The Source by J B Stilwell

the
project and you are in some kind of trance."  Rick looks over to Tucker's
table. "He’s one of the archivists, isn't it?  Do you know him?"
     
    Trying to smile.
"Not really.  I've seen him around."  I SO do not want to get into
this conversation.  I really don’t want to relive the humiliation of everything
that has happened.
    He raises an eyebrow.
"Maybe interested in getting to know him?"
    "Not
hardly," I say, slightly rolling my eyes, not wanting to wax too juvenile
on the subject.  "Well, we better get back to the suite.  If you're not
wanting to talk about the things that angered you, we should get back to
work."  Distraction from my issues is my middle name. 
    Rick grabs my hand.
"I meant what I said.  I don't want you to think that just because I keep
certain things to myself that it means that I don't trust you, or like you,
or...want to spend time with you."  He stands up, still holding my hand,
giving it a slight shake. "You go ahead back to the suite.  I need to make
some arrangements with Rita, then I'll be right there."
    I nod as I slide my
hand from his once again, feeling completely perplexed and somewhat satisfied. 
It's nice to know that he doesn't want to attack me.  Even nicer that he might
actually enjoy my company.  This pleasant discovery made in front of the
viewing audience of Tucker, my clueless admirer.  Hopefully it won't give him
any ideas.  That is if he even saw anything.
    I walk quickly out of
the cafeteria and down the hall to our suite. 
    When I get there, I’m
surprised to see that Ms. Montgomery has packed all of her things and left. 
Maybe she got tired of our lack of work.  My gain.  I can actually relax now
without feeling like I am being scrutinized under a microscope. 
    I go back to the
computer and stare at the screensaver.  I wish I knew what makes Rick tick,
aside from a hunger for blood.  Ick.  I know that something is bothering him,
but he won't talk about it.  And at the same time he appears to be getting
increasingly friendly with me.  Holding my hand?  Sheesh.  When had that
happened last?  I remember the first of only a few times that a man held my
hand.  Actually, he was a boy as I was still in high school.  I felt as awkward
as he acted as he took my hand.  We spent at least five minutes looking at each
other, wondering what to do next.  His name was Billy Somethingoranother.  I
don't ever remember being friends with him.  I just remember that someone had
told me that he liked me, so I jumped at the chance.  Didn't know him.  Didn't
even find him attractive.  Someone was showing an interest, so I couldn't let it
pass by.
    See, what Billy
didn't know - and Rick has yet to figure out - I'm the girl who is the good
friend, not a girlfriend.  I'm the girl who listened when guys complained about other girls.  I would nod,
ask leading questions and tried to use a Jedi mind trick to get them to notice
me as date material.  I never was a good Jedi.  My control of the Force was
only good enough to get accepted as "one of the guys" when I really
wanted to be one in a million. 
    Billy never did
figure it out.  We continued to fumble around with our unsteady status as
"steadies."  I wouldn't break up with him because I couldn't bear
being the girl without a boyfriend, as relationship status became a mark of
general worthiness in high school.  We had nothing in common.  And after getting
to know him, I didn't even really like him.  I had seen movies where big,
gorgeous guys would come in and rescue the broken-hearted damsel in distress,
so I put on my best Scarlet facade and treated Billy in such a way that he
wanted to dump me .  No boys came
running to comfort me.  Actually, it further reinforced my identity as a dating
pariah because even one of the school's "losers" didn't want me.
    Not an easy lesson to
learn, but I'm still waiting on someone to rescue me.  And it's too much to
hope for Rick to be that person, but the