Petty Little Barb

Her carefully phrased questions weren’t really questions at all, only spotlights meant to draw attention away from herself and onto him. She was a master at casting the focus onto someone, anyone, else and he happened to mosey along right when she needed him most.

            Between bouts of dangerous inquiry and careless game she managed to coax most of his life’s story from him in an incredibly effective strategical move. New queries formed and fired in rapid succession, each untimed but inevitable just the same. He never stood a chance, poor cub.
He knew it too and he knew she knew he knew. But, still, the unease and perversity of the situation seemed to draw and hold him. With each answered question his mind recoiled in detached horror, passively seeing and knowing, but not being able to stop the train wreck. True, most were throwaway subjects, safe discussion triggers that only served to lead him into the more dangerous topics. But as he followed diligently, quipping back as fast as she could toss them out, he felt as though he were being led somewhere few returned from.

"What’s your favorite color?"

"Green."

"Do you read much?"

"Of course, don’t you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Oh, have a problem with someone dissecting you for a change?"

            "Pleeease, when they were handing out social niceties I got in the line for half a brain, terribly sorry."  Then she waved her fingers in dismissal, throwing him another question to refocus his attention.

"Have you ever been on a plane?"

"Only once."

Safe. And dare he say boring. But something in her gaze prompted him to answer consistently and honestly; as if she knew what he should say, and desperately wanted to catch him in a lie. Her inquisitive mind sent invisible probes across the space between them, emptying his heart, sifting through his thoughts and the contents of his pockets, he felt them as surely as if they’d been real fingers.

And all the while her smile was deceptively warm, her tone superfluous and light.

"What do you like best?"

"I like most things."

There was an amused snort. "Guess I’ll have to be blunt."

He nodded sagely. "I’ve found that usually works best."

"What do you like about me?"

"What makes you assume I like anything about you?"

And she gave him a hard stare, one eyebrow lifted incredulously, her tongue moving against the inside of her cheek in annoyance. He could play games if he wanted, she didn’t mind, in fact it was actually kind of cute.

There was a sigh of defeat, a proverbial white flag. He gave in, though that phrase was simply for posterity. He never had a choice. "I don’t know what it is. A hidden masochistic streak?" He sighed again, his hands absently chafing up and down the neck of his beer. "I know you’re no good for me. Call it intuition. So why do you have to be so frustratingly fascinating?"

She laughed at that and lowered her voice as though divulging a secret. "Practice. Tell me more."

He tried to bite his response back, but the unbidden answer was readily supplied to his shame and eternal disgust. "You’re different and intuitive and mysterious and…" His voice dropped into a irritated mutter she didn’t think was directed at herself any longer.

"And?"

He was casting half-heartedly around for another nonsense word. She was neither different, nor intuitive, and if she was mysterious it was only the kind of morbid mystery that surrounded a mutilated corpse.

"… and… and…"

And she was entirely too close to him. They both realized it in the same instant. Instead of pulling back she leaned farther in, resting her chin in one palm.

They had only been talking for a few minutes, wasting only minimal time on introductions, and anyone observing them would swear they only talked a few minutes more.

But somehow, by the time she seemed satisfied, even if the conversation had seemed so very surface and base, he knew his deepest secrets were at her disposal, ensuring he would remain close by her side, if only to monitor the things she said. If only to protect his own interests.

What had just happened?

He thought he knew.

 

They’d said hello and things had deteriorated from there…