The Thaumaturge Ch. 01

That made me worried. Cautious. I decided to say whatever she needed to hear and get out of there.

So I nodded. "Yeah, I'd...like that too. I, uh, know you said you had an early morning...can I get your number? Or put mine in your phone?" I offered it out of habit. My experience was that most girls preferred that -- that way if they really wanted to reach out, they could. And if they didn't really want to, well -- you didn't have their number.

Lauren, however, was very happy to put her number in my phone. Almost eager. Probably didn't want me seeing anything I shouldn't on her phone, I thought, grimly.

"You have to actually text me, though, okay? Seriously, Matt. This was fun. I want to do it again." She looked expectant. Perhaps hoping I'd send her a text so she had my number, or just ask her for another date right then.

I didn't, though. She was too eager, and the mismatch between my performance and her interest, that text message exchange I'd seen...well, it all gave me pause. The silence stretched out, became awkward.

Time to go.

"I definitely will," I said, trying to sound decisive. Part of me meant it. She was sexy. Clever. Incredible in bed. Seemed game for another go in spite of my lackluster performance.

But there was something else going on here.

I avoided eye contact as I dressed. She watched me pull my pants back on quickly, a satisfied smile on her pretty face.

I got the hell out of there, feeling unsettled.

---

Back at home, comforted by the familiar Saturday night sounds of my roommates in our tiny apartment, I felt safer. Chris was playing a video game in the living room. Alyssa was...well, I wasn't sure what she was watching in her bedroom, but it was making her laugh, a comfortable sound. Pike, whose photo had prompted the interaction with Lauren in the first place, was roaming about, and came up to me as I arrived in the living room, purring and rubbing against my leg.

I grabbed a beer, politely declined Chris's offer to join him in Call of Duty for the moment, went into my bedroom, shut my door, and breathed a sigh of relief.

What the fuck was a thaumaturge? The word had a vaguely...mystical, fantasy quality to it. I had read it before, I thought. Maybe in Lord of the Rings or something?

I pulled up the definition on my laptop. It wasn't helpful.

Thaumaturge

n. One who channels power to work wonders. A magician or miracle worker.

From the Greek, "performer of wonders." Thaumat-, thaûma "wonder, object of wonder or admiration, marvel" + -ourgos "performing, carrying out, working."

It did kind of confirm the...Gandalf-esque vibe the word gave me. I mulled it over, sipping at my beer. I couldn't remember the exact wording of their exchange, now; I had been in a hurry, stressed out. I wished I had taken a photo of the chat with my own phone, or scrolled up further to see more of what they had said before that. There hadn't been time, obviously, but it meant I wasn't operating with much context. It was just so...odd. They had both seemed excited that Lauren had found a thaumaturge, so they must be rare, unusual....

And they'd been talking about me?

It felt weird. I mulled it over a while longer, but eventually I gave up trying to figure it out. Maybe it was slang. Maybe they were fetishizing me in some weird way. I could decide whether to text Lauren back later. Right now it didn't feel like a good idea, that was for sure.

I could hear Chris, obviously losing badly, cursing at the game in our living room.

I picked up my beer, closed my laptop, and went out to lend him a hand.