What Love Looks Like by Lara Mondoux

fun, isn’t it?”
             “Yeah,
it’s cool,” he said. “I like seeing your face, and that hot body of yours.”
             “I
like seeing yours too.”
             “What
I’m trying to say is that I think about you in a sick, irrational way. I just
want to do things to you. Like it’s an obsession.”
             “Obsession’s
a powerful word,” I said, trembling faintly.
             “It’s
the truth, and it’s fucked up.”
             “What’s
so fucked up about it?”
             “I
can’t put my finger on it.” He exhaled smoke with his words.
    “I think that
unquenchable lust that you’re referring to—that’s what all the great
movies are made of. Romeo and Juliet. Harry and Sally. Edward and Bella,” I
said. Finally, he cracked a smile. “And I feel it too.”
    Our Skype
meeting ended with both of us touching ourselves and saying erotic things to
one another. Though mildly humiliating, it was better than Jay going out and
finding real-life satisfaction somewhere else. It got me thinking more about
obsession: the domination of one’s thoughts by an idea or desire, a compulsive
unreasonable idea or emotion. Some of my favorite stories were based on
obsession. Lolita and The Great Gatsby were examples. My
feelings for Jay reminded me of such narratives. They combined the deadly sins
like gluttony, lust, vanity, and pride. They were the very things I’d always
been spellbound by. I was drawn to fixation. It drowned out my inner void. And
though the focus changed (from booze to men to overconsumption), the tone
remained the same.

 
    My days at the
office seemed to keep ending later and starting earlier. It was a patter that I
was growing increasingly tired of. I worked more and more every week, and yet
my income didn’t change all that much. I tried explaining to Maureen one
morning over coffee that there had to be a better way to make a living. But she
was the more conventional of the two of us and insisted that we were both wise
to play it safe in such a bleak economy and collect our measly paychecks. My
mind drifted regularly into a vision of owning my own event-planning company in
New York, one in which I’d make my own schedule and earn more money than I knew
what to do with.
    Income was
important, but even more than that, I longed for freedom from the constant
drudgery of feeling like I was making rich men even richer. If I had my own
company, I could actually enjoy my work and make more money. Plus, I’d get to
do things my way. With the way that my job was structured East Coast Prime
crept into every part of my life and didn’t allow for any autonomy. I had to
face the facts: my life consisted mostly of connections made through my job:
Maureen and Jenna, friends from work, and Jay, a guy that I’d met at work, and
of course work, work, work.
    And because of
work, visits to my parents' house had become infrequent. My plate was full, but
that didn't justify avoiding my family. I felt guilty for my prolonged absence,
and incessant e-mails and voice mails from my mother only intensified my guilt.
I’d always had a strong relationship with my parents, and there was no excuse
for putting them off. I wanted to blame it on my job, but in truth, all the
time I was spending exercising to be hot enough for Jay, being on the phone
with Jay, and daydreaming about Jay were my only opportunities for family time.
    I’d finally
solidified a date to see my parents, and for once, I actually had good news on
the relationship front. The day before I planned to visit them, I was spending
my Saturday relaxing for a few hours before heading into work for an event
downtown. As I fixed myself a bland salad for lunch, I received a welcome phone
call.
    “Hi!” I said
excitedly.
    “How are you,
sexy?” Jay asked.
    “I’m fantastic,
how are you?”
    “I’m great,
now,” he said, as I blushed through the receiver. “So I booked your