The Position by Mason Izzy

Author:Mason, Izzy [Mason, Izzy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Palm Tree Press
Published: 2014-12-02T08:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

It rains hard that night. I lie in the front seat of my old Subaru and watch the drops slap at the windshield and streak frantically down the glass. I’m wrapped in my sleeping bag and I feel safe and cozy. This may be the only place in the world where I feel that I’ve got things under control. Still, I can feel the darkness all around me and inside of me, too. People suck. All of them. The second you start to think otherwise, they’ll smack you on the back of the head.

I replay the moment in the bathroom over and over in my head. I’m angry at Travis. I feel totally let down. But it’s not the only thing I feel. I keep thinking of myself standing there, breasts exposed, my flat stomach, curvy hips. All of the parts I’ve hidden since puberty. Out in the open for a real live boy to see. A gorgeous boy, at that. And he liked it. I shiver in my sleeping bag and pull my head inside where it’s warm.

Hiding my body was the first thing I learned to do after puberty. Life was so chaotic at home. God knows I didn’t need to add sex to the mix. Not that I didn’t think about it. I thought about it a lot. But instead of joining my classmates at parties and football games, I hid behind my dorky glasses and loose clothes, burying my nose in a book and trying to disappear. Eventually, I forgot about my body completely.

I feel my own warm breath reflecting back against my skin in the sleeping bag. Something inside me feels different; it feels new. Travis saw me naked and he got a boner. I can give a guy a boner. The power in that is overwhelming. It fills me with a strange warmth and a confidence I’ve never known. That night I smolder quietly inside my sleeping bag until late in the night, when I fall asleep at last.

The next morning I dig through every stitch of clothing I own to discover what I already know: everything I have is frumpy. Still, I put something together and prop the mirror on the dashboard. When I sweep the mascara onto my lashes I let my eyes linger just a little longer than usual on my reflection. Maybe there’s someone worthy in there after all. Maybe.

I arrive at the office early and launch into my morning routine. The coffee is made, the calendar is noted, lists are made. I prep for the important meeting with a very wealthy Englishman who wants Lazarus to design a modern interior for his sprawling countryside estate. I set up the Skype call and fill a carafe of water in case Lazarus gets thirsty. By the time he arrives, more harried and disheveled than usual, everything is ready to go.

“Mickey,” he calls from his desk, running a hand through his weirdly messy hair. “Did you make the…”

I stride out of my office with the usual calendar printout and interject before he can finish.

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