyeing me over her drink.

“Am I smiling?” I ask, and I’m surprised to find that I am. We were just talking about how terrible the UK Netflix is. It’s pretty ridiculous that something so benign could have me so enthralled, bent on her every word and apparently smiling like an idiot.

I straighten up, reminding myself to stop acting like such a wanker. What was it that Melissa had called me? Lovesick? I didn’t quite agree with that at the time, and the memory of this afternoon puts a bitter taste in my mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha says, putting her hand on mine. “I didn’t mean to point it out like that. Please keep smiling. It makes me happy.”

The mention of her happiness eases the tension.

I put Melissa on the back burner.

We finish up our drinks and head to the concession stand, getting in line.

“Do you want the usual?” I ask her.

She grins at me. “Of course.”

I get us a large bucket of popcorn and a box of Maltesers and hand them to Natasha, who ceremoniously opens the candy and dumps them into the popcorn.

I shake my head, letting out a little laugh. It looks like the least appetizing thing, but I know from experience it tastes rather addicting.

“You love it,” she teases me.

“I do,” I admit. “Doesn’t really help my progress at the gym though.”

“Oh? Since when have you become Professor Vain?”

“Since I discovered how awesome I look.”

She rolls her eyes, but the way she draws her lip in between her teeth makes me think she’d like to see the evidence firsthand.

With that optimism, we head into the packed theatre. We manage to find a pair of seats together, on the aisle, and within moments the commercials and trailers start playing. There’s something so comforting to me about the cinema; it’s a place where I can truly relax and unwind. Maybe it’s the darkness or the smell of the popcorn and spilled soda, or the feel of the crowd around you, but as long as I can turn off the overanalyzing part of my brain, I’m swept away for two hours, entirely incognito.

But tonight, now, with her beside me, I can’t relax at all. I can’t turn off my brain. I don’t even know what is going on with the movie. The actors on screen are moving their lips, spouting some carefully crafted dialogue, but I don’t hear them.

I am completely, singularly, transfixed by her. Natasha. Sitting beside me in the darkness, our shoulders brushing against each other, the planes of her beautiful face lit up in swaths of silver. It’s like the most mesmerizing light show, changing with the shots in the film. I can’t look away, and I don’t want to.

She’s as enthralled with the film as I am with her, laughing at the dialogue, cringing at the violence, and I feel my heart swell inside me like a red balloon, pressing against my ribcage. It was fate that put her in my path, a chance to get something right that wasn’t right in the first place.

But why do I have such a foreboding sense of doom, buzzing like flies at the back of my head?

Because you don’t deserve to feel this way, I tell myself. Not after everything you’ve done.

I swallow the shame, refusing to feel it. Just once, just once, I want to be unshackled from my mistakes.

I want to be free.

I need to be brave.