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I look like a contemporary Dana Scully, which explains why Hayden hasn’t been able to stop eyeing me.
“It’s either genetic, or all the X-Files fan fiction I wrote in high school.”
Were you really that traumatized by the Bermuda Triangle? HAYDEN To be fair, I thought I would have to deal with it a lot more in my adult life than I have. It doesn’t occupy my thoughts that often.
That’s how they get you. They show you a pretty resort where you can get drinks with umbrellas in them, and then you die. HALLIE Damn, I had no idea the Bermuda Triangle has a master’s in marketing.
“He’s got an ass that won’t quit, too,” I add. I cannot believe Skroll is letting us expense a trip to film Mothman’s hard, steel ass.
“Chernobyl? You’re trying to say that Mothman caused Chernobyl. What’d he do? Hit the nuclear reactor button with his thick ass?”
Mothman stares back at me with weird little tomatoey eyes and a pepperoni body, an ungodly amount of mushrooms for wings, and scrawny bell pepper legs. I don’t know if I prefer this Mothman or the bootylicious one in the town square.
have spent the past five years talking about Bigfoot and aliens and that time that the US government researched astral projections, found monsters, and was like ‘well, fuck that.’ People are constantly picking fights with me online and I have plenty of enemies in the conspiracy theories community.”
“Because there’s no reason you should listen to what this jerk-off says. Just because he says it, doesn’t mean it’s true. You can choose to not believe in him just like you don’t believe in Bigfoot, or aliens—” “Or Mothman.” “Ouch,” he hisses. “In his own hometown, even.”
“Why wouldn’t you…Hallie, that’s like saying ‘what if we made The X-Files but there’s no Scully.’
“Fair, but the rest of it? He’s completely wrong. You’re not hard to work with or hard to love. Loving you has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
“I love you so much, Nonbeliever. And you should know that of all the ridiculous conspiracy theories and monsters I believe in? I believe in you the most.”
He makes it so easy to love him and he makes me so unafraid to be loved, but right now, kissing him feels like he’s pleading for me not to leave, which I can’t promise. He clutches my shirt and pulls me tight against his body. I run my hands up his chest, tracing the tattoos I know are underneath his shirt, and bite down on his lip in the way that makes him sigh and hold me tighter.
I wonder if he’s remembering what he said that morning at breakfast, because I am: “You must really love me if you’re willingly wearing an ‘I Want to Believe’ shirt.”
But I can’t hide my affection for the fact that, without fail, the way to break through the walls and find the real Hayden is to…insult aliens. Or Bigfoot. Or Mothman.
It’s us. Partners. The Mulder to your Scully.”
We have a farce to keep up—” “It’s not a farce. I do not believe in aliens.” “Then why did you race to Area 51?” “Because I love you. And I can’t bear the idea of you doing this without me.”
“You came to find aliens.” “I came for you.” “To watch me find aliens,” he whispers. “It’s okay. You can admit it to me. I won’t tell. I knew you’d be here.” “How?” I ask. “Just a theory.” He smiles and bites down on his lip.
“Don’t say that. Your British accent is really bad—” “Wait until you hear my Scottish.” I rest a hand on his shoulder. “Please don’t. I’d love to still be attracted to you.”
