“Saw me what?” I said, though I knew.

He gestured toward a video screen nestled into the corner where the bar top met the cabinet. It projected, in a series of little black-and-white squares, portions of the bar and back patio that were hidden from his direct view. In the bottom right square, currently motionless and grave, was the area tucked behind the fence.

For several moments, I was an animal playing dead. Maybe if I showed no signs of life, he would move on to other prey.

Time expanded like pulled taffy. I combed over the situation. What had he seen? The camera looked down on the area from on high, it was in black and white. He would have watched two grainy figures walk into the little cove, seen them pressed together, the smaller reaching her arms up around the neck of the larger. He wouldn’t have made out her standing on tiptoes, straining. He would have seen her kneel. He wouldn’t have seen the man’s dick was still half soft. He wouldn’t have heard his words: thirsty…thirsty… He wouldn’t have seen the girl look up, searching—or probably he would have. I looked away from the screen. He would have seen the man run away. He might have seen me crying, if he couldn’t tell from my face.

“What’s gross is that you watched,” I said. “Not what I did.”

His face softened unexpectedly. “Who said it was gross?” he said.

“You did,” I said. But he shook his head.

“You did.”

I tried to ride a wave of anger, I tried to exert control over myself, but something was melting and couldn’t un-melt.

“Did you want to be seen?” he said quietly.

“No,” I said, but tears had started streaming down my face. My body, always disobeying me. I darted my eyes around the bar. There was no one in earshot. Well, fuck it if there were, I thought. What did he mean, did I want to be seen? Did I want to be seen? I glared at him, jaw clenched, trying to make him take it back, but he seemed immune. He maintained that softened expression, didn’t say a word.

“What do you mean?” I prodded. “What do you even mean?”

“Just what I said.”

“No.” I slid off the stool, grabbing my things. “No, I didn’t want to be seen.”

“Wait,” he said.

I tried to summon the strength, or the confidence, or the anger, or the something, to leave anyway, walk out, never hear what he wanted me to wait for. But it wasn’t there. Something in me needed to wait; something in me wanted to hear. So I stood.

He reached under the bar for a napkin, scribbled something on it, and pressed it into my hand.

I walked for several blocks, then turned down a street of brownstones and sank onto the bottom stair of a stoop. I’d shoved the napkin into my pocket, unread; I would wait as long as I could bear, to maintain the sense of infinite possibility. His name and number? A compliment: You’re beautiful? Or would it be a threat? Find another bar. I mean it. You’re no longer welcome here. I was exhausted and lowered my head between my knees like people do to stave off nausea. I saw you. When I lifted my head again, I kept my eyes closed, watching the beads of color move beneath my eyelids. They formed paintings, landscapes, worlds. I saw you. And then the screen went black. I opened my eyes and a man was edging around me up the staircase, jostling grocery bags.