You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(108)

“No,” he says. “Fuck Vail. I’m talking about you, Joe. I dunno. Been sitting here like…She’s not just a bitch. She’s a witch. I cannot believe the way she roped me into this and I fucking…I am sorry, bro. You gotta understand, that wasn’t me…That was me stuck under her fucking thumb…You know me…And if you want revenge on her, I’m right there with you. Shoulda said something sooner but…I know people, kid. I’m not saying she has to…you know…But she can’t get away with this. She deserves to suffer and…We can do that, you and me.”

He still doesn’t get it, Vail. He still blames you, and it feels good to carry his computer out the door. Stupid, stubborn people shouldn’t even have computers, and I’m feeling better about our trip to Serendipity. It’s kinda like the Dick-napping. Not perfect, but productive. You passed the first test with flying colors. I came away with a better understanding of your warped take on relationships, all that stuff about your parents and blah blah blah. But I settle back into the rear of the internet café and I reconnect Dick’s dirty laptop to the world and girls are IMing him within seconds—WHY OH WHY—and one of those girls is you.

You: Baby you need to call me. Joe told me about this lawyer lady and I just…I need to see you. Now. You don’t get it. I love you. And I do get it. You love me. So if that’s what this is about and you think you had to go tell our little friend that you’re running off to Vegas to get married…I mean come on. This is me. Us. I know you, Dick. I know you don’t fall in “love” like that and if this is your way of saying that you can’t do it anymore, can’t watch me run around with the kid, well okay. Consider the kid gone and let’s fucking do this okay? Do you get it now? Do you get that there is literally nothing you can say or do or no amazing prodigy lawyer lady who will ever make me stop loving you? Baby, enough already. Let’s do this. Today.

I log off and I just sit there. I sing the same old song to myself about how that’s not you, how you don’t really mean that and can’t be held responsible for the things you type into that white box. That white box isn’t real. Life is real. Frozen hot chocolate is real. We are real.

A girl taps on my shoulder. “Are you using the computer?”

“I am.”

She is trembling in that way where you know she just broke up with some undeserving prick. “Well, the thing is, though…you’re not using it. But you’re taking up the space as if you are using it, and that means that I can’t use it. And that’s not right, because you’re actually not using the computer. You’re just sitting on it to stop me from using it when I am standing here ready with stuff to do, when I need to use it right now. See how that works? Do you see how that fucking works?”

I stand to offer the computer, but she bursts into tears and runs out the door.



* * *



—

On the subway back to Bed-Stuy, I can’t get that girl out of my head.

She was so rattled, Vail, so pure. All she wanted to do was use the computer. And I was a dick, cockblocking it and why? Why didn’t I walk away when I was done with it? Dick is keeping you on deck, in case he wants to use you. He plugged you up when he put his thing inside of you and left it there. There’s nothing wrong with me—I don’t have cancer; I am in love—but you are out of my reach. You can’t let me in because he is still inside of you. And as long as he is on this planet with us…

It’s time for me to be a man and surrender. I enter the warehouse, and Dick is…asleep. I stand over the man you love, the man you want when you go to the bathroom in Serendipity. The man you can’t quit. Why? I know. He made you the way you are. He is the reason you can’t love yourself, let alone me. He is the luckiest man alive, and here he is, snoring like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It’s insulting to you—you are still trying to call him—and it is insulting to me—scared hostages don’t snore—and it’s insulting to the dealer from my school.

Was there coke in that coke? How the hell is he sleeping?

My hands are shaking—this is illegal—but love is war. I can’t choke now, not when you need me the most. I don’t like needles and I looked away every time Schlitz and Dick shot each other in the delts but I know what a delt is and it’s now or never and I need him to wake up.

I try for his delt but he gets in his own way and the needle winds up in his neck.

Oops.

It’s all predictable, like a rom-com, the way he whines and calls me crazy, demanding to know what’s wrong with me, like I’m the fucking problem. He goes into threat mode and he’s gonna call the police (like he has his phone) and my heart starts to pound a bit, because in that rom-com way, it’s ironic. If you could see me now, risking it all to take care of your evil one true downfall, well, Vail, maybe then you might finally realize I’m the one.

I pull up a crate. No more metal chair. I am not a shrink. I am Dunkin-addled, tough-love-dispensing Ben Affleck at the end of Good Will Hunting. Except my buddy ain’t a genius. He’s a bald fucking bastard.

He’s stuck in you and I want him out but you want him to stay. I think I’m allowed to be a little critical. A little disgusted.

I slap his asshole face. “Did you really suggest we have her fucking killed?”