Free Monsters by Liz Kay

impression.
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    Tommy must have spent the rest of the afternoon not drinking because he drives, which is not what I expected. There is something about sitting in the passenger seat of a man’s car that feels a little exhilarating, a little dangerous, and because the man who’s driving is Tommy, I try to look out the window a lot.
    â€œYou really were great today,” he says. He pulls to a stop at a light and reaches over, grabs my hand. “And what you said about trusting me with this meant a lot.” He tugs on my hand like he wants me to look at him. “I promise I’m not going to fuck it up.”
    They seat us at a table near the back, and as we walk through, there are lots of people not looking at us, conspicuously so. There’s a lot of quickly lowered eyes, deliberate not-staring. I feel a little dizzy, like I might trip.
    It’s a circular booth, and while Tommy sits at an angle from me, he’s close enough that our knees are almost touching. There’s a bottle of wine open to breathe on the table. I’m guessing Daniel called earlier to set it up.
    Tommy must come here a lot because the waiter is totally relaxed with him, and Tommy orders for both of us without even looking at the menu. When the waiter steps away, I take a sip of my wine, look around. The place is packed, and I can tell by the way people are sitting, holding themselves so carefully, barely turning their heads, that everyone has noticed Tommy. On the far side of the room, one couple is openly gaping, which is unsettling, but at least it’s honest.
    â€œHow did you even get started in all of this?” I say.
    Tommy looks at me over his glass. When he sets it down he says, “You mean like all of it, all of it? I don’t know. I just caught a break.”
    â€œNo, I mean, what made you want to try?”
    â€œOh,” he says, and he takes another drink. He looks like he’s deciding whether to answer me. “I guess I was running away.”
    I keep my eyes on him like I’m waiting for the rest.
    â€œReally?” he says, and he kind of laughs. “All right. Fine. I had a fucked-up family. My dad was mean and drunk and usually broke. I never did very well in school, and frankly, I didn’t have any other options, so it was either this or who knows.” He holds my gaze for a minute. “So anyway, I got out here, and I looked like me, which didn’t hurt,” but he says this in a tone like he’s deliberately being an ass. “And you know, I’d been playing roles my whole life, trying to dodge all the shit. I guess it all just clicked.”
    â€œHuh,” I say. “Interesting.” I hold my glass on the table, twist the stem through my fingers.
    â€œYou sound like a shrink.”
    â€œNo, it is,” I say. “It’s interesting. And you know, that’s kind of what I do, think about what shapes us, where we end up. It’s kind of my thing.” I smile.
    â€œMaybe your next book should be about me.”
    â€œMmm. I don’t know. I don’t really write smut.”
    â€œRight.” He laughs. “But think of all the research opportunities.”
    â€œOh my god, yes. So many opportunities.” I nod. “Like syphilis.”
    â€œHa!” He shakes his head. “People don’t get syphilis anymore.”
    â€œNo,” I say. “I’m pretty sure they do.”
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    When we get back to the house, Tommy opens a bottle of red wine and pours us each a glass.
    â€œI don’t know,” I say. “It’s late. I have to fly tomorrow.”
    â€œWho cares? It’s not like you’re gonna sleep.”
    He leans against the bar, holds the glass out to me and waits. And of course, I take it. It’s like I have no self-restraint. I take a taste, but then I set the glass on the bar. I wrap my left hand