Better to stay. Mentally repeating that a few more times, I get up and drag myself out of my room.
The TV is on, its volume low. An old Bond flick with Sean Connery is playing on the flat screen.
Bennie is parked on the couch. His neatly cropped brown hair is streaked with magenta, the color a sign of his rebellion against the ultra-staid administrators at his high school. Left to his own devices, he’d have longer hair with jagged edges, but the conservative Japanese prefer that he be more mainstream and clean-cut. The girls in his classes swoon over his dark brown eyes and chiseled looks, but they don’t know he has zero interest in women. Bennie isn’t leading-man handsome, but he is charming with a crooked half-smile and animated manners.
His pedicured feet bare, he is dressed in a pale gray long-sleeved cotton shirt and artfully frayed blue jeans that show off his body. He works out regularly to maintain his physique. In his hands is a phone. He’s busy texting, probably planning something for tonight.
“Hey. I got you an onigiri from 7-Eleven in case you were hungry,” he says, barely turning my way. His eyes briefly flick to the screen where Connery is beating the crap out of some bad guys.
“Thanks.” I go to the kitchen—just big enough for one person—and grab the triangle-shaped rice ball wrapped in a sheet of black seaweed. He got me the salmon one, which is my favorite. I take a bottle of sports drink from the fridge and sit next to him on the hand-me-down couch we got from an expat who was returning home.
“How was the trip?” Bennie asks, eyeing my wrinkled shirt and jeans.
“I’m…” I frown. “I don’t know. I saw Lucas.”
His eyes widen until it seems like they take up most of his face. “You saw who?”
Bennie knows plenty about Lucas since he was the one who patted my shoulders as I hunched over and cried my eyes out. He also has very strong opinions about Lucas now.
“Lucas.” I don’t bother to call him an “ex.” That’s reserved for men who I had real relationships with. “The guy from my fourth year at UVA.” I unwrap the food and start nibbling on it.
“Yeah, I remember. The guy who gave you the car. He’s here?”
“Chiang Mai. He was, uh, on my flight.”
His mouth hangs open. “Flying economy?”
I shake my head and give Bennie a condensed summary of how Lucas basically kidnapped me so we could “talk”.
“Wow. Two years later and he wants to have a conversation?” Bennie snorts.
“I don’t know what he wants. Closure, maybe? He freaked me out for a moment when he said I took something from him, but he didn’t bring it up again.”
“Holy shit.” Bennie lowers his voice. “Do you think he knows?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t get that vibe.”
“Or maybe he doesn’t care. I mean, you think he might, but given the kind of man he is, he might be relieved you didn’t try to involve him or get any kind of financial support.”
My nails dig into my palms. “I’d rather die than take a penny from him.” Especially after his brother accused me of being a gold digger.
“You go, girl,” Bennie says. “Besides, who trusts a man who shows up after two years to talk? He can’t be up to any good.”
“I know, right? He even tried to make it sound like being photographed with that Faye woman was for my benefit.” I give him the gist.
“Oh my god. So typical. Bullshit with a capital B to gloss over all the things he did wrong and make you feel like shit for dumping him…when really you were totally justified in doing it! I saw Dad do that to Mom time after time. But no matter how horribly he hurt her, she could never leave him. It’s just”—he sighs, deflating slightly—“frustrating.”
I reach out and pat his hand. Bennie is continually upset about his parents. His father was quick to anger, alcohol an accelerant to his temper, and he swung his fists indiscriminately when he got mad. I was there one time when he sprained his hand. Not being able to make a fist, he used his feet.
But the day after… He was always such a gentleman the day after. It amazed me that he could be so…nice and apologetic.
“A punch isn’t the only thing that can hurt,” Bennie says. “There are other ways to inflict pain. They don’t leave any bruises, but they hurt more because they don’t heal as fast…or as completely.”
“I know,” I whisper.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. I feel responsible,” Bennie mutters, shoving fingers into his messy brown hair. “If it hadn’t been for me egging you on, you wouldn’t have slept with him.”
I flinch with shock. “That is so not true.”