Suspended in Time Part IV
I don’t think he was expecting that. He looked slightly crestfallen but only for a moment.
“Now, why is that?” He slowly enunciated the words slowly, eyes focusing a little too much on me. That’s what I fund frustrating about myself; I never knew what I wanted. Did I want to bolt, or stay a little too long?
“It makes sense,” I tried to reason and hide how I really felt, “we’re only here until the food is gone from the plates and the bill is paid.”
He quirked an eyebrow in response but said nothing for a minute.
“In that case, what are you going to call me?”
Slightly relieved, I tried focusing on what to call him.
“I’m not sure just yet,” I took his purple hair in, “But maybe if you tell me the story behind the purple hair, I might be able to decide on it.”
“I thought since you suggested the condition you would’ve already had a name for me,” he teased.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I told him. He raised his hands in a gesture of defeat.
“If I start giving you stories about myself it’ll defeat the purpose of what you’re trying to do here.”
“Oh, and what might that be?”
“You don’t think you’re ever going to see me again. Maybe a part of you is wondering why you’re even doing this, but you’re probably lonely. You want to have a good time. You also know it won’t last that long so you don’t want to go looking for it,” he paused to take a breath, looking at me to gauge my reaction, “It’s better if you draw some necessary boundaries. If you don’t know my name and I, yours, we’re less likely to seek each other out after…whatever this is.”
I was dumbstruck.
He was either incredibly intuitive or he had somehow wormed his way into my head within ten minutes of having been in my company. I was willing to bet on the former, but the latter seemed ridiculously probable in the current state he’d left me.
“Adam. That’s what I’m calling you, given the-” I gestured towards his hair.
“You too a look at my hair just to call me Adam?”
“Makes me think of Adam Lambert for some reason, although, you’re missing some of the eyeliner.”
“I’ll call you Lana,” he motioned with a finger to stop me just as I opened my mouth to ask, “because I can almost hear Ultraviolence playing in the background.”
“I don’t think I look like her,” I objected, not that I minded. Lana Del Rey was a beautiful woman.
“It’s just something I thought of. We could always refer to each other by our real names, if you so please…”
“Adam is a real name,” my stubbornness knew no bounds. He was absolutely right. I was already having a bit of a good time, or as good as it would’ve gotten tonight, and I refused to let myself wallow once it ended.
