You First: A Joe Goldberg Prequel (You, #0)(75)

“Joseph,” he says. “Beware the woman who gives a man an ultimatum.”

Your face pops like a kernel. “Excuse me, but you need to step the fuck off, old man.”

The two of you are fighting over me in the worst possible way—Who gets to kill Joe first?—and if I look at you, I’m not looking at him, and if I look at him…. I am being torn in half, and this must be how you know you’re an adult, when two other adults are pulling your arms and legs off your body with their eyes. Miss Frascatore is not coming to my rescue. I am not a kid. I am not a victim. I’m a grown-ass man and I fucked the fuck up.

I have power but I don’t know what to do with it, with him, you.

Begging feels right, so I go for it. “Vail, please, give us like five minutes.”

Your cape is dirty. Stained. “No. I’m not waiting for you, Joe, not after what you did.”

Mr. Mooney cackles. “Says the broad who broke into a customer’s house with you and didn’t suck you off for weeks.”

You gasp—this is bad—and I tell him to stop. You spit. “Fine, Joe. Stay with this old man pig. I only came here to tell you that I do not mess with effing stalkers.”

Effing is a Cynthian word—I knew she was a bad influence—and Mr. Mooney cackles and ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I am not a stalker. I am your BOYFRIEND whether you like it or not and I can’t say that out loud because it doesn’t even sound good in my head but come on already. Come on!

“Vail…I don’t know what you mean by that, but if you just give me a minute…”

“Cynthia saw you, Joe, okay?”

I don’t like that. I don’t want to be seen and you are waiting for me to say something, but what?

“Ah, the silent treatment. To be expected, I guess, given that you’re a child, and a stalker.”

No. “No.”

“I’ll spell it out for you, ‘Joseph.’?”

Mooney gnaws on his cigar, and you’re so mad you don’t even react. “Cynthia was home, Joe. She was there by the door…” Oh no. Please, no. “She saw you, sicko. She saw you lurking in our hallway and trying to look in the peephole and—”

“I love you. Don’t you get it? I went there because I was worried about you.”

“You love me? You love me so much that you stood me up at my birthday party?” NOT FUCKING FAIR. “What gives, Joe? Were you scared to meet my friends?”

“You told me not to go.”

“I told you to do what you want, Joe. And apparently, you wanted to make my birthday about waiting for you to show up…and then stalk me the day after. Cherry on the cake, truly.”

You are stabbing me incessantly with the word stalker and I can’t breathe, I can’t keep up. I pull my fucking hair. “Jesus Christ, Vail, will you stop? I am not a stalker.”

Mooney grunts. I reach for you. You back off like I have STD fucking cooties.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t stalk me. I mean it, Joe.”

“Vail, you’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve shown up. And the day after, yes…I should’ve knocked on your door. I just…I got scared. I didn’t know what to say.”

“How did you even get into my fucking building?”

“Language, young lady.”

You flip the bird at the old man and you don’t get it, Vail. He could lock us in the cage, if he wanted. Does he? “Answer me, Joe. How did you get in?”

“The door was propped.”

“Nope,” you say. “That’s a lie. See, I know my neighbors. Molly in 2A told me how you played the good guy and quote-unquote ‘helped her’ with her stroller.”

I did not “play” the good guy—I AM the good guy—and Mr. Mooney puffs on his cigar. Disgusted. “That extra hole, Joseph…Lying to a woman is a dangerous thing to do….”

Your eyes pop out of your head. “?‘Extra hole.’ Did you hear that?”

That’s to me, and Mooney said that, not me, and I don’t control what comes out of his mouth and I am freezing up, fucking up. I don’t speak your language. I speak no language. I don’t have a mouth.

“All right,” you say, and now there are tears in your eyes, as if the tears in him ran off to be with you. “That’s it for me. Follow me, don’t follow me. Whatever.”

You are calm in this way where there is hope for us yet. Whatever means you want me, and Mooney clears his throat as you walk out the door, as you leave the door open.

“Joseph,” he says. “If you exit these premises, there is no future for you in this shop.”

He breaks eye contact. That’s how I know he means business. You are close by, pretending to search for something in your purse. That’s how I know you mean business.

No dog can have two masters. I can’t be his bitch and your boyfriend at the same time. I don’t say goodbye. I don’t even have the nerve to look at Mr. Mooney.

I turn my back on him. He mutters, “Pussy-whipped.”

He doesn’t mean that, but nobody likes to be left in the dust. And this is it, this is my grand gesture. I leave Mooney Books and call out to you. I’m on your tail and if I was really “stalking” you, you wouldn’t slow down. You wouldn’t want me to catch up with you. But you do.