Everyone Here Secretly Hates You

This is the first draft. This is also the first short story I've finished in a while- longer than a year, I think! It's also pretty nihilistic, so there is that. For me, at least.

Everyone Here Secretly Hates You

              

  Apollo’s Diner is somewhere between nowhere and everywhere. He pulls up in a Buick he inherited that had several past owners. Dust kicked up from his tires.

                She watched from her booth, cupping her coffee nervously. She didn’t look up from the table as he entered and his shoes scuffed the floor.

                He appeared before her and quietly took his seat. His brown hair was ruffled from his movements; his blazer wasn’t ironed. Her eyes were concerned, big and curious. She looked like an orphan child on a TV ad, begging you for loose change and sympathy, riddling you with first-world guilt.

                She was a mess.

                “I’m glad you came.” She was the first to speak. There was no music playing in Apollo’s; just the sounds of a diner running through typical Sunday operations. Plates clashing; grease sizzling.

                He nodded, his expression very serious.

                “I told you I would.” Her eyes cast down again. The young woman, in her mid to late 20s, nodded her head like she’d been chastised.

                Next, he pulled out a tape recorder. In the year 2013, it was the equivalent of some forgotten-about antique. He clicked the red “on” button with a force that was almost malevolent.

                “Glenn, I…” she began, her voice trailing off slowly.

                “No. No. No. You are going to tell me everything, every last sordid detail, and this stays on. If you protest again, I will leave and you will never see me again.”

                She shrunk in her seat.

                “But, I love you? Why are you doing this?”

                “I don’t care. Stop asking questions and speak. Tell me everything.”

                She fought away her hot tears even though she felt them in her face and her throat threatening to close up, shutting off her ability to speak. She could not make eye contact.

                But she began.

                “I’m 24 years old.”

                “I know that,” he whispered. “You’re not breaking any new ground. Go.”

                “Glenn…”

                “Just talk. It doesn’t pain me to leave. You and I both know that.”

                “I’ve slept with six people.”

                “Six?”

                “Does that make me a whore?”

                “I’m not here to judge.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. She swallowed.

                “I lost my virginity when I was 22.”

                “How?”

                “Glenn…”

                “Tell me how. I asked.” She looked down at the coffee, not sure if it was black or brown. The light gleamed off the top. She was ashamed. Her face was painted pink with chagrin.

                “I bartered it for a bag of weed with a boy I knew in passing. He was cute, borderline cute I guess. His hair was long and needed to be washed. It was horrible. I felt like a pin was pricking me. I sobbed the whole time. I wanted it to be over as soon as it began.”

                “You bartered your virginity?” he was bewildered.

                “Does that make me a whore?”

                “I don’t know. It could.”

                “You said you wouldn’t judge.”

                “I didn’t. I let that thought be.”

                “It could make me a whore.” She repeated the sentiment, and her voice rang hollow.

                “You didn’t love this boy?”

                “No. I was 22. I had no passing notion of what love possibly could be.”

                “I don’t think you do now, either,” he spat.

                Her eyes met his. The people surrounding them in the restaurant let them exist in their own universe, virtually ignoring them. A blur of movements and other lives unfolding. They may have appeared like another in love.

                “I think I do,” she quietly answered.

                “We should keep going. We’re running out of time.”

                “I don’t remember his name,” she confessed, her voice lacking any emotion whatsoever.

                “I’m not surprised.”

                “It may have been Harrison or Henry or Hank.”

                “Just keep going. I lost my virginity to a girl named Alison, by the way.” Glenn stopped the tape momentarily. “And I loved her. Every flawed part of her.”

                “That makes you the better person again. That’s what you want.” He said nothing, turned the player back on and made an irritated gesture with her hand. She sighed.

                “Matt came two months later. He was my friend’s brother. I had a crush on him. We were both drunk. He came onto me and I reciprocated. He never spoke to me afterwards. I saw him once, later on. We crossed paths at the local mall.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I saw him see me. You know how people’s faces tend to light up when they see someone they recognize? That little – glow? That’s what happened. And then he looked away.”

She didn’t want to speak anymore after that.

“He avoided you?”

“Yes. I thought he’d say hi. I thought he’d hug me or at least strike up some kind of conversation. It was like he wanted nothing to do with me. To him, I was dead.”

“Did you love him?”

“I don’t know. I barely knew him. I thought he was beautiful and kind, and that’s all I wanted. Somebody nice.”

“He didn’t care about you at all. He just wanted a fuck.”

“Yes.” That’s all I am, isn’t it? She thought bitterly. Just a warm body. Just something to own and humiliate.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s mostly behind me.”

“Mostly?”

“I don’t like talking about it.” She should have added more, she realized. She didn’t want to tell Glenn about the blood on the toilet, though. Or the call to her mother in the middle of the night. Or the trip to the hospital and the word “miscarriage” ringing through her ears.

“Who was the next one?”

“Dale. We dated for six months.”

“That is a stupid name.”

“I wouldn’t say Glenn’s fantastic, either.”

“I never claimed it was.” He feigned innocence.

“Do you want to order anything? Maybe we should get some food.” A waitress walked by, between the ages of 50 and 60, eyeing them suspiciously.

“No one has come to take our orders yet. I’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Just keep talking, please.”

“Dale was a bad lover, but I really loved him. I learned to enjoy sex with him in a way I never did before.”

“How?”

“I just liked it. I wanted it, even if he didn’t.”

“What makes you think that?”

“His behavior. His comments. He stopped completely toward the end.”

“Why?”

“He said he could never be in a physical relationship. Wasn’t for him or something like that.”

“Hmm. That’s different.”

“I’m sure it was him. Logically, I accept that. Something in Dale’s brain; it was something he had no control of at all. Like how I hate onions, maybe that’s how he felt about sex.”

“Conceivable.”

“But then I wonder.”

“Go on.”

“Was I too fat? Was he not attracted to me anymore? Did the sight of me make him sick?”

“You’ll never have answers for those questions.”

“No. Never. Before he left me, he said our physical relationship was a lie. He was never comfortable.”

“That’s a hard pill to swallow, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Good God. You have all these rotten experiences and then you decide to let one person in. This is the person who understands you. This is the person who loves you. And then, one day.” She pulled away from the table like she’d been hit. “He doesn’t.”

“That’s the risk you take in life and love, though.”

“Why is it a risk, though? Does it have to be like that?”

For the first time throughout their encounter, Glenn hesitated. He did not make eye contact; his mouth was slightly agape.

“I can’t answer that,” he finally spoke in a demure voice.

“I know I was a risk.”

He was eager to move on, as always.

“Who came after Dale?”

“I don’t remember his name. It was a one-night stand. I was feeling stupid and particularly self-destructive.”

“Some people use sex to destroy themselves.”

“Like alcohol and drugs. I’m aware of this.”

“So you thought you’d give it a try. How original.”

“Glenn…”

“I’m not judging you. I appreciate your honesty.”

But he was judging her; his eyes told a different story. She bit her lip.

“We met at a bar. I was reading. He asked me about the title.”

“Was he familiar with the writer and the story?”

“No. He just made some glib comment. Oh, ha ha. I looked at him like he was a moron.”

“Sounds like a winner.”

“He was older.”

“How much older?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Jesus.”

“I don’t remember it exactly. I was sleepy and drunk. He was gone in the morning.”

“So another not-so-good encounter for you.”

“Yup.”

“You’re like a Tolstoy heroine.” She winced.

“That’s nothing to write home about.” Glenn shrugged. He was utterly indifferent to her suffering. She could have been bleeding before him, and it’d be arguable he’d even attempt to help her.

She drank her coffee- black.

“I didn’t imply it was. You just leave a trail of bad lovers behind you.”

“Oh.”

“What happens next? Tell me.”

“Cecil.”

“Cecil?!”

“Cecil.”

“Is that the Cecil I know? Cecil DeWitt?”

“Yes. Him.”

“How? What? Why?”

“Who, what, when, where,” she swallowed more coffee. “Although we already know the who in this instance.”

“I’m just-“ Glenn looked disgusted, sneering. “Cecil. How desperate and in need of validation were you?”

“Glenn. That wasn’t the case. Don’t assume.”

“Well, now you’re leading me down a rabbit hole.”

“He’s a decent guy. He hates me now, though.”

“Don’t they all?”

“He had a crush on me since high school. I had no clue. He saw me at the grocery store and just blurted it out. Like, I thought you were beautiful since tenth-grade gym.”

“How flattering.”

“It was shocking, I never realized; I wasn’t that good-looking in high school and thought everybody else knew it too.”

“Perception’s a funny thing. Cecil looks like a chicken.”

“Glenn!”

“What?”

“He’s a good guy!”

“Each to his own.”

“Well, we went on a few dates. We had sex a few times. He was caring, attentive.”

“And?”

“I got scared because he was moving too fast. He wanted to introduce me to his parents. His friends. We had been dating three weeks? I felt like I was being choked.”

“Scared of commitment?”

“I was unsure of everything.”

“So what happened?”

“I broke things off with him- and he snapped. He said I was a shithead.”

“Do you think you’re a shithead?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes.”

“Sounds about right.”

“We never spoke again. I wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted. Why lie to him? He was a good person.”

“Honesty can hurt.”

She stopped, carefully surveying her surroundings. Apollo’s Diner hadn’t changed at all. The careful backdrop remained a distant blur.

“I know.”

“So if I sum up what we have so far. Your first experience was bad, your second experience was bad, your third experience seemed good but really wasn’t, your fourth was horrible, your fifth was….okayish…”

“Yes. You know everything.”

“No. I don’t, not yet.” He beckoned her on; there was more to go.

“Glenn.” Her voice was a passive protest. “You already know.”

“I want to hear it from you.” She hesitated and began to shake.

“I met you.”

“And?”

“I loved you. There were times when you were hard to deal with, but I loved you.”

“I don’t know if I ever felt that.” Glenn was composed as he ever was. His face was apathetic and somewhat pale. His eyes, which were blue, appeared to be cut from steel at that moment.

“I don’t know what I could have done differently. I tried to be patient, I tried to give you what you wanted.”

“Maybe you just didn’t try hard enough.”

“Maybe you wanted to change me,” she spurt out. “And maybe you can’t change people. People change when they are ready for change.”

She was a mess.

“People can change when they care enough,” he responded. “Did you enjoy fucking me, Stephanie? I want to know.”
                “I can’t.” And then, she ceased fighting tears.

“You can’t. You won’t. What’s the difference? Truly, there is none.” He stopped the recorder with a tap of his broad thumb.

“Here is what is going to happen. I’m leaving. You are never to contact me again. You are to never call, to never write, nothing. This is it. Goodbye.” He rose from the table.  He hadn’t ordered anything. He began to walk away.

                “I don’t. Glenn. Please.” She could barely see clearly and thought that she maybe would pass out. Her body slumped on the dirty diner floor that hadn’t been washed since Thursday of the previous week. And she also thought that if she begged hard enough, worked hard to convince him, he would come back.

                Either he didn’t hear her, or he didn’t care. He walked out of Apollo’s Diner without a look behind him. He headed to his car, started it, tossed the tape recorder in the backseat.

He drove off like he was driving off into the sunset. There was no sunset to drive into.

In the diner, Stephanie wept. She wept for a lot of things: If not simply Glenn, her inability to change. The other diners, who ate waffles and dipped eggs in ketchup apathetically. Every little thing suspended in space.

The waitress from before walked on over. She sniffled, pulling back snot in her head. Her actual age was 56.

“Today’s special is the cheesecake.”

Stephanie looked up, disgusted. She pulled out a five-dollar bill, threw it down, and she left the restaurant.