9 Chapter 9

Ian wasn’t that far away from reality. I didn’t like to leave the comfort zone inside those walls. It was safe. But the flurry of pain and need curling above that topless icy shelter, like a gathering storm of cries and tears, called my heart to jump out from it at times, pushing me to help those who were in a greater need of shelter. The Humane Society of Berryford and PETA were my short escapes from that cold enclosure. And most recently, a boy named Ayo from Yoruba, Africa, had joined those breakouts, too.

Did they know I was doing all of this? No, and I didn’t want them to. Did Gran know about this? Yeah, she was the one receiving the mail.

“Well, sorry to disappoint you, but not even me—the Queen of Icytopia and Egotopia—would show my goodies for the entire world to see,” I told Ian, masking the hurt with sarcasm. “Believe it or not, I like better the physical thing and doing something more personal than doing something that narcissistic. And anyway, in case you didn’t know, those campaigns are only for celebrities.”

Ian was staring at me, his usual loose stance now stiff. A faint trace of regret sharpened the emerald in his eyes. So he did notice the hurt in my voice. “Dafne,” he uttered softly, using that voice people drew on whenever they wanted to reach someone’s hand to soothe the pain away. “I didn’t…” He never finished though. He trailed off when Buffy sat down between his stretched leg and the one dangling off the couch.

She pressed a button on the remote control she was holding, and then leaned over Ian, settling her head on his chest.

He sighed, as if in resignation, and asked while encircling her waist with his arm, “What are we watching?”

“No way!” I protested once I aimed my eyes on the screen and the symphonic song flew into the room. “We are not watching that thing. It’s like half a day long. Only menopausal housewives can stand this.”

“How can you say that?” Buffy lifted up his head as if offended. “Titanic is one of the greatest screen romances of all time. Everybody loves it, even guys, right Ian?” She turned and asked him for confirmation.

“A giant boat being ripped in half and Kate Winslet naked? Sure,” he said with a shrug and looked at me, giving his approval.

Ugh. Something told me I wasn’t going to get any support from him. When did I get it anyway? He obviously didn’t want to disagree with Buffy. He was playing the good-boyfriend part. I stood up, left the plate on the coffee table, and reached the small shelf stuffed with girly movies. There had to be something not so cheesy. Buffy couldn’t be that brainless.

“What about Mean Girls?” Buffy suggested when she noticed I wouldn’t let go of my hunt, which turned out to be more and more difficult every second.

Okay, maybe she was brainless. “I will pretend you didn’t mention that,” I said without looking at her, crouched on the floor still looking for the impossible.

“Never Been Kissed? It’s a funny movie.”

I scoffed. “Bring me a thermos of espresso and an alarm clock.”

“What about While You Were Sleeping?” Ian added to the parade of ideas. “A successful giant-eyebrowed douchebag gets run over by a train and goes into a coma so his older brother can get his hands under his girl’s pants. You would like that.”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Buffy said. “Too sweet and romantic.”

Ignoring them, I finally raised from my hunt with two DVD’s in hand. “This one doesn’t look that bad,” I said, pushing in front of me a movie called “When Harry Met Sally,” an oldie from what it looked like.

Ian seemed suddenly really interested. “The movie that introduced men to spotting the signs of women faking the Big O,” he said with a smile.

I nearly choked. “Okay…this one is out.” I said putting it back hastily, as if my hand had unexpectedly been burned. “What about The Phantom of the Opera?” I held up the other case. I’d heard about the novel before, written by some French guy a long time ago—apparently, it was a classic of French literature—and the Broadway musical, but I’d never read or seen any of those. It looked pretty interesting, dark.

Buffy frowned in interest. “I haven’t seen that one yet. It’s a musical. Ian gave it to me last week.” She turned around and placed a small kiss on his lips. They were stretched all over the couch now, side to side, Buffy’s head resting on the crook of Ian’s arm.

He pulled out a stunning smile, filled with a perfect row of white as snow teeth, and said while looking down at her, “Let’s see it.”

Maybe Linda was right and Ian was truly in love with Buffy. The way he looked at her, as if she was his own glowing sun on earth, said lots of poems. An image is worth a thousand words. And it definitely did. They looked like two lovers, prisoners of their own fascination for each other.

But instead of feeling relief, I felt the increase of worry. There was still something I didn’t like about all of this.

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