Never Have I Ever: Submitted to my Enemy

I pushed the door open to the Travis Room of the library at exactly six thirty. Considering the late hour and the fact that I’d chosen a room in the archives, the section was empty except for a lone figure sitting at one of the tables.

Alex.

He glanced up from his phone, his eyes tight and his expression closed off. Guess he was still in a mood. Rather than let his obvious dislike bother me, I sauntered over to the table and slid into the seat across from him.

“You’re late.”

“I’m not late. I’m exactly on time.”

He put his phone on the table next to him and crossed his arms.

“So, thoughts on the presentation topic?” I asked after a few beats of silence.

“Censorship is sometimes necessary.”

“Interesting stance. Care to clarify?”

He rolled his eyes. “There are times when censorship should be allowed.”

“You pretty much restated your original point. Let’s try this another way. Book banning. Yes or no?”

“No.”

“Explain your stance, and I’ll explain mine.”

“Books aren’t something schools and governments or even businesses should be able to censor. Knowledge creates a more empathetic and educated society, which is something we should be striving for, not working against.”

“Playing devil’s advocate here, but what about certain content?”

“I don’t believe that any content should be banned as long as it’s not illegal. People should have the right to decide what they want to read.”

“Okay, but what about the slippery slope of what’s considered illegal? Erotic content, for example?”

“Unless it’s featuring minors, then all erotic content should be allowed. I agree with putting age restrictions on things. I don’t believe that, say, a twelve-year-old should be able to access hardcore erotica. But everyone has the right to publish and read what they want.” He cocked his head. “You don’t agree?”

“I fully agree.” I crossed my arms, matching his posture. “What about sex education and LGBT content in schools?”

This was my litmus test to see what kind of person he was. People didn’t realize how telling this question was. It exposed not only their views on sex-positive education but also on religion and queer rights.

“As long as it’s geared toward the appropriate age group, then it should be allowed. I don’t think that middle schoolers need graphic depictions of sex to be taught about it, but we should be arming kids with knowledge about their bodies and relationships, not shielding them from it.”

“What about LGBT content?”

“I don’t think it should even have its own classification. Sex education is sex education. All types of sexual relationships should be taught. What, you don’t agree?” he asked, his voice taunting.

“No. I agree with you.”

“What about religious content?” he asked.

“All religious texts should be allowed. You can’t censor one and not the others. I don’t agree with a lot that’s taught in most religions, but it’s not my or anyone else’s place to decide what others can or can’t learn about.”

“Huh.” He pursed his lips.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He uncrossed his arms. I did the same.

One of my go-to techniques for breaking down people’s walls was mirroring them. Alex was projecting hostility, but by reflecting his movements back at him, it subconsciously created a connection between us and made him see me as less of a threat. And who said psych was a useless degree?

“What about violent content?” he asked.

“Written or visual.”

“Both.”

“Written should be allowed. Again, with age restrictions. Ten-year-olds shouldn’t be reading about torture, but an adult should be able to choose what they read about. Visual is different. Comics or drawn depictions should be open to everyone, based on age appropriateness. Pictures and videos are a gray area for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Media that show graphic depictions of torture and murder are one thing because it’s fake. Actual violence, like pictures of murders or victims, should be restricted.”

“Why?”

“One, for privacy. The victim’s families deserve to have control over what is or isn’t shown.”

“What about police departments?”

“That’s a tough one. What do you think about it?” I asked.

“When it comes to court cases, then I believe photos and videos should be shown without any form of censorship. With media releases or the news, then yes. I believe that the privacy of the victim and the sensibilities of the public should be respected.”

“Sensibilities of the public? Do you mean like people having the right to choose whether they see something graphic?”

He nodded. “Violence is a huge trigger for some people, and others don’t want to see that on the news or plastered all over their social media. In cases like that, then I believe censorship is warranted and should even be mandatory.”

“What about written violence?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Your turn.”

“I didn’t realize this was a debate, but okay.” I gave him a little half smirk, and he rolled his eyes. “In fiction, it should only be restricted based on age.”

“What about nonfiction?”

“History, true crime, those should have zero restrictions.”

“What about books that are literally how-to manuals to commit crimes?”

“Like The Anarchist’s Cookbook?”

He nodded.

“Outside of age restrictions, I agree that they’re protected under the First Amendment.”

“What about manifestos?”

“That’s a tricky one.” I leaned back in my seat.

A moment later, Alex did the same. Now he was mirroring me. Interesting.

“How so?”

“Manifestos, especially by people who’ve committed crimes, aren’t books. Publishing something on the internet for people to read isn’t the same as a physical book.”

“What about e-books? They’re not physical.”

“No, but they’re books. They need to be downloaded and are formatted to be a replica of a physical book. A manifesto on a blog isn’t a book. You don’t agree?”

“I’m not sure.” He bit his lip.

Now that Alex was too busy taking part in our discussion to be mad at me, I was struck by how handsome he was. I’d thought his eyes were plain brown, but they were actually a mix of several shades and had tiny gold flecks in them. His lips were full, and his sharp jawline and high cheekbones made his bone structure an incredible combination of delicate and strong. With his carefully styled hair that framed his face and the black Henley that clung to his toned frame, he was gorgeous.

“I do agree blogs aren’t books. But manifestos aren’t just something whack jobs write. It’s a blanket term for the written public declaration of someone’s or an organization’s intentions, motives, or views.”

“Did you swallow a dictionary?” I quirked my eyebrow. “Not many people know the definition of manifesto off the top of their head like that.”

“Some of us actually prepare for our assignments.” He gave me a sugary sweet smile.

I chuckled. Our entire meeting had been a discussion. Our views were matched, which would make this presentation easier, but we were putting the cart before the horse.

“We should probably talk about the actual presentation and not just the topics we’re going to cover.”

Alex’s smile faded, the coldness returning to his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.”

“I was thinking—”

“So we’re going to do it your way, huh?”

“Not what I was going to say.” I smirked, knowing it would piss him off.

He glowered at me. His anger was so predictable. “I was going to say I was thinking we should decide on what kind of presentation we want to do.”

“I don’t understand what you mean. We go up, we present… what’s there to decide?”

“Are we doing a visual presentation?”

“You mean like PowerPoint? Obviously.”

“So you decided?”

“What other types are there?” He cocked his head to the side, confusion shining in his eyes.

“Verbal and written.”

“You want us to stand in front of a class full of bored students for twenty minutes and talk with no visual aids?” He gave me a look that clearly said he thought I was crazy.

“It’s an option.”

“And I don’t think Professor Meyers is going to be all that impressed with us handing out copies for the class to read instead of, you know, actually presenting the material.”

His attitude was hilarious. He switched between pissed off and petulant so seamlessly. I wanted to keep poking the bear and see how far I could push him.

“Again, it’s an option.”

“A stupid one,” he mumbled. “We’re doing the 10-20-30 rule.”

“We are?” I raised one eyebrow.

“It’s the accepted format.”

“Accepted where?”

He blinked at me. “Accepted everywhere.”

“What’s your major?” I asked.

Normally, that was something I asked people right away, but I’d forgotten while he’d been busy being mad at me for some unknown reason.

“Business.”

“Ah. That explains it.”

“Explains what?” He glowered at me.

“Why you think that’s the way to go.”

“And what’s your major?”

“Psychology.”

He snorted. “Like that’s going to be useful in the real world.”

“It will be when I get my doctorate.”

His cocky smile dropped. “You want to get your doctorate?”

“That’s a lot of inflection in one sentence.” I smirked. “What? You thought I was just another pretty face?”

“You’re not pretty,” he grumbled.

“You’re right. I’m not pretty. I’m hot.”

“And so humble.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m surprised you can fit through doorways with a head that big.”

“It’s not bragging if it’s the truth.” I stretched my arms over my head. His eyes followed the move. Interesting. Just for shits and giggles, I flexed, knowing my long-sleeved tee would cling to my muscles, and put my hands behind my head in a classic casual pose. He tore his gaze from my arms.

“Someone has a high opinion of himself.”

“You don’t think you’re hot?” I asked.

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Confidence isn’t arrogance when it’s warranted.” I dropped my arms. “Nothing wrong with liking what you see in the mirror. You go to the gym, right?”

He nodded curtly.

“So why not be proud of the work you put into your body? It’s true you can’t control your looks, but you can take the time to dress well, do your hair, groom yourself. We do those things to enhance our looks. Might as well own it.”

“But aren’t we supposed to be humble and not use our pretty privilege? I bet all you have to do is flash a little smirk and flex your muscles, and you get everything you want.”

“Awww, you think I’m pretty?”

“I didn’t say that. You did,” he said.

“No. I said I thought I was hot. You said that you did too.”

“I didn’t.” He glared at me. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

“But you agree that you’re pretty.”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“No, you didn’t. So you think you’re not attractive?”

“Ugh.” He sat up, his eyes blazing. “Why are we talking about this? We’re supposed to be figuring out this stupid presentation.”

I chuckled. He was like a cartoon with steam coming out of his ears.

He was so easy to rile up.

“Fine. But we’re not doing the 10-20-30 method.”

“Yes, we are. It’s proven to be the most effective.”

“I think I’m a little more qualified to say what’s effective when it comes to communicating.”

“Oh really? So taking a bunch of psych courses suddenly makes you an expert?” He crossed his arms.

“No, but it does make me more of an expert than your business courses.”

He narrowed his eyes, and splotches of red appeared on his neck. “Are you actually trying to say that your degree is harder than mine?”

“Not at all.” I knew my calmness was setting him off even more. You couldn’t fight with someone who didn’t fight back. He obviously wanted to get a rise out of me, but I wasn’t going to give in.

“All I’m saying is that I’ve studied human behavior on a deeper level than you. I have science to back up my ideas.”

“Fine.” He bit out. “What do you suggest, then, Mr. Expert?”

“I agree that PowerPoint is the way to go, but we need to make our presentation stand out. Everyone is going to be doing the same thing, so we should try and be a little creative with this.”

“Why? Isn’t it better to do what’s expected? Safer?”

“Safer?”

“Yeah. Unlike you, I actually need to keep my grades up to get into grad school. I can’t just go rogue on a presentation for funsies.”

“Did you forget I just said I’m going for my PhD? Last time I checked, I needed grad school for that.” I grinned to keep the sting out of my words.

He rolled his eyes and heaved a huge, frustrated-sounding sigh. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Doing what?”

“Being difficult!”

“I’m not being difficult. I’m simply stating a different point of view.”

He grabbed his phone off the table and hit the power button to wake up the screen. “It’s been almost an hour, and we’ve accomplished nothing. I don’t know about you, but I have shit I need to do.”

“Same.” I cocked my head to the side.

“Good.” He stood so quickly his chair fell to the floor.

Grumbling, he righted the chair and stalked away from the table.

“Wait.”

“What?” He whirled around.

“We need to write up the minutes of our meeting.”

“Fuck.” He raked a hand through his perfect hair, messing it. “Fine. I’ll do it when I get home.”

“We can alternate. I’ll do the next one.”

He gave me a clipped nod. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Have a good night.” I smiled serenely at him.

“Ugh.”

He spun on his heel and stomped toward the exit. Chuckling, I waited until the door closed behind him, then stood. I had no idea what Alex’s problem was, but I was used to dealing with ornery people. I’d break him down eventually. And I’d have a hell of a good time doing it.