The wind whips my hair into a frenzy as Portia’s BMW convertible tears down the highway, the engine purring like a contented predator. I sink lower into the plush leather seat, acutely aware of how out of place I look in this car. My depressive confidence, that weird, numb shield I hid behind earlier, evaporates the moment we hit sixty miles per hour.
“You seem uncomfortable,” Portia shouts over the roar of wind, her purple hair dancing wildly around her face. “Is this your first time in a convertible?”
I nod, not trusting my voice to carry over the noise. The truth is, I’ve never been in any car this nice. My hand hovers uncertainly over the center console, afraid to touch anything.
“How did you meet Ashley?” Portia asks suddenly, her amber eyes flicking to me briefly before returning to the road.
The question catches me off guard. I have to lean closer to hear her properly over the wind.
“We grew up next door to each other,” I shout back.
Portia nods, her expression unreadable behind her designer sunglasses. “Childhood sweethearts, then? That’s so... quaint.”
“So how did you two start dating?”
I hesitate, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my hoodie. “I asked her out.”
Portia’s eyebrow arches above her sunglasses. “Really? And you’re in love with her?” There’s something in her tone, a challenge, that makes my stomach tighten.
“I already told you I am,” I reply, my voice coming out more defensive than I intended.
“Mhm.”
We sit in silence for a while. The highway stretches out before us, endless and intimidating. I watch the trees blur past, trying to ignore the growing knot in my stomach
“Vincent,” Portia says suddenly, her voice cutting through my thoughts. “If you could have one thing in the entire world, what would it be?”
I hesitate, my throat tightening. “I don’t kno...”
“No, no,” Portia interrupts before I can even finish the thought, waving one hand dismissively while keeping the other on the wheel. “Think about it. Come on, quickly. What do you want?”
The pressure in her voice makes my chest constrict. I hate this. I hate being put on the spot, being forced to expose something raw and honest when I’m barely holding myself together.
“I don’t want to play this game,” I snap, pulling my arms tighter around myself.
Portia glances at me, and despite the sunglasses hiding her eyes, I can see the smile spreading across her face. It’s warm, encouraging, almost maternal in a way that completely disarms me.
“Come on,” she says softly, her voice somehow cutting through the wind. “Blurt it out. First gut reaction. Don’t think, just answer.”
Something about that smile, that gentle insistence, cracks through every defense I’ve spent the last week building. My mouth opens before my brain can stop it.
“A friend,” I say.
The words hang in the air between us, pathetic and vulnerable. My face burns with embarrassment, and I turn away to stare at the passing landscape, wishing I could dissolve into the leather seat.
“Isn’t Ashley your friend?” Portia asks.
I sigh, long and deep, the sound getting whipped away by the wind. My chest feels hollow, scraped out. “Do you really care?”
“People as broken as you don’t just come around. You fascinate me, Vincent. Nothing is adding up and it’s killing me.”
My fingers dig into the leather seat. “Ashley and I...” I swallow hard. “It’s complicated.”
“Mhm.” The sound she makes is knowing, almost satisfied. “Is that why you got in my car? Since I said it might make her jealous?”
The truth sits heavy on my tongue. “I doubt she’ll be jealous.”
“Why not?” Portia’s voice sharpens with curiosity.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mutter.
Portia shakes her head, and I can hear the exasperation in her voice even over the wind. “So cryptic.”
“Just let it go,” I say, my voice flat and final.
She doesn’t push further, and I’m grateful for the silence that follows. The engine’s purr becomes a soothing white noise as we exit the highway, winding through streets that get progressively nicer until we’re pulling up in front of a sleek apartment building that looks like it belongs in a magazine spread. All glass and steel, the kind of place where the doorman probably makes more than my mom.
Portia kills the engine, and the sudden quiet feels oppressive. She turns to me, pulling off her sunglasses.
“If I offered to take you upstairs and sleep with you to get one over on Ashley,” she says slowly, deliberately, “would you do it?”
My phone buzzes in my pocket before I can even process the question. The vibration feels like it’s rattling my entire skeleton.
I pull it out with shaking hands, and the screen lights up with Ashley’s name. A string of emojis fills the notification. Hearts, fire, celebration hands, followed by text in all caps:
‘I DID IT! I FOUND THEM AND SET IT UP WITH THEM!! THIS SATURDAY!! I GET TO FUCK DANTE AND YOU GET TO FUCK CAROLINE!! ALL THAT HARD WORK PAID OFF!!’
The words blur as I stare at them. This Saturday. It’s happening. Everything we’ve been working toward, everything we’ve been practicing for. I should feel excited. Triumphant. This is what I wanted, right? Caroline. Finally.
But all I feel is this crushing weight in my chest, like someone’s sitting on my ribcage. I’m losing her again. I’m losing Ashley. The real Ashley, the one who laughs at my stupid jokes and falls asleep on my shoulder and makes those little sounds when she…
I blink hard, forcing the tears back before they can fall. My throat feels like it’s closing up. I take a deep, shuddering breath, then another, pushing everything down, down, down until it’s buried so deep I can pretend it doesn’t exist.
My fingers feel numb as I type back: ‘Sounds good.’
The response is immediate: ‘I’ll give you his address once I get it’
I don’t respond. I can’t. I just stare at the screen until it goes dark, my own hollow reflection staring back at me.
“Is that Ashley?”
Portia’s voice cuts through the fog in my head. I still can’t make myself look at her.
“What the hell did she say to you?” Portia’s voice has lost all its usual playful edge. There’s something almost sharp in it now, concerned maybe. “You look even worse than you did at lunch.”
My throat works, but no sound comes out. I try to swallow, try to force my lungs to take in air properly, but everything feels wrong. Too tight. Too heavy. Like I’m drowning in open air.
“Vincent?” Her hand touches my shoulder, and I flinch. “Hey, talk to me.”
“It’s nothing,” I finally manage, my voice coming out strangled and wrong. “She just... we’re meeting up with some people on Saturday. That’s all.”
Portia’s hand suddenly grabs my chin, her fingers firm but not painful as she forces me to look at her. Those amber eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“Vincent,” she says, her voice losing all its usual playful edge. “Tell me what’s bothering you. Let me help you.”
For a moment, I actually consider it. The words are right there, pressing against my teeth, desperate to spill out. I want to tell her everything. About the arrangement, about practicing with Ashley, about how I’m terrified of losing the only real connection I’ve had in years, about how Saturday is supposed to be my dream come true but feels more like a fucking funeral.
I just want to dump all of this onto someone. Anyone.
But then reality crashes back in.
“I don’t trust you,” I say, pulling away from her touch. My voice comes out harsher than I mean it to. “You’re rich, and you treat everything like it’s a fun little game. I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
I fumble for the door handle, my fingers clumsy with panic. I need to get out. I need air.
Her hand shoots out and grabs my wrist before I can open the door.
“Stop!” She says as a command.
I freeze, staring at her fingers wrapped around my wrist.
“Have sex with me,” she says.
My brain short-circuits. “Why?”
“Because I want you.”
“No you don’t,” I say flatly.
“I told you I want to fix you,” Portia insists, and there’s something almost desperate in her voice now.
“That’s not something you can do with sex.”
She leans closer with each word she speaks, her face moving toward mine until I can feel her breath on my lips. “No,” she says, her voice dropping to barely above a whisper. “But if we have sex then I can make you mine and once you’re mine then I can fix you.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. Her lips are right there, close enough that I can see the perfect line where her lipstick ends.
“Don’t you want to stop being so fucking lonely?” she whispers.
The words hit me like a physical blow. My breath catches in my throat because yes, god yes, I want that more than anything. I’m so tired of being alone, of watching everyone else have connections while I drift through life like a ghost.
“Let me be your friend.”
I open my mouth to respond…
Portia closes the distance between us, her lips crashing against mine with surprising force. The kiss is deep, demanding, nothing like the tentative exploration Ashley and I fumbled through that first time. Portia’s hand moves from my wrist to the back of my neck, her fingers tangling in my hair as she pulls me closer.
My resistance crumbles. I let go.
I kiss her back.
My hands find her waist, pulling her closer across the center console. She tastes like mint.
Portia makes a satisfied sound in the back of her throat, her fingers tightening in my hair. The slight pain grounds me, pulls me further out of my head and into my body. Into this moment where I don’t have to think about Saturday or Ashley or Caroline or any of the mess I’ve made of everything.
For just a moment, I let myself pretend that someone actually wants me.