Pavi Largo wasn't loved as a child.
Pavi Largo was sexually abused when he was younger.
Pavi Largo had suffered a brain injury in his youth.
Everyone had excuses readymade to explain his eccentricities.
I doubt that any of them were true.
Maybe he was just fucked up. We all are in some way, aren't we?
I don't know exactly how to describe what became of the two of us. The only thing I could say for sure is that I derived no happiness from his presence. His attitude was still insufferable. I was still blaming him for the ever-widening fissure between me and Lana. The vanity and the narcissism were sometimes too much for me to handle.
And yet, I just couldn't stop coming back.
Is this to what every girl in the city had fallen prey? As far as I knew, Pavi Largo emanated no strange power. He was neither a witch doctor nor a magician. In no way had he swept me off my feet or caused me to fall for him. All too many times I found myself begging to be let free of this curse, wishing every suffering upon his shoulders. I pleaded with deities I didn't believe in to remove Pavi from my life. Each day I convinced myself that I would never go back to his side.
And each tomorrow, my resolutions crumbled to dust.
I could still feel the dislike. It simmered in my veins, forever stoked by a permanent judgment. Some days I would spend hours sitting on some dilapidated park bench to watch from afar as Pavi flirted with the female population. My blood would pound each time he slipped off for a few minutes, a flustered and tittering girl laced around his arm. It blew my mind to see how the women of this town were letting themselves be used by the resident playboy.
Of course, as much as it sickened me, it shamed me as well. I was, after all, one of them.
There were times that I tried to convince myself that our "relationship" was different. It wasn't because I had feelings for him and wished to delude myself with the possibility of a romance. It was because I wanted to feel less shitty about becoming the city's greatest hypocrite.
I didn't even know how it had happened. Maybe that's why I felt as bad as I did. It's not like I had ever planned to start slipping off to fuck a man I loathed. I'm sure my parents would have been terribly proud of me. With each encounter that passed, my self-respect dropped a couple of notches.
Indeed, there was certainly no happiness in it for me.
There was, however, pleasure.
I didn't mean to imply that our hook-ups were unpleasant rendezvous in seedy motels. Rather, we often spent time among the lavish comforts of his room in the GeneCo tower. It seemed as if the entire upstairs was his property; never once were we interrupted by a sibling or a Gentern. Occasionally we met up at my house, but I honestly preferred to be away from what reminded me of my past life.
Yes, the loss of Lana and the arrival of this bizarre new twist in the road had led me to feel as if I had stepped through some invisible barrier into a world separate from my own. In this new world, morals and values were cast aside for the sake of toe-curling ecstasy. Eventually, I trained myself to forget who I once was when I was in Pavi's company. It was only afterward that the mists of despair threatened to drown me.
I remember each visit with remarkable clarity. The first few times after my first experience at GeneCo, we spent more time talking than doing anything physical. Any contact was brief, innocent—mere promises for what was inevitably on the way. Strangely enough, for the amount of conversation we had, I learned little about him. Sure, he spoke often enough of himself, but only on a superficial level. Not once did he speak of his past, his dreams, his aspirations. And why should he have bothered? Such things were unnecessary. His life consisted purely of sex, changing faces and living in the plush luxury of his late father's legacy. Why stress oneself with the concerns of those who had to work to earn their keep? It was pointless.
The first time we had sex had been purely astounding. I cannot help but commend his skills. Before Pavi, I had had several boyfriends, only a couple of which I had slept with. Both times, the relationship had faltered not long thereafter. Emotions play an enormous part in the act, and my feelings for those boys had been lukewarm at the very most. With Pavi, though I did not love him, something fuelled the passion. The thing with passion is that it is not necessarily based off of love. Oftentimes, we can be in a passionate rage. Maybe that's what it was.
That first time, he had taken me out to dinner at an even nicer restaurant than before. Upon returning to his room, he brought out a bottle of champagne on ice and two crystal glasses. With a toast to GeneCo, we both downed the alcohol. Having already indulged in several drinks at the restaurant, my mind was weaving in and out of lucidity. When he approached me with a glint in his eyes, I dropped the glass and flung my arms around his neck.
Pavi's mask at that time had been fairly simple—smooth and clear, with two effeminate lips clinging intimately to his own. He may have already worn it at some point, but it had hardly been a concern then. Those lips against mine...it was terrifying. I couldn't get it out of my head that they had once belonged to someone else. Nonetheless, I had continued to kiss him with increasing intensity. The fear was all a part of it. He was dangerous, edgy, and maybe slightly insane—who knew? They were some of the reasons people fell for him, right?
In spite of this, I do not deny that Pavi Largo was one of the most gallant and distinguished men I had ever met. Though he was often immature, conceited and carefree, he knew how to please a woman. Certainly, he took advantage of them and left them in the dust, but if he tried, he could've entranced a statue.
I'll spare you the full details, but remember my words from before: toe-curling ecstasy.
So, I was sleeping with one of the Largo siblings, the one known for blatantly whorish behaviours. Not only that, but rumours circled that he was a rapist as well. Yet, still we carried on with our hook-ups. It was impossible for me to stay away from him. Maybe it was loneliness. I needed someone, after all. And though he hardly needed me—I was just another challenge he had overcome—he continued to indulge my selfish desires. Never once did he deny my requests. Then again, I doubted that someone like him would refuse a good lay. I was just surprised he hadn't gotten bored of me yet...
...which led me to wonder if there was something I was missing, something he was holding back.
Was I just a challenge?
Or was I something special?
