I open my eyes for the second time and I am in Lloyd's bed, the sunray falling right on my face. I get up, hating the beam on my face. On the bedside table, there is a glass of water covered with a lid. My first boyfriend never covered the glass, even when it was full of water. He kept a glass of water before going to bed and whenever he was thirsty, he would drink from it. I would always tell him that some kind of insect could be in it, but he never listened.
At least, Lloyd is not like Andy (my ex).
I need to brush. Some people have spare toothbrushes at their place. I do not. But Lloyd might. I so dearly hope he has. I take a look at myself in the mirror. I slept with my clothes on, which I never do at home. I sleep naked, or with just a panty on. I do not like the feel of fabric against fabric. I like skin against fabric- like my naked body against the moist bedsheet.
I find not just one, but six new toothbrushes in Lloyd's bathroom. I choose a red one. He uses a prescribed toothpaste.
After brushing my teeth and freshening up, I go to the kitchen where Lloyd is staring intently at his phone screen, as if reading something. If my guess is correct, he is reading the news.
"Someone murdered?" I ask. I meant it as a joke, but the way he looks at me, for a moment, I think there truly has been a murder. Then, his face breaks into a smile as if I imagined the way he looked at me just a second ago.
"A road accident. A truck lost control and smashed into a car, killing a family of four- two kids, husband and wife."
"Okay."
"You are used to seeing violence, aren't you?" he observes.
"Reporting, not seeing," I say. "You see it much more often than me."
"Yeah, you're right. You report."
"I don't like the way you said it."
"I read an article you wrote. The way you write, sometimes it feels like you saw it happen firsthand."
"It's a talent, Mr. Wagner, which a good reporter must have."
"Do you consider yourself a good reporter, Ms. Bourn."
One of the best. I consider myself one of the best reporters out there. However, I do not say that. I only shrug.
"Let me make you some pancake. I got the batter ready."
I watched him making me pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes. I like plain pancakes or banana pancakes, but I do not tell him any of that. He might as well not know a few things about me.
Now that I think about it, he does not know a lot of things about me. He does not know what I did or what I am capable of. He has no idea what I am planning.
I wonder if he knows that I am using him the same way he is using me. I wonder if he cares.
"There you go." He hands me a plate with three fat pancakes. "The chocolate syrup is in the refrigerator. I suggest the caramel syrup though."
"No, thank you. I like mine without any of that," I say.
"Not even whipped cream?" he asks.
"Not even that."
"You are a weird one, Tasha," he says. "I don't mean it in any negative way."
"I know, Lloyd. You have to stop worrying about offending me. I am not that sensitive." Actually, I am that sensitive, but admitting it feels like I am showing my weakness to him. Besides, when you tell someone you are sensitive, they think you are going to cry at every little thing. And when there is an argument and you are upset, they would say- stop being so sensitive. I want to face none of those scenarios.
"But seriously though, you are different than all the women I dated before."
"How many?" I ask.
"What do you mean?"
"How many women did you date before me?" I think he has noticed that I basically confirmed we are dating.
"Three."
"Hm? Tell me about them." I sit down at the kitchen counter. I stab the pancakes with my fork and cut them with the knife. I take a bite. It was good, but not sweet at all. He did not add any sugar. Perhaps he thought I would take some kind of syrup with them.
"You really want to know that?"
"Sure. Why not?"
I thought he would look a little uncomfortable. But he does not. In fact, I think he is amused.
"So, my first girlfriend was when I was in high school. We dated for a while- say, six months. Then, I did not have a girlfriend for a few years. The second one was five years ago. It lasted seven months. And the last one was a year ago. That one lasted two months."
"Wow, Lloyd, you have shitty luck in dating, don't you?" I say, which brings a laugh out of him.
"Tell me about it."
I am glad though. Something about him having no luck with other women makes me feel better. I am the jealous type. If he said he had a 10-year relationship before meeting me, I do not think I would play this cat and mouse game with him anymore.
"Tell me about yours?"
"You are the profiler. You tell me about my past relationships," I say.
He observes me for a while. With him, I feel noticed all the time. I am not one to get so engrossed with someone, but honestly, I quite want this man to notice me and only me all the time.
"You don't have much experience in dating." I think that fact is way too obvious. "You had one or two relationships before, but not more than that. You prefer someone who is loyal and understanding."
"Gentle?"
"No, not exactly gentle. At least, not in bed."
"Now, I want to know how you guessed that."
"A secret of a profiler."
Liar. I know how he knows that. He read it in my diary that I had when I was in college. For some reason, perhaps I was horny or something, I wrote about my darkest desires there. I have no idea why I still did not throw it out. Now the FBI knows how I like to be fucked.
"So, tell me, Tasha, am I right?"
"Kind of. I had one boyfriend before and that was when I was sixteen."
"That's a long time ago. You didn't date anyone after that?" he asks. I can tell he is happy about it, although he is trying to hide it. I wonder if he somehow genuinely likes me, while also playing with me.
I shake my head. "Didn't have the time. In case you are wondering, it is not because my first and only relationship was abusive or traumatic. I truly did not have time or desire, to be honest." I had sex with a few men after that, but nothing serious. Although the relationship was Andy was a little rough (the sex was), he was not that terrible. That relationship did not affect any of my future choices.
"So, I'm your second boyfriend."
"Are we that serious already?" I ask, because someone has to. We have to put a label on what we are, or I will always be confused.
"I want to be that serious with you, Tasha. It's on you now."
I think for a while. He stares at me as if waiting for me to confirm something. I give him a small smile.
"I think I am your fourth girlfriend now."