The first thing I hear is her heartbeat, I only see red. All red, everywhere, at least until I open my eyes, and then I see cold. I know you can’t technically see cold, but I did. I saw cold. I felt hot, though. I saw cold, and I felt hot, so I reached out and felt the soft skin of her cheeks, still unmarred by acne scars or fresh pimples, and then I felt cold again, and I smiled when I heard her laugh. 

“What the hell are you doing?” 

I paused for a few beats of her pulse, didn’t say anything. 

“How did you get here?” 

I smiled even bigger. “You tell me, it’s your head.” 

She closed her eyes, and I didn’t close mine but all I saw was red again. I stared into it until I couldn’t stand it any longer and then I gave in and squeezed mine shut. When I opened them again, we were sitting in a McDonald’s with a dozen other faces which were both familiar and not. 

“I snuck these in from the Dairy Queen across the street,” she said, and placed a half-melted ice cream sandwich in my hand. We were sitting around a table, and I wondered how I got here, too. Fruitless wonderment; only she knew how I got here. 

I watched her talk to these faces that I couldn’t quite place as I slurped the remnants of the once-solid ice cream. I went into the McDonald’s bathroom to wash the stickiness off my hands and when the door closed behind me, we were in a Betsey Johnson dressing room. It was just us two again. She was struggling to rid herself of her clothes. 

“You’re drunk,” I told her. “Keep your clothes on. We’re in public.”

Cohen “Better Than Revenge” 2 

“Am I? How did we get here? I’m not drunk, you’re drunk.” 

“I don’t know anything about what’s going on right now. You tell me.” I found a perverse satisfaction in knowing that I had control and she didn’t, that anything I did could simply be blamed on her subconscious. 

“I want to take my clothes off. It’s hot in here.” 

“Do what you want,” I said. “Your head, darling.” 

She continued to strip, and with every item of clothing she took off she became more and more intoxicated. More and more intoxicating. 

“I love you. Look at me.” 

I was looking everywhere and anywhere, so long as it wasn’t at her. “You don’t love me, I should wait outside.” 

“No, don’t. I know that, but you love me. Look at me.” She wasn’t wrong, but I hadn’t loved her in years. And suddenly we were kids again, and she was still drunk, and I was drunk too even though we were just kids, so it was wrong and it was risky and it was all in her head, but it didn’t make any sense. I could hear the stalls of her breath from outside of us, and I didn’t want her to wake up, so I did as she said. I looked at her, first at her eyes, but then at her body. I told myself this was okay, I was in control, but she didn’t know that. She wouldn’t, couldn’t know that. 

“Tell me what you see?” 

I didn’t want to verbalize what I thought I saw, so I closed my eyes again, and when I opened them, we were walking along a downtown boulevard in a town unreal. I looked at her, and she was no longer bare, but she was wearing a beautiful dress that hugged her curves in a way that made my own breath stall.

Cohen “Better Than Revenge” 3 

“Do you love me?” 

“No,” I gulped all too quickly. 

“Liar. Tell me why you love me.” 

“I don’t love you, you just want me to love you. I’m not really me, I’m me as you see me. This is your head,” I remind her in the hopes that she won’t ask me again. I’ve never been a very good liar. 

“I know you love me. Why won’t you say it?” 

“Because I don’t want to give you the satisfaction.” I flirted, chanced a smile in her direction, only to find her already watching me. We were walking but we weren’t looking where our feet were going. We were only watching each other. 

“Tell me why you love me.” 

I counted to twelve in my mind which wasn’t really my own and I kissed her. I regretted it at first, but she didn’t pull away or recoil in disgust; that had to mean she liked it. At least to some degree, she had to have liked it. I pulled away before she could, and I noticed how empty it felt. I never thought it would feel so empty. 

“Why did you do that?” She asked. 

“I wanted to see what it was like.” 

“Tell me you love me.” 

“But I don’t.” 

“Please, just tell me. I know you do, so why won’t you just tell me?” 

“Don’t you know where we are?” I asked her, growing tired of her antics and realizing that she was my only way out. I couldn’t leave this place of my own accord. Even if I woke up, though I could’ve sworn I wasn’t sleeping.

Cohen “Better Than Revenge” 4 

“No. Yes. I don’t know, we’re downtown aren’t we? How did we get here?” I flashed her a cunning smile. “You tell me.” 

“I want you to kiss me again.” 

“You sure about that?” 

“No.” 

I didn’t say anything. I just looked at her, until she closed her eyes, and again all I could see was red. I tried so very hard to resist, but it was overpowering. When I opened my eyes that last time, we were in the backseat of a moving car with no driver. 

“Does this make me gay?” She was crying, and I was happy. 

“I don’t know, you have to tell me, it’s your-” 

“Yes I know it’s my fucking head but why can’t you just do what I say and stop being so fucking cryptic? Can you just kiss me again?” 

“Nope, I felt what it was like, and I don’t need to anymore.” 

“What does that mean? Tell me why you love me, please?” 

Maybe I was sleeping. But I didn’t want to wake up. The greatest dream I’ve ever had, made even sweeter by it being her worst nightmare. 

“I don’t love you, not anymore.” I looked at her crying and I was overjoyed. The homophobe becomes the homo; they only come out at night. 

“But you did once, didn’t you? You can’t unlove me, I was your first love don’t you get it? Please, tell me why you love me?” 

“Why don’t you just make me? You can say whatever you want but you can say it in my voice through my lips. It’s your head.” 

“Would you please stop saying that and just fucking kiss me already?”

Cohen “Better Than Revenge” 5 

I smiled, I couldn’t help myself. It was all too great to ignore. 

“Why are you smiling? Does this mean I’m gay? Am I a… Am I a lesbian?” “You tell me.” 

“I can’t tell you, I don’t know, I don’t know where we are I don’t know how we got here I don’t know what’s going on I don’t know when I got sober gosh why am I sober now please? Can you just kiss me? Tell me why you love me?” 

“You’re straight though, aren’t you?” My smile grew larger with the quickening of her pulse; outside was getting faster and faster. 

“Tell me why you love me, kiss me again.” I could drink her tears, they were so sweet. To her they were sorrow, but to me they were divinity. 

“I don’t love you anymore. If you want me to kiss you so bad, you can just make me.” She couldn’t control me, not anymore, but I loved seeing her so helpless. 

“How did you get here? Am I gay? I think I want you to kiss me, but will you just tell me why you love me? So I can be sure?” 

My smile, so seemingly sinister to her, but a sight to behold to my old self. “Goodnight,” I said, and I closed my eyes while I waited for her to open hers.

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