The Book Boyfriend

Chapter 4

Other guys had an aesthetic. To be fair, the men in my family always found their way into good trouble, or so they claimed. My words? They’ve always been my only real currency. I didn’t hit my growth spurt until I was 17. By then, I was thankful to grow taller than my older brother, though he’d already made a name for himself—good or bad—long before I arrived. Walter always had a way of drawing attention, the kind of attention that didn’t stick to you but left a shadow in its place.

I remember sitting in the dorms, my first week of college, trying to fade into the background when she walked in. A taller girl with a thicker—uhh, frame and lenses to match. A second-year. Ana. Her presence filled the room like a song I didn’t know the words to but couldn’t stop humming.

“You’re—uhm, rather large… Hi, I’m Ana,” she said, her voice sharp, her eyes sharper. The words hung in the air between us, awkward but sure. She stepped forward, unblinking, and her passion-brown eyes locked on mine. “You kind of look like him too, just… a little nicer, hopefully.”

Her hand reached for my face—not rough, not gentle, just deliberate. A touch to steady herself, maybe, but I froze.

“Who are you? And how do you know my brother?” I asked, the words coming out with more edge than I intended.

“I’m Ana,” she said simply, her tone cooling slightly. “And before I go any further, you seem like a decent guy, but unfortunately, I met your brother first, and he’s kind of a—”

“—Dick…”

The interruption came from behind her. A higher-pitched voice, contrasting the sultry pull of hers. “Dick Grayson! Ana, I figured it out!”

Ana rolled her eyes, letting go of my face as if to say, Let’s finish this later.

“The Robin? Sweetie, I hate to tell you, but you have a problem with toxic,” she replied, her voice slipping back into its teasing lilt.

The smaller girl, Fran, looked like she was ready to crumble. “Ana, at this point, I don’t care. I’m a fifth-year senior. All the good guys are gone, and I can’t in good conscience date a next year.”

Ana smiled, slow and deliberate—not antagonistic, just calculated. Like she’d solved a puzzle.

“Fran, it’s simple. The answer to your problem lies within the problem you can’t answer.”

Fran’s face twisted in frustration. “What? I paid off an entire class for you to give me some ridiculous riddle?!”

A whole class?!

“And your payment was certainly worth it,” Ana said, glancing briefly at me. “You remember Walter, right? That second-year who finally got kicked out last semester?”

“Right before he could be made an honest man.”

Almost without thinking, I muttered, “He does lie a lot.”

Oops. Both women stopped and stared at me.

Fran’s lip caught between her teeth as she shifted her gaze back to Ana. “Is he a first year?”

I couldn’t respond.

“Mhm.” Ana’s eyes scanned me again. “I just need time to work with him. But you, girly—you focus on your studies. All good girls deserve a strong finish.”

Fran’s blush deepened under Ana’s gaze. The heavy makeup, the sliding self-esteem—Walter’s type, no doubt.

“Remember,” Ana said, her tone softening slightly, “a woman’s ideal man is never built in a vacuum.”

“Or overnight over a cup of warm liquor,” Fran added, managing a smile.

Ana nodded approvingly. “Exactly. Now, don’t let me down.”

Fran hesitated, then left, her head held slightly higher. I didn’t notice she was gone until Ana shifted closer, her presence looming just slightly over me.

“You’re probably thinking, ‘This girl’s not even his type,’” she said, tilting her head. “And I just… I just need you to know I run a very necessary student service here. Clearing clutter so these young men and women can grow into who they’re paying to become.”

How did she—? Of course. Walter. That must have been why he kept borrowing money last year. Only trouble is, I don’t know—or care—where he’s gone now. Always a goddamn puppet!

“If I know my brother at all,” I said carefully, “Walter plays pet for as long as he can stand it, then he needs to find himself free. He’s delicate… in a different way. But I’m sure you made plenty off of him—”

Ana, now holding onto my belt buckle, pushes me down onto the shared sofa, nearly knocking off a half-asleep dorm mate. She doesn’t seem to care, and frankly, neither do I. She sits next to me, her knee brushing mine with an ease that feels both intentional and accidental.

“I didn’t make money off of him,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “This was all his idea—well, turning it into profit, at least. So we could pay for school. This place is a financial drain game, but sometimes you just need to learn the rules.”

All I could think about that night was Ana, and that’s when it started. She was an enigma, so I cracked open my laptop.

—

The Parable of Sir Damon: Misstery Loves Company

She’s begging me to be my worst self, in the best ways— but she has no idea the odyssey that she will endure… in body, mind and soul.