The Revelation Read Free

interrogation is
officially done.”
    “Okay.”
    “I don’t only sleep with blondes. I’ve been
with women of all shapes, sizes, colors, ethnicities, and hair
colors, and I’ve enjoyed them all. In fact, I’ve enjoyed them all immensely. ”
    “Thanks. Little more info than I needed.”
    “And, no, I don’t have some bizarre complex whereby
I think sleeping with a beautiful blonde woman somehow transforms
me into a sick fuck. Yes, I specifically requested blondes in The Club because The Club was about fantasy-fulfillment and
escape from reality, and, call me unimaginative or trite, but when
I shop at the fantasy store, at least for purposes of fulfilling
the fantasies I specifically asked for in The Club, that’s what I
want—a classic blonde. Why? I don’t know. It’s just the way I’m
wired—I definitely have a type .” He makes a sound that
emphatically signals he’s done talking.
    “Thank you,” I say smoothly, scrolling through the
photos again. “Yep, I’d agree you definitely have a type.” I snort.
“Actually, they all look just like...” I abruptly stop speaking.
Holy shit.
    There’s a long beat.
    “Yeah, Kat,” Josh finally says. He lets out a loud
puff of air. “They look just like you .”
    He’s read my mind. I swallow hard.
    “Less attractive versions of you, of course,” he
continues softly. “They’re all wannabe-Kats. You’re what my brother
refers to as the ‘divine original.’”
    I’m tingling all over. “The ‘ divine
original ’?” I breathe. “What’s that?”
    He lets out a long groan. “I can’t believe I just
said that. It’s this Plato-thing Jonas is always babbling about.
Forget I ever said it—I wanna gouge my eyes out every time my
brother mentions it and now it’s me who’s saying it. Gah.”
    I press my phone into my ear, my breathing shallow.
“What does it mean, Josh?” I ask softly. “Whatever it means, it’s
making me tingle all over.”
    “It just means you’re the original template and
everyone else is a knock-off.” He lets out a long sigh. “Like, you
know, you’re the authentic Gucci bag and everyone else is one of
those counterfeits they sell on the sidewalk in New York.”
    I pause, letting that sink in. I’ve never been to
New York, actually, but his metaphor is still perfectly
understandable to me. “So does that mean I make you a sick fuck
more than anyone else?”
    He growls with exasperation. “You don’t make me a
sick fuck— no one makes me a sick fuck. Someone I cared about
once called me a sick fuck and I was pissed as hell about it
when I named that folder, that’s all. I was, you know, flipping
that person the bird when I named that folder . ”
    While Josh has been talking, I’ve been leafing
through the photos. There’s one girl I keep going back to again and
again. She’s not working the lens or trying to be sexy like
the others—in fact, the woman is clearly put off by posing for the
photo—and her shyness about the whole thing makes her all the more
alluring. Suddenly, there’s no doubt in my mind this shy girl is
the non-Clubber Josh photographed himself—and, if my Scooby Doo
senses are right, she’s also the one who pissed him off by calling
him a “sick fuck.”
    “What about the shy one?” I ask.
    “The shy one?”
    “The one who looks mortified to be posing for a
naked photo? She looks pretty divine-original-ish to me. Is she the
one you photographed yourself?” I swallow hard. “Is she your
ex-girlfriend?”
    He doesn’t reply.
    “Did she call you a sick fuck?”
    “Click out of there, Kat,” he says softly, a
stiffness overtaking his tone. “Interrogation over.”
    My skin erupts in goose bumps. He’s not kidding
around. Shoot. He sounds genuinely upset.
    “Okay, I’m out,” I say, exiting the folder.
    “I’m gonna go,” he says evenly. “Happy reading.”
    “No, wait . Please, Josh. Wait .” The
angry edge in his voice has made my chest tighten. Clearly,