Push

chapter Five

Emma—Present Day

I wake to a scraping sound. I look around my room, bleary-eyed and blinking. The light is coming in between the blind slats, and it’s far brighter than it should be for so early in the morning. I glance at my bedside table and see my mother’s sweet face nestled tightly against my own. The picture never fails to make me smile. I can’t contain the rush of memories the image brings, and I take a moment to collect my thoughts before I check my alarm clock. Shit. It isn’t early at all. It’s nearly nine-thirty.
As I swing my feet to the floor and sit up, I hear the scraping sound again. What is that? I wipe my face with my hands, rub my eyes, and run my fingers through my hair. I can’t believe how rested I feel, and I still have the whole weekend to relax before I’m off to my new office on Monday. I stand up slowly and head to the bathroom. I desperately need to brush my teeth.
I enter the bathroom, and out of habit, I almost shut and lock the door behind me. But then I remember that I live alone now, and I don’t have to close the door if I don’t want to. I leave it open and smile at myself in the mirror. I brush my teeth, splash some warm water on my face, and sit down to have a pee. As I head to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee, I hear the scraping sound again. I stop in the hallway, and hear a series of smaller, quieter scraping sounds. They are coming from the kitchen.
Without thinking twice, I round the corner into the kitchen, and there on the floor on his hands and knees is David. What the f*ck? How did he get in here? He looks over at my feet, and in what seems like slow motion, his eyes make their way up my body to my face. I can see that he is spreading some kind of thick glop on to the bare floor and scraping it out with a flat trowel. A few rows of tiles are positioned on top of the glop with little plastic X’s in between them. He looks up at me as if he wants to say something, but he doesn’t open his mouth. I think he can see my skin starting to burn.
“What the f*ck, David?” I shout. “What are you doing here? Don’t you know how to f*cking knock? Jesus Christ. You scared the shit out of me.”
“You couldn’t have been too scared, since you stopped for a piss on your way out.”
Oh, my f*cking God! I want to kick him in the face.
“And for the record,” he says, “I did knock, but I also have a key, so when you didn’t answer, I let myself in. I’m not going to miss half a day’s work just because you sleep like a f*cking rock.”
Now I really want to kick him in the face. “You have a key to my apartment? What the hell.” I swear I am going to punch Carl in the teeth the next time I see him. I am enraged. David is now sitting back on his feet with his hands on his thighs. He is calm as f*ck and looking right at me.
“I can’t imagine what the hell would possess you to think it would be okay for you to come in here—without my permission—while I am sleeping!” I am screaming at him, and my skin is searing.
“I did tell you I was coming back today, Emma,” he says, barely loud enough for me to hear. “And we had lunch together and a decent conversation. I honestly didn’t think it would be a problem.” He is looking up at me, and even though he is fully collected, I can see that crazy current running through him again. Damn it. He did this on purpose. He came in here, without my permission, just to watch the fireworks. Well played, David. And, Emma, you are a fool.
I want nothing more than to tell him to f*ck off, but I know that is precisely what he wants. So instead, I try to rein myself in. “Well...it is a problem, David,” I say as coolly as I can.
“Well...then I won’t do it again, Emma,” he adds, almost penitently. He is still on his knees looking at me, and all I can do is sigh and shake my head. I am furious with myself for not recognizing his game and letting him get the best of me. And I am furious with him for coming in here and making me feel this way.
I suddenly want to be by myself, to let the adrenaline run its course. I don’t want to look at the wreckage of my kitchen. Or at him. Or at those damn birds. “I’m going to take a shower, David,” I say with blatant resignation in my voice. “Please, tell me you don’t have a key for that door, too.” He smiles a wicked, closed-mouth grin, and I can tell that he has found my whole incensed reprimand quite satisfying. Bastard.
“I’m sorry, Emma. Really. I won’t come in here again without you opening the door.” I can’t believe it, but he actually loses the grin and drops his eyes to the floor as he says it. I can’t quite tell if it’s real remorse I hear in his voice or if it’s just part of the game.
I shower, dress and fix my hair and makeup, all while attempting not to lose my temper. I have so much to do this weekend, and I try to focus on creating a mental list of the items I’d like to check off. I consider adding “Ask Carl to change the door lock” to my list, but since David is his maintenance guy, he’d probably just give him a copy of the new key anyway. Eventually, I come out of the bathroom and walk toward the kitchen to get some breakfast. I smell coffee.
“I made some coffee,” David says as I turn the corner. “I just used the bag of Dunkin’ sitting next to the coffeemaker. I hope you don’t mind.” Of course I mind, you arrogant ass. This is not your apartment. That is not your coffee. You don’t even know how strong I like my Dunkin’.
“That’s very nice of you, David. Thanks.” I walk over to the coffeepot. It is sitting on a place mat on the little table in the living room. Sitting next to it are two mugs, which I do not recognize, a spoon, a cup of milk from the fridge, and a bunch of tiny packets of sugar. I don’t have any tiny packets of sugar, so I immediately wonder where they came from. “Oh, wow,” I say. “Quite the setup.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t find your mugs or your sugar, so I ran up to my place to get some.” He shrugs and then adds, “At least I waited a half hour before I broke my promise not to come into your apartment without you opening the door. I make a mean cup of coffee, though, so I think you’ll find it was worth the risk.” Ugh.
I pour a cup for each of us and notice that he takes his black. I usually do, too, but I feel strangely guilty about not using any of the sugar he went upstairs for. I tear open one of the packets and pour it into my coffee.
“Just so you know, your new cabinets and countertops are going to be delivered today,” he says. “They said we should expect them sometime this afternoon. If you’ve got shit to do, I’ll be here all day, so don’t feel like you have to stick around. I’m not going to steal anything, especially since you know where I live, and I’m not into trying on your panties or anything like that. I promise.” He puts his hands up in surrender as he says the last sentence.
“Will it only take a half hour for you to break that promise, too?” I ask. “Cause I don’t want my panties all stretched out.” The image of David wearing a pair of my panties pops into my mind, and I have to try hard not to laugh out loud.
“Very funny,” he says. “But thanks for the compliment.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“Oh, yes, it was,” he says with an expression full of innuendo. “Look, I know you’re probably still really mad at me about this morning, and I get it. Really I do. I didn’t think about the whole woman-living-alone thing when I came in. I just want to finish your kitchen for you. I want you to be happy here, and I know how you girls like a fine-ass kitchen.”
He wants me to be happy here? Why? “A fine-ass kitchen? Is that what you’re doing in there?” I ask, pointing to the massive mess.
“Yes, Emma, it is,” he sighs. “I know you didn’t ask for all this, but I’m doing it because it’s what I am good at.”
“Okay,” is all I can think to say. “But the whole panty thing is irrelevant anyway because everything I have to do today is right here in this apartment. I don’t have anywhere to go, so you’re stuck with me all day. And, no, I will not help you with anything. But, yes, you can use my head whenever you need to.”
“Thanks,” he says.
“And thank you for the coffee.” I walk away from him and over to a box of food on the living room floor. I pull out two breakfast bars and toss one to him. He catches it and retreats to the kitchen.
* * *

I put my iPod in the dock and ask David what kind of music he would like to hear.
“Whatever you like,” he says. “It’s your place.”
I decide on Killing Heidi, a now-defunct Australian band that my college roommate was nuts about.
I spend the next hour unpacking. I empty all the boxes in the bathroom and organize my towels and toiletries in the linen closet. I hope David didn’t mean it when he said that he will make me a new bathroom after their next poker game. I like the bathroom just the way it is. I joke to myself that I’d better not let my fake grandma in here.
I am making my way out to the living room when the album ends.
“How about you pick out something you want to hear now?” I say. “You’re working here, too, and I don’t want to force you to listen to my crap all day.”
“I liked that last one. I used to listen to that album when I was living in New Orleans.”
Oh. “New Orleans, huh? What was that like?” I ask, my voice traveling through the living room wall and into the kitchen.
“A hot mess. I hated it there. Too many drunks and a f*cked-up girlfriend,” he answers casually. I want to ask him more, but I don’t because I’m not sure I really want to know.
He walks out of the kitchen, pulling his iPhone out of his back pocket. I watch the birds move as he takes my iPod out of the dock and puts in his phone. After a moment, the music starts. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. I don’t know who it is, but she’s one hell of a singer. David looks over at me, and I raise my eyebrows in question.
“Feist,” he says on his way back into the kitchen.
Somehow, David listening to this kind of music is amusing to me, and I am glad he is back in the kitchen. I don’t want him to see my smile.
I open the rest of the boxes in the living room and finish filling the bookcase with my favorite novels and some college textbooks I can’t bear to part with. David is still working in the kitchen when the door buzzer rings.
“Ah,” he says. “That’ll be the cupboards then. Would you mind letting them in? I’ve got my hands full of spackle in here.”
“Sure.” I head over to the intercom just as the music ends and slide the door release button. I walk over to the apartment door and open it to wait for the deliveryman, who I can hear walking up the steps. I am looking back into the apartment waiting for David to come out when I hear a voice.
“Hi, Emma.”
My head whips around, and Michael is in my face. That filthy f*cker. The moment I see him, my heart drops into my gut, sinking me deep into a well of fear and rage. The sick, burning taste of bile rises up in my throat, and a surge of hate-fueled adrenaline rips through me, causing an instant rush of panic to streak across every nerve in my body. I immediately step backwards into the apartment and try to close the door on him, but his hand is sprawled out on it, holding it open. He is standing just inside the doorway.
“Nice place, Emma.” His eyes quickly scan the room. Then they examine me from head to toe, and a split second later, they land on my eyes. It makes me sick.
“What the f*ck are you doing here, Michael?” I say with forced calm.
“I just wanted to see you. Did you get the boxes I sent?” His voice is cold.
“Yes.” I know he wants me to thank him for sending them, but my mouth is refusing. He wants me to say “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” But I am not a ten-year-old anymore, and he can’t make me.
“Were you going to thank me for going through all that effort?”
“No, Michael, I was not.” Oh, that is not going to make him happy. “You need to leave now.”
“But I just got here, Emma. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“Michael, you are the last person I would ever invite into this apartment. Get the f*ck out of here.” My skin prickles with energy, and the anger in my throat is fueling my words, making them sound far stronger than I feel. I promised myself I would knock him in the balls if he ever showed up here, but even though I am no longer a child, I can’t bring myself to do it.
Michael steps inside defiantly, closing the door behind him. He is walking toward me. “Emma, your mom told me to look out for you and your brothers after she died. How can I do that if you won’t let me in?” He pauses and looks at me with his twisted-up smile. “God, you know, you look just like her. Except you...you don’t act like your mother at all. She was a woman who knew how to be a lady. She knew when to shut up and do what she was told. You, on the other hand, you are a fighter, Emma. You never do what you’re told. You’re too strong for your own good, and I know you’re already aware of precisely what kind of trouble that can get you into.” He raises his hand and skims his fingertips down the length of my arm. It sends a wave of nausea through me. “I miss her, you know.”
“Get out.” I spit at him. I push his hand away and straighten my body.
A snarky chuckle escapes from his closed mouth, and he grabs my arm with his hand. My other hand immediately starts to claw at him as I try to pull away.
“Come on, Emma. You don’t want to fight with your dad now, do you?”
“You are not my dad, Michael. F*ck you. Let me go.” My voice is no longer steady. It’s cracked and weak. I want to scream.
Then I hear a slow clicking noise behind me. Michael looks over my shoulder and lets go of my arm immediately. I turn to see David leaning casually against the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s taken off his shirt, as if he’s ready for a fight. David is shaking his head gently and clicking his tongue as if he were softly scolding a naughty child. His dark eyes are pinned to Michael’s. There is absolute control in his every move. A smile begins to form on Michael’s lips, and I’m not quite sure what it means.
David drops his arms, steps away from the wall, cocks his head to the side, and narrows his eyes. But he doesn’t take them off of Michael’s. He stops the clicking and starts to smile himself. His moves are so deliberate and slow. I think he is calculating something.
Michael raises his eyebrows, his eyes remaining on David. “Jesus, Emma. You’ve only lived here what, three days, and already there’s a man in your apartment? Isn’t that a little quick, even for you?”
David is walking leisurely towards me, still looking only at Michael. When he reaches my side, he very slowly snakes his hand across my lower back, curling his fingers around my waist and pressing me to his side. It is a sign of possession. Michael recognizes it immediately and steps back.
“She asked you to get the f*ck out,” David says, almost peacefully. “I think you should listen. And if you have half a brain in your body, you will stay the f*ck away from her.”
Michael smirks in acknowledgment of David’s threat and raises his hands in capitulation. He walks to the door, opens it and steps out. He turns to David and says, “Whoever you are, young man, I want you to know that you are getting what you deserve. That girl and her stupid f*cking attitude are all yours.” I can hear Michael going down the steps and out the front door.
David releases my hip and strides over to the apartment door to slam it shut. By the time he turns back around, I have dropped to my knees. My mouth is open, and I am staring at him. He is standing above me, his arms sheathed in birds and his chest nothing but bare flesh.
“Turn around,” I whisper, and he does. His entire back is covered with the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. A magnificent phoenix, with gnarled wings and a crooked body, reaches across his shoulder blades and down his sides. Its feathers are saturated with color. Its sinewy tail wraps under David’s arm and curls into the flesh at his side. Brilliant flames emerge from the waistband of his jeans and lick the bird’s talons. I have no words for the creature twisting and writhing across his skin. I stare at it, soaking it in.
David turns around to face me. I am on the floor in front of him, and I want nothing more than to weep. He reaches for my shoulders and helps me up. Once I am standing, he wraps his arms around me, lifts me up, cradling me like a child. I take my eyes off his, and my face sinks into his bare shoulder. He carries me down the hallway and lays me on the bed.
Standing next to the bed, he leans over me, his hands braced on the mattress.
“I will not let him touch you ever again.”