Stevo, certified b-list celebrity

Dark Angel

Hey guys....check out my first interview ever as a blogger, with Luke Ford.

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"I need to tell you something," I say.

Steph props herself up on one elbow and stares at me, her eyebrows arched. Even in the half light, I can see her face has gone pale.

I don't believe in beating around the bush. If you have bad news, spit it out. Remember when you were a kid, and you pulled your band-aids off in slow motion, because you were terrified of the pain, and then your mom came up behind you and yanked it off when you weren't looking? Yeah, you screamed for a second, but then it was over. It's better to get these things done with quickly so you can start dealing with the aftermath.

"I had sex with someone else."

She blinks. She stares endlessly at my face, studying me, sizing me up, the way she did to aunt Shirley at dad's house. Her face has no expression, which unnerves me a hell of a lot more than if she were to break down crying.

The room is so silent that my ears ring. I stare back at her, waiting for a disappointed scowl, or a tear, or a shake of the head.

"It was when you went to corporate, wasn't it?" she asks, after what feels like an hour. "You acted different when you came back."

She's whispering. Her eyes search my face, and I feel like she is monitoring me, trying to read me for some twitch, some aversion of the eyes, some telltale sign of my honesty, or lack thereof.

"How did I act different?"

"You wouldn't look me in the eye. Not at first. I had a hunch that you cheated... I mean, that you... slept with someone."

"Cheated?" I ask.

"I know we're not exclusive," she whispers. "I just... think .... you are ... sexually compulsive, Steve."

Silence.

"Sexually COMPULSIVE?" I do this all the time: Repeat someone's words back to them in an incredulous tone. You'd be surprised how defensive people get.

"You don't THINK! You just... indiscriminately fuck." Now I see the look of disgust, the corners of her mouth turned sharply down.

"I'm not compulsive, Steph."

"Did you know this girl? It was a one-night stand, right?"

"Well, I..."

"It's comPULsive, Steve!"

Well, ok, maybe it was compulsive. But you shoulda seen the MELONS on this chick!

"Steph, I-"

"Steve, believe me, I understand. We're not exclusive, you didn't do anything wrong."

She sits up and starts to pull on her black leather boots.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't, Steve. You're not ready. You're just NOT."

I put my hand on her arm. "Stay."

She turns to look at me.

She's twirling her hair. Maybe everything will be alright, after all.

"You didn't let me finish," I say. "I wanted to say I'm sorry."

She stares at me. Her expression softens.

"Technically, I have an out. Technically, we're seeing other people, so I haven't broken an agreement. But I hate that I hurt you."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"What's that," I say.

"How many girls have you slept with, Steve?"

"Steph, I wasn't serious with anyone for a long time-"

"Is it more than 100?"

"What? NO!"

"Fifty? Seventy-five?"

"Forty, Steph."

"Psssssh," she says. "Why bother seeing anyone? Why bother dating anyone, Steve? It's obvious all you want to do is FUCK!"

I stand up. "Is that all you think of me?"

"NO! It's all you think of yourself, Steve. You really make me sick sometimes, you know that?"

Hey Steph, this may not be the best time to ask, but how would you feel about taking it up the ass?

"WHY, Steph? Because I told you the truth? I didn't have to, you know."

"Yeah, Steve, you're a regular Abe Lincoln." She walks into the bathroom and locks the door.

I sit on the bed and let silence fill the room again. I can hear Stephanie crying.

I am such a fucking prick.

The bathroom door opens and she strides out slowly, adjusting her skirt and sniffling.

I walk up to her and put my hands on her shoulders. "Stay," I say.

She puts her head against my chest and cries.