A Voyeur Story Gone Right – Part 2
He managed to avoid her for two weeks. Then came the day when he had to get rid of that mold in the old reception booth on the ground floor. He put on his breathing mask and worked away, ignoring everyone who passed by him including a set of beautiful legs that stopped right behind him. Danica observed him in silence for good five minutes. Watching. He knew this would happen – he knew her exams were starting so she had to go to school at some point. He gritted his teeth and didn't look at her until she left.
She came back four hours later, just as he was cleaning up – but she wasn't alone. Max froze.
"This where you live now, huh?"
"Goodbye, Eton."
"Are you dumb? Goodbye Eton, Goodbye Eton, you've told me ten times today but here I am. We're not done until I say we're done."
"Actually no, that's just your inner desperation for control speaking. We're done because I'm applying for a restriction order. Thanks for making a scene at the campus today and for following me home, by the way, it's gonna come in handy. Goodbye, Eton," she started closing the heavy entrance door on him.
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?!"
Max's head snapped up in alert as the stranger forced his way into the front hall. He vaguely remembered his face from the gallery – the face of Danica's ex-boyfriend.
"You love to see me like this, all fucked up because of you, you even love that I made all my friends hate you, you love the gifts, you love the threats, you just love all that attention, you sick bitch!"
Right then, Max's protectiveness won over his shyness. He came up to Danica and took a stand behind her. He couldn't find any good intimidating words, so he just gave the man a look of warning.
"I believe you're trespassing, Eton. On his property," Danica did the inclusion for him. "This is going to sound so good in front of the cops. Does he look aggressive to you? I'd say he looks aggressive..." Her back touched Max's chest as she leaned back to look up at him. Still not knowing what to say, he just gave her a nod.
"You guys fucking or what?" Eton meant this as an insult, but when Danica only smiled in response, he seemed to be hurt and disgusted by the insinuation. In order to rub it in, she leaned against Max completely.
Max's heart was pounding in his ears. His palms were sweating again.
"I'd keep my hands off of her if I were you, man. She's only gonna break you, suck you dry like a vampire. She's one selfish slut."
"Walk out that door. Now," Max finally growled.
Reluctantly, the young man left. Danica released a shaky breath.
"Thank you."
She turned around and looked at him, standing so close, staring right into his eyes, and knowing what he was. He felt so uncomfortable. He wanted to crawl up into a closet somewhere.
"I would like to talk to you."
His throat tightened. He knew he was going to hyperventilate soon. I'm not a freak, he needed to tell her, I'm not a psycho. He wanted her to know this so bad, even though he decided to never see her again, he at least wanted her to know that. But he just couldn't get it out...
"Or maybe I should write you a letter?" Danica mused after observing his panicked reaction. "I'll write you that letter. I'll slip it under your door tonight, ok? Again, thanks for standing up for me," she gave him a smile and touched his face in what was probably supposed to compensate for a kiss on the cheek that she would give him if he was a normal person.
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Dear Max, although you know too much about me already, I cannot help but think that I owe you an explanation.
The letter was written in hand on a perfumed paper as if she looked into his mind and saw that he would keep it and read it and smell it in the future, no matter what their outcome would be.
You must be curious about how I found out; and rest assured that until about three weeks ago, I didn't suspect a thing. Except for wondering how someone so charming can be so shy, I never got any unusual vibes from you. As a matter of fact, I felt rather safe when you walked me home. But then, one day, I came home and some of my things were slightly off – not in their place as much as in the angle of their placement. Blake kept joking that we had a ghost in the apartment, so we set up our laptop cameras in hope of some Paranormal Activity reenactment.
He didn't get the capital letters. Was that a movie?
What I found was you, Max. I studied the tape over and over and when I was sure you were tending to August, I even found the door to your observation passageway. From then on, I could subconsciously feel you watch me.
Oh no, she found all the peepholes. And the mirror! The feeling of shame was almost unbearable. He wished she knew that he didn't use the mirror fully until he knew her a little better.
A few more days and two of your nightly visits later, I came to a conclusion that you, Max, are one of the last oldschool voyeurs. A dying breed, one could say, in the age of informational technology. And just as you were fascinated with me, I became fascinated with you. I didn't stop to ask whether you would care for that, and that was my mistake. In the end, I came off too strong, my excitement drove you away. On the other hand, I am so glad that there are no more secrets between us and, while aware that I will be most probably rejected, I can present you with my proposal.
I am offering you a controlled environment for your watching, perhaps even interactive watching if you'd like, in exchange for anonymous interviews for my thesis research. This may sound like a cold-hearted business transaction, but I see it as a meeting of two people who match each other in their untypical needs and wishes.
If you promise not to pressure me into anything, not to touch me unless I allow you to, and never to slip me any drugs (not even a slightly spiked wine, Max – there are forensic labs at my university, you know), I will happily let you watch me, spend time with me, and if you bear with my atrocious pillow-hogging, even occasionally sleep in my bed. As for the other part of the deal, I hope that our interviews would become a pleasant part of us getting to know each other instead of an uncomfortable chore.
Blake made me promise to let you know that the second our relationship would become aggressive in any way, we are packing our things and moving immediately, going as far as breaking up the group and leaving New York if necessary. But my uneducated guess is that it would never come to that. I am willing to put my trust in you, Max. Are you willing to put your trust in me?
Tentatively yours,
Danica
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Like a moth to a flame, was it?
Max red through the letter repeatedly until he memorized it all, putting emphasis on his favorite passages and making it sound much more passionate than it was: I felt rather safe when you walked me home...wondering how someone so charming can be so shy...just as you were fascinated with me, I became fascinated with you...a meeting of two people who match each other in their untypical needs and wishes...I will happily let you watch me…yours…
There was no point in avoiding his destiny. Danica was shining bright, her light penetrating walls and her warmth reaching him all the way from her apartment where she would keep living no matter if he told her yes or no. She was a flame – a beacon – a siren that lived next door. For the past two weeks it had been torture to walk by and not get consumed by her. His grandfather was always right; Max was a weak man. He couldn't say no to her anymore. He was hers.
Of course, being the social retard that he knew he was, he couldn't find a way to express this to her. He tried writing a note but he found his chicken scratch exceptionally repulsive that day. Finally, after rewriting the few sentences a dozen times, he decided to deliver it personally to help explain what the note actually meant. He seated himself in the secret corridor and waited for the right time, but everytime she was alone, his nerves got the best of him and he froze, unable to move from his chair. He finally gathered enough courage when she went to sleep. Typical, Max, just typical.
He sneaked into her room, but this time, he felt guilty doing it. Well, more guilty than usual. He should just put the note on her nightstand and go. She moved. His instinct had him under the bed before he knew it. His stomach grumbled. He forgot to eat all day.
"Max?" Danica's voice turned him to stone.
Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no...
"Max, is that you?"
What should he do? He couldn't just run, she knew who he was! This was the worst moment of his life, he used to wet his bed while having nightmares about getting caught watching as a kid... Grandfather always punished him on top.
"Answer me."
His throat felt like paper. He opened his mouth and nothing came. He couldn't.
"Tell me it's you... 'Cause I'm starting to freak out."
Not that! Women's fear always scared him, it made things so much worse, it made everyone lose control...
"I'm so sorry," he rasped, "I didn't come to – I just came to give you a note."
He heard a long breath of relief.
"Jesus, for a moment I thought it was some creepy stranger." When he didn't answer, she filled the awkward silence with more words: "I mean I do remember your breathing a little bit from your previous visits, but one can never be sure. Don't scare me like that, ok?"
"You were awake?" Max whispered in terror.
"Yeah, most of the times. I'm a light sleeper. My dad used to check on me in the middle of the night and sometimes he'd drag me out of the bed to talk shit about mom. I always wake up when someone's coming, that's why I have the separate room."
"You were up all this time..." Max was dying from shame. He was also a little miffed that she pretended to be asleep because pretending was practically lying. But mostly, he was dying from shame.
"So you came to give me a note?"
Max made a sound similar to uh-huh.
"Would you like to come up?"
Silence.
"Can I have the note, then?" Her hand appeared at the bottom edge of her bed, open and waiting. Not five seconds after receiving the note, she asked about a word she couldn't read.
"It's probably respect," he grumbled. He tried to write it better but it always looked like shit, all eleven times.
"Oh. I think we're getting you a cell phone, it would make our communication so much easier. Oh my god, that's what the dissertation could be! Introducing an oldschool voyeur to twenty-first century information technology and seeing which ones he picks up!"
And somehow, that was when their deal was struck.
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"The Max Shreck project, interview number 1, December 6," Danica spoke into a digital recorder, then put it on a table in what Max would always find an intimidating move no matter how sweet her smile was.
"How do you like your pseudonym, Max?"
"I don't know, it's fine..." Max watched the recorder, wondering if Danica's teachers would ever hear this and if they'd recognize the perversity just from his voice.
"So. You were born in the late sixties, am I right?"
"Yes."
"Your parents owned this house and you grew up here."
"Yes..."
"And then you went to war."
"The Gulf War, yeah."
"And then?"
"Then I took over the building from my grandfather."
"Not from your parents?"
"My parents – they died when I was very young, when I was four."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Do you remember them?"
Max frowned: "I don't think that has anything to do with what I am."
"Of course not. This is just to map you out in general. You're not just a voyeur, after all, there's more to you than your one courtship disorder."
"Oh," he shifted in his seat. "I didn't expect..." his eyes searched the room nervously. "I'm not sure I want to go there...today."
"OK. What kind of conversation are you ready for?" Danica improvized immediately.
"About my...disorder," Max shrugged.
"You're right, let's talk psychology. There're a lot of terms we need to go through. Paraphilia, for example."
"What's that?" Max instantly hated the word.
"It's just another big word for sexual deviation. It's a box doctors created for exhibitionism, transvestism, pedophilia, zoophilia...anything that most people find abnormal and that is often punishable by law. Voyeurism belongs there. Do you think that's fair?"
"Of course it is, I'm not stupid," Max huffed. "But in my case, it's not about...not all about...you know..."
"Sex?"
"Yeah. It's more like you said before, courtship disorder. Could we use that instead?"
"Courtship disorder is just a paraphilia-related hypothesis so far, but I definitely agree with you, we should use that. Another term we could discuss would be agoraphobia."
"I know that one. I read up on that."
"That's great, what was your conclusion?"
"I think I have social agoraphobia, to a degree. Going out makes me anxious and I do hate crowds, but I don't get panic attacks."
As they carried on, they came to a theory that Max's scopophilia (pleasure of watching) might be as strong as his scopophobia (fear of being watched), and that one may be causing the other as well as the other way around. They went through a typology of stalkers and agreed that Max was of course not a psychotic, nor a predatory stalker, but rather a self-aware one-sided intimacy seeker who liked to delude himself that the intimacy was mutual.
"I'd love to disect this part from various angles, actually, so I may be asking you about it again and again."
"The part about illusion and reality?"
"And the line between them, yes."
"I'm not a psycho, I told you. I know the difference. I know that it's only real for me."
"I always thought that there was a huge similarity between this and the modern crushes people have on celebrities. Me and my friends used to be obsessed with Leonardo Dicaprio, we spent so much time with his pictures and magazine interviews it made me feel like one day, he would for sure burst into the classroom and confess that he returns my feelings...There are huge differences, of course," she rushed to say as soon as she saw wild disagreement in his eyes. "The guy was far away and famous while your objects of affection are here and everyday women. Besides, the Leo craze was deliberately packaged and served by the media. You have no flattering profile pictures or romantic film trailers to guide you."
"Now, don't underestimate yourself..."
"You're saying there is a connection?" She got him to answer exactly the question she wanted.
"Of course, beauty," Max cleared his throat. "And this, this essence that only some women have, this...Audrey Hepburn vibe."
"Are we talking pedestals?"
"I guess you would call it that. To me, it seems completely deserved."
"Deserved idealization? I don't know how much of me you've really seen, but I'm not perfect."
"You're...different. Very different from other women. You're unique. I just want to have the honor of knowing you through and through."
"Like I'm an American sweetheart, or the cool kid at school. Tell me if I'm heading in the wrong direction, but could it be that you project your self-worth into your affiliation with someone you idealize?"
Max mulled the words over in his head and then he slowly nodded.
"You nod yes," Danica remembered to point it out for the sake of the voice recorder.
Oh, for a moment he almost forgot about the damn thing.
"That conclusion suggests extremely low self-esteem, though."
Max nodded again.
"You nod yes?"
"Yeah, I'm aware."
"Would you care to-"
"Really, not tonight."
Danica recognized when to stop pushing and ended the session there.
#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#
One day, Max always hoped, he would meet a woman who would show interest in him all by herself and they would get together the normal way. Like in a reversed fairytale, he waited for years and years in his stronghold for a princess in shining armor to find him, to break his voyeuristic curse and to bring true love to his life.
He was in his early forties now and his princess was morally gray to say the least. Their relationship development was also far from normal.
She said that everything had to stay the same for the first part of her follow-up study. So he watched her and she didn't seem to acknowledge it. He did, however, fill in a form about his watching habits every day and put it in a sealed envelope for her to assess at the end of her research.
In another interview, Max told her a little bit about his childhood: about the smell of his mother's perfume, her gentle touch, and her loving voice. Strangely, he didn't remember anything about his father, only what August told him. Max's memory of his likeness came solely from the picture in a newspaper article that said: Husband kills wife, then shoots self. How pitiful is that, huh.
"No photoalbums?"
"No, grandfather burnt them. He kept a few minutes of film, though. Of my mother bringing me a birthday cake."
She wanted to know about the abuse. What abuse? He played dumb at first. But she somehow knew. So he slowly revealed where August aimed his anger after the death of his only daughter. He mentioned the belt, the hot baths, the constant humiliation, the plans he had to make a man out of Max, a man just like himself.
"What kind of a man is August?" Danica asked with a frown. Max politely told her to stop the interview there.
The status quo phase lasted a couple of weeks. Then, things started changing. Danica gave him a cell phone, "a simple little box with the most basic functions" she described it. He only used it to accept her calls and messages, not that he didn't want to contact her, he just never was one to successfully initiate a conversation over the phone.
She also showed him her website – its name was Bored Little College Girl and he didn't like most of it. He didn't like the lies in her introduction, he didn't like her fake journal entries and he hated her insencere flirtations in the comment section. He appreciated the pictures, though.
"You look real in them," he said when she asked why.
"I always took pictures of myself – I have a small obsession with documenting my life as it passes – I just never posted them online until now."
"That must be it," Max seemed proud of his instincts.
"And which is your favorite?" She was wearing an off-the-shoulder top and she shrugged the naked one. It was rather distracting.
"This one."
"A snapshot, of course," she laughed. "Tell me, would it be too conceited of me if I printed them out as a Christmas present for you?"
His eyes went wide with surprise, then he did the male equivalent of blushing and finally, he flashed her a shy smile: "No, that would be perfect."
#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#
He jumped when his phone started ringing. Nobody had his number but Danica, so he eagerly picked it up. He thought she would be calling about tomorrow's Christmas lunch.
"Hey."
"Max," her whispering alarmed him, "Eton's here, outside my door."
"I'm there in a second."
"No, if it's ok with you, I'd like you to call the cops. Remember the restraining order? This could get him arrested. Don't spook him out," she whispered fearlessly, more like a hunter setting up a trap than a damsel in distress.
By the time police arrived, Eton was gone, but he left a Christmas present on her doorstep. You're too curious not to open this, said the tag. The officers took it to make sure it wasn't anything dangerous.
"It's probably just another dead animal," she told them, "he usually leaves a note with it saying something charming like I saw this today and thought of you."
"We'll take him in for questioning. If we find his prints or DNA on this, we'll take further action. We'll call you when we have him. Do you have anyone to stay with you tonight?"
"Yes."
With that affirmation, the policemen left.
"Blake is sleeping at his new boyfriend's place tonight. Stay with me?" Danica revealed the complication with absolute calm.
"Of course."
She gave him a satisfied smile.
They watched a movie. On her bed. He was nervous, mostly because he didn't know what she expected from him, but the darkness helped.
They were watching the main character stand up to his controlling father when Danica spoke up: "My grandma used to be just like that. The great matriarch that controlled everyone. I would've respected her, a lot, if it wasn't for her stupid bigoted opinions. Once I stood up to her, I became the black sheep, she made sure that the rest of the family would never take my side. But then she found out that I took after her more than anybody, because I gave as much as I got. I was seventeen when it started and I was eighteen when I left town. It was a very interesting year," she chuckled.
"One day you have to tell me what you did during this great exit of yours," Max smiled with her.
"How old were you when you stood up to August?" She surprised him with her assumption. "You talked about the way he treated you like it was a thing of the past," she justified it immediately.
He scoffed. She could read him so well it was scary.
"When I came back from the war. There were things a soldier had to do if he didn't want to be the target of everybody's pranks. Standing up for yourself just once usually did the trick. And when I came home with all that muscle and training and tattoos...I realized I didn't have to take it anymore."
They exchanged another smile.
"So...Tattoos, you say?" She raised an eyebrow.
Max laughed: "Yeah."
"Where? Can I see them or do I have to buy you dinner first?"
She made him laugh a lot, actually. Lying on his side, he rolled up a sleeve of his T-shirt and showed her the cross below his shoulder.
"I've got a thing for crosses," he said shyly.
"That's a huge one," she laid her hand over it for comparison. The air grew thicker between them.
"I'm sure the ladies love it," she smirked, but the thought of other women made Max frown.
Suddenly, Danica pulled out a phone and typed something. His own cell phone beeped and he read the message.
Would you like to sleep in my bed tonight?
He couldn't look her in the eyes. He replied with a message as well: Yes.
They turned back to the screen to catch up with the plot – and they froze when the killer turned out to be a stalker. The movie flashed back to almost every scene, this time viewed from the stalker's hidden spot, and then the villain was killed.
"I swear I didn't know that would happen," Danica covered her face with embarrassment.
"I believe you, it just...Do you still want me to...stay?" Max became insecure.
"Yes!" she didn't hesitate for a second. "And tomorrow, during the interview, we can talk about how completely different you are from that character."
The bed was big enough for him to lie on his back and her to lie on her side while still having lots of space between them. They chatted about the stories they loved as kids, be it books or TV shows, and they went on to compare the stark differences between the times when they were growing up.
"Jesus, I could be your dad," Max sighed.
"You're 42, right? So you'd have to be a real frisky teenager first, and I know you weren't," she made him fall asleep with a smile on his face.
Max woke up early in the morning and found Danica's face on the edge of his pillow, framed by her arm as if she was in the middle of stealing it for herself. Yet again, he felt something tugging at the corners of his lips. He observed her sleeping face for a good half hour. She was so beautiful, not just the youthful kind of beautiful, she'd still be a classic beauty in thirty years.
Then he heard Blake sneak in. Blake, the other person who knew what Max was – if he could never face him again, Max would be happy. He left through his not-so-secret corridor.
#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#
Christmas lunch at Max's place. Was it a first date? It felt like a first date. Of course he was nervous, so nervous.
Rather than annoyed that he disappeared before she woke up, Danica came excited to finaly see where he lived. She was shocked when he told her he was making turkey, even though it came with the information that they had to wait another 40 minutes.
"I haven't had turkey for so long! Oh, can we do the presents before it's finished, then?"
"You don't wait till the morning?"
"Please, I cancelled that tradition years ago. Look, this is what I'm getting from Blake and my roomies this Christmas." She showed him a vintage Polaroid camera.
He wasn't exactly mentally prepared for unwrapping their presents in front of each other, so he was awkwardly quiet through most of it.
"A hair dryer! Mine just broke a week ago!"
"Yeah, I know," he mumbled. She dispersed his embarrassment with a cheeky grin.
"I love practical presents. Or to be honest, I hate stacking up useless presents out of courtesy."
Max filled in what she wasn't saying: Because it's in my nature to get rid of unwanted things. He wondered if she'd get rid of him when her thesis was finished.
"There's a, there's also something on the bottom of the box," he cleared his throat anxiously.
She found the hair pin.
"I uh...I noticed you wear your hair like this a lot when you go out," he commented on the bun on her head.
"It's perfect," she sighed. "Trust me, it's so hard to meet my taste. And it looks genuinely old...?"
"Yeah, it belonged to my grandmother."
"Oh my god," her jaw dropped.
He hoped she wouldn't do the whole I-can't-accept-this dance.
She didn't. She put the pin into her hair bun, walked over to him and turned around.
"Like it?"
"Yeah."
"My turn," she brought him her present and sat onto his lap.
His throat made an unidentifiable sound of surprise. "Right," he remembered to unwrap the present. It was a small photo album with her pictures, just like she promised. And then, there was a square-shaped picture frame.
"What's that for?"
"For us, if you feel like it," she pointed to her Polaroid.
He hated it when people took pictures of him. But she wasn't forcing him, nor was she holding the camera and pushing the trigger – he was.
"Smile or no smile?" she asked him to direct her.
"No smile. Okay – small smile."
She hugged his neck and snuggled closer to him for the picture.
He would love that photograph forever.
#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#Danica#
After lunch, they had just enough time for their third interview before she had to leave. (Her Christmas Eves were apparently reserved for Blake - they had this whole replacement family thing going on.)
They started by sharing their thoughts about the stalker movie cliché. While listening to his deep soothing voice, Danica laid down on the sofa across from him, curves lifting and settling as she was making herself comfortable. The sight and the way she hummed to encourage him to tell her more were too much; the flow of his speech broke up and changed into awkward clusters, which of course she noticed.
"Am I making you nervous, Mr. Shreck?" she asked.
"No. A little."
"By lying down? Am I seducing you?"
"No, I ah...I know you're just relaxing. It's just that I'm used to watching you like this, not talking to you like this."
"Is watching and talking at the same time impossible?"
"Yes. When I...Watching is...It takes up all my senses, my whole brain, all of me. I can't do anything else when I watch. When I talk to people, I have to make sure to sound normal and look normal and say all the right things so...Just now I was trying to do both, that's why I sounded like a moron, sorry."
"Is that why you were staring at the ceiling while you were saying this?" She said explicitly for the sake of the voice recorder. "Look at me, Max. Tell me exactly how you can tell that I'm not seducing you right now."
Max allowed himself another dose of that sight: her penetrating eyes framed by luscious eyelashes, and her gorgeous naked shoulder making its way to her chin, asking for attention.
"Actually, I'm not sure about that anymore," he frowned.
"That's because I did my eye thing and my shoulder thing," she smiled triumphantly.
"You did that on purpose?"
"Of course. My god, this is amazing," she seemed very pleased with her good little voyuer. "You can tell which of my body language are real signs – not many men are able to do that, Max, not even those who claim to be normal."
"I observed and learned."
"But here comes the big question: If you're not delusional about my body language, when does the delusion about two-sided romance come in?" It came like a freezing shower.
Max compared it to fantasizing about being a part of a movie one's watching.
Danica brought up the way he advanced on the scale of need for informational intimacy, then physical intimacy, and then presumably sexual intimacy. He didn't know how to explain that.
"Well, at what point did you start visiting me in my bedroom?"
"After I walked you home and you kissed me."
"On the cheek," she clarified for the record. "Would you start visiting me if I never did that?"
"...Probably. Sooner or later."
"And if I didn't find out, how far would you go with this?"
"Not too... I'd never hurt you, Danica. I just want to be close to you, I wouldn't r-r-..."
"Breathe, Max..."
"Hug you, maybe, I would hug you and sleep with you in my arms, maybe stroke your hair...Not more, never, I'm not like that creep from the movie. Do you believe me?"
She went to sit on the edge of his armchair and reached for his hand, which she wrapped in hers and laid in her lap.
"So you're trying to surpress the typical voyeuristic possessiveness."
"I try so hard not to want more. I know what's wrong."
"What if you asked me out and I said no?" she asked softly.
"I'd stop bothering you. I'd just watch you."
"Even if I had a boyfriend? Or worse, what if I brought the boyfriend over?" Her proximity and the touch of her hands provided a well measured reward system, coaxing him into answering her uncomfortable questions.
"I wouldn't watch that...I can't do that, it hurts too much. I bolt the door to the corridor when that happens."
"You've really done that? That shows a great amount of self-restraint. Not many voyeurs are capable of stopping like that. You've really done this every single time your object of affection had another man?"
He really didn't want to answer, but her soft fingertips felt so good on his palm and then, good Lord, she put his hand on her bare knee and started drawing comforting shapes on the top of it.
"Two out of four times. I only made that rule when I was around thirty."
"That's quite an accomplishment. Max..." She squeezed his hand, readying him for another blow. "How many women have you watched in your life?"
"What?" He really didn't want to talk about this. Not about other women. Not about numbers. Not about the beginnings.
"Every time we talk about the object of your affection, you talk about me. But there were obviously women before me. How many?"
"I don't remember the exact number," he mumbled.
"You pay so much attention to them but you don't remember the number? I don't believe that."
"I watched seven on my own, eight with you, of course I remember that. But I don't remember the number before that."
"Before what? Before you were on your own...? Max, who was watching with you?"
He opened his mouth but he found himself unable to say it out loud.
"Oh my god. Your grandfather," she connected the dots on her own. "You used to watch with your...? Your grandfather taught you to...? You know what, it's been a long interview, and I've been really tough on you. We should stop here and continue next time."
She jumped up and switched off the digital recorder. Max worried. Did this discovery change everything? Was she distancing herself from him because he scared her or did she just need time to reassess her test subject? She looked back at him and blew a big breath. Then she reached up and hugged him.
Was this goobye? He grabbed her and buried his face into her hair. No!
"I always knew August was a dirty bastard, but not to this extent. Why didn't you tell me sooner? Nevermind. Will you be able to talk about it next time?"
Oh thank God. He didn't know what to answer, but she wasn't leaving, she was there, hugging him and he had his nose full of her perfume and shampoo and her own scent...
"Yeah, I think," he said without thinking at all.
"Ok," she squeezed a little tighter and let go, gauging his face and trying to read his state of mind. She found his wet eyes.
"Ah, you scared me for a moment," he chuckled in embarrassment.
"Why?"
"Well, I asked you if you believed me at one point and you didn't answer, and then I told you about this, and now you were so quiet..."
"I do believe you. As much as I believe myself."
"Which means...?" He could tell there was a catch in there somewhere.
"I believe that you believe every word you say, just like I do when I'm honest. But what we're really capable of can differ from what we think we're capable of, don't you agree?"
"So you...don't really believe me," Max did the math.
"I guess no, because I don't believe anyone, not even myself," she slipped into self-analyzing again.
He remembered how she said that most psych majors had psychological issues.
"You don't believe anyone at all?"
"I'm a realist. I know that no matter how long I study psychology, I'll never be able to predict a person's behavior, not perfectly."
"But doesn't it feel like your life is full of insecurity when it comes to people? Don't you just want to hide?" Max asked. After all, that was his solution to the people problem.
"I hide enough," she commented on her stay-at-home schedule. "But I'd never isolate myself completely. People are a fascinating subject to observe, don't you think?"
He could never disagree with her on that.
End of Part 2.
Author's Note: A three-shot, then! I feel like I owe you some raunchy scenes, so those'll be in the third part.
Boring trivia about capitalization: I use "God" or "Lord" when it's Max's inner monologue and "god" when Danica's thinking it because the first believes in some sort of a higher power while the latter is an atheist and only uses the idioms for their sociolingusitic function.