The Rules of Attraction by Bret Easton Ellis Read Free Book Online Page A

that, that word does not seem quite right) though futile or ridiculous to you takes the mystery from nothing. It is simple. I watch him. He reveals himself in dark contours. Everything I believe in floats away when I witness him, say, eating, or crossing the boundaries of a crowded room. I feel a scourge. I have his name written on a sheet of pale blue paper that is tissue thin, fallen poplars I’ve drawn surround the letters. Everything reminds me of his being: there is a dog that lives across the hall from me. Its owner registered it as a cat (canines are forbidden at this place) and took a fuzzy photo of it and it is small and white-violet and has gremlin ears. I fed it Bon Bons once. I take that person’s actions as a hint and because of that I speak to no one. He is beautiful, though you might not think so. There is something circular about him, like moths fluttering in the clear Arizona night. And I know we will meet. It will come easy and soon. And my resentment—my terrified, futile resentment—will float away. I write another note after dinner. He must know it is me. I know his brand of cigarette. I saw him buy a Richard and Linda Thompson tape in town once. I was standing, looking through a bin I didn’t care about, and he didn’t notice me. I listened to them in high school. When Linda and Richard were still together. They broke up, like John and Exene, like Tina and Ike, Sid and Nancy, Christie and Ray. That will not happen to me. His name is a word on top of a page and it signifies a poem started, stated, started but unfinished since the typewriter will not type anymore. I kiss my hand and smell it and smell him, oh I pretend it is his scent. His. His. I don’t dare go to his house or pass his room. I will walk by him and not even look. I will pass him in the dining hall with a nonchalance that shocks even me.

 
    PAUL I tried to talk to Mitchell at the party at End of the World tonight. He was standing by the keg filling a plastic cup. I already had a beer and was standing alone, where The Graveyard started. I poured the beer out and walked over to the keg. “Hi, Mitch,” I said. It was cold and my breath steamed. “What’s going on?”
    “Hi, Paul. Nothing much.” He was filling two cups. Couldn’t the helpless bitch get her own fucking beer? “What’s going on with you?”
    “Nothing. Can we talk?” I took the tap from him.
    He stood there holding the two beers.
    “What do you want to talk about?” he asked with that famous blank stare.
    “Just about what’s going on,” I said, concentrating on the beer and foam coming out of the tap. A girl came by and waited. I gave her a look but she wasn’t looking at me, only at my hands, impatiently.
    “I warned you, Paul. Remember that,” Mitchell said.
    “Yeah, I know,” I said and laughed quickly. My cup wasn’t even half-full but I handed the girl the tap anyway. “Wait, you warned me about what?” I asked. I could see Candice standing by the edge of End of the World, behind her and down, the Valley of Camden, lights in the town. I didn’t understand how he could prefer
that
because Mitchell was, admittedly, too good-looking for her. It was beyond my comprehension. I took a gulp of beer.
    “I
warned
you.” He started walking.
    “Wait.” I followed him. He stopped by one of the speakers. The Pretenders were coming loudly from them. A small group of people were dancing. He said something I couldn’t hear. I knew what he was going to say, but I didn’t think he had the nerve to say it. Had I been warned? Probably, but not in any verbal way. In the way he would recoil if I touched him in public or after he came. Or if I bought him a beer at The Pub and the way he would throw a fit and tell me that he’d pay for it and push a dollar across the table. How all he would talk about was wanting to go to Europe, take a term off, and then how he would alwaysadd, stress,
alone.
I
had
been warned and I hated to admit it to myself. But I