There are two things that the world cares about: death and passion.
Go ahead and list off anything you think people are invested in – I guarantee they can be linked back to one of those two.
It was pure passion that was the driving force between Ben and me. Not love or caring. Not to say neither of us cared about the other at all, but that wasn’t why we were together. Maybe to some level there was curiosity there too, or at least on my side. Ben was sure he understood me. He said he knew how I worked and what pushed me. Occasionally I told him that he didn’t know me as well as he thought he did, but he always brushed it off so I had stopped trying to get it through to him.
You can’t push much past an ego.
The difference between us was that I had no delusions about what parts of him I understood and what I didn’t, despite his constant protest that I didn’t know him at all. I probably knew things about him that
he was ignorant of.
The first of these things was that he had some baggage that terrified me.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“I’m over it.”
“You’re making too big a deal out of it.”
He would throw out brush-off after brush-off if I dared to bring it up. When he didn’t get angry, anyway. He rarely told me anything about before I met him. I knew small bits of an issue with Kat and Peter, and something about his family, and something further about some girl from his hometown.
But details were few and far between.
No one ever seemed keen to tell, and I was too nervous to really ask further.
At this particular moment in time, he had me backed against his bedroom wall, hands against what he always referred to as my “cute round ass,” pulling me up to him roughly. Sex was our weekly ritual. Occasionally we would get together at other times, but it was always a given that I was going home with him after the circle’s Friday night at the club. I’m not really sure many of them noticed, though Kat was most likely observant enough to know something was happening. She never really said anything.
