These Things About Us by Laura Beege

some sort of preference for a certain kind of music or a specific artist. Music was always merely background noise for me and I started to feel bad about it now that I knew someone who was genuinely interested in it. It seemed wrong to discard something so easily if it was important to someone else.
    “So you don’t think this is music? Because you can’t put it on your IPod?”
    “To be honest, if you sang it or played it, it could be music but right now these,” I tapped the paper, “are just words on paper. And they’re so messy I can’t even read them.”
    “Probably better this way.” He smacked the notebook shut and slid it out of reach to the end of the bar. “We wouldn’t want you thinking I’m a misunderstood, depressed asshole writing silly love songs about girls I used to know.”
    “Don’t worry, I figured you’re not a serenading Romeo kind of guy,” I replied while I fixed myself a glass of cold water.
    “Tell me, then.” Trace leaned over the counter and I got a whiff of that dark scent surrounding him that I’d noticed before. He shouldn’t be allowed to smell this nice. Scratching the back of my nose, I tried to find traces of my perfume left on the sleeve of my dress. It was all kinds of screwed up to think of how good Trace smelled. Maybe that was his secret to getting that many girls to sleep with him. “What kind of guy am I?” His hand folded around my glass of water and a moment later he’d emptied it.
    “That was mine. Apparently you’re a thief.”
    “No, that’s you.” He sank back into his seat and let the glass clink against the counter. “We were talking about what you think of me .”
    “Okay. You asked for it. I think you’re weird, infuriating, possibly a sex-addict, aggressive and violent.” I snatched the glass from him and filled it again, this time not putting it down but drinking up right away.
    “I’m not a sex-addict.”
    “Seriously, that’s what you’re going to deny? I’ve lost count of how many times your girlfriends woke me up.”
    “I told you before that I can’t sleep. When I don’t have any sleeping pills left, or I don’t want to be completely out for hours, sex is the easiest way to get exhausted. Most of the time, it’s just a means to an end. I’m not addicted to it.”
    “You’re using women as sleeping pills, wow, add misogynist to the list.” I was losing hold of my ‘be nice to Trace’ rope, but he was just pushing too many buttons to not let myself get worked up.
    “I like women, Kitty. They know that all they’re getting from me is sex. They get what they want, I get what I want. Quid pro quo.”
    “That’s-” My answer was interrupted by the office door smashing into its frame and Alex charging past the bar and out of the pub. That didn’t look good. Just as I was about to ask Trace for answers, he shrugged as if having read my mind.
    Deciding that it was best to drop our conversation before something stupid happened, I busied myself with cleaning glasses that were already sparkling and ordering the stack of CDs alphabetically. After the couple left and Jean headed back upstairs to his room, Trace decided it would be okay to close up early.
    “So, do you plan on taking your pills tonight?”
    “Kitty, no part of my body thinks you’re hot in case that’s your way to beg for a fuck.”
     I rolled my eyes and started upstairs. “That was my way of asking if I’m going need earplugs tonight.”
    Trace sighed right behind me. Even my way of taking steps probably displeased him. Only when we’d arrived on our floor he said, “No earplugs.”
    “Okay. Thanks,” I said and went for my room. I still caught Trace’s confused look, but I left it at that. I had no desire to get into another discussion.
     
    With the camera now fully charged, I spent the next few days running around London taking pictures of the most touristy things I could think of. I went to the palace and watched the change of guards and tried