I sat in my car, parked in front of his street for several minutes. My mind tried processing all that had happened while my heart throbbed in my chest.
This was why I didn’t connect with people, why I stood on the sidelines and stared. I didn’t want this, to own any feelings. Especially feelings that hurt. I didn’t want pain. I didn’t want any of this.
After heaving a sigh, I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. I tried again and still nothing. Everett was right about one thing: my car was a junker. It was built years before I was born, and then had been stripped and welded with parts from another car. It was a salvage title, and a huge pain in the ass at the most inconvenient times. It was one of the reasons I was annoyed all the time.
Everett was also right about something else; I had all that money. Sitting in my bank account, going nowhere. And I didn’t care about anyone, not even myself.
Thinking that caused a small prick of pain in my chest.
I tried turning the key in the ignition again. Not even the slightest noise came from the engine. I laid my head on the steering wheel, suddenly overcome with all that had happened this evening.
It pissed me off – Everett had pissed me off. Even with the scar that marred my face, people didn’t notice me. I hid in the corner, or in the shadows, observing. I didn’t live, not really. And Everett was dying. But he was more alive than I was. That’s what he had meant, when he’d said I was closer to death than he was. It was true. And that meant a lot of what Everett had said, though harsh, was true. A*shole.
It was annoying that someone who had only met me a handful of times had figured me out this quickly, had told me to my face what he’d observed. I was the observer of other people. People didn’t observe me.
So it was with that anger that I stepped out of my car and slammed the door shut.
That anger fueled my feet up the steps of his concrete walkway, up the steps to his front porch. That anger powered the knocks that my fist rapped against the door.
Everett took his sweet time coming to the door. When he opened it, he looked unsurprised to me standing on his porch. “Forget something?” he asked, sounding bored.
“Yes,” I said, stepping into his space. I put a hand on his chest and pushed him until he took a step back into his house. “You’re an a*shole.”
“I am,” he confirmed. I was still pushing against him while he backed up into the house. Once I was fully in the house, I slammed the door shut.
And then I pounced. A breath later, I was in his arms, lips clashing against his. He supported my weight in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist. I felt my back hit the wall, but I didn’t care. My senses were full, overflowing with this, with Everett.
I felt him groan into my mouth and I brought my hands up to his hair, pulling on the hairs that curled at the nape of his neck. I pulled, hard, and squeezed my legs around his waist.
“F*ck,” he growled against my lips, pulling back and slamming me against the wall again. I took a breath when he’d released my lips. I didn’t inhale much oxygen before his lips fell onto mine again. His hands wrapped around my waist and he squeezed, hard enough for me to turn my head away and gasp for air.
“What is this Parker?” he asked, pressing his forehead against mine as he blew ragged breaths across my lips.
I struggled for air, but my body was lit up like a firework, waiting to ignite. “If you have to ask, you’re an idiot.”
I heard his soft chuckle. And then he pulled me from the wall and walked me to the living room. His lips caught mine again, keeping my attention on him and not on the room he’d carried me into.
I felt my back hit the couch cushions before he came down on me, pressing me into the softness. I felt like I was sinking, into the couch and into heady desire. It was scary, letting these emotions control me, consume me, but my body was stronger than my mind. So when Everett lifted my shirt off my head, I helped him remove his.
He breathed air in between kisses down the center of my chest. When he reached the button of my shorts, my body trembled. I reached a hand down to unbuckle them, but his hands stilled on mine.
“No,” he whispered. He pulled my hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles of one hand before laying my hands on my chest.
I heaved a breath and my entire body shook. It was like being on the precipice of hell. And I badly wanted to fall, to let Everett fall with me.
So I did.
My hands reached up and found his bare chest. In the darkness of the living room, I made out something tattooed along his ribcage, but it was hard to figure out what it was.
All thoughts left my head the moment Everett’s hand reached into my shorts, pushing pass the brief barrier of underwear and touched me. I couldn’t help it; I bucked.
His free hand grabbed my hip and squeezed reassuringly, while his other hand stroked me, stoking the fire that was burning me up. He was gentle at first, and I whimpered – wanting a million things, all at once. I felt my body climbing and I reached up, desperate to grab hold of anything. It ended up being his jaw. I pulled him down, curling my nails into his jawline as his lips descended onto mine. I felt the bite of his facial hair and suddenly, it was sensory overload. His fingers on me, inside of me, his lips gracing my jawline, his teeth nipping my earlobe, his free hand pushing and squeezing my hip. I descended into madness, into bliss, within what felt like seconds.
When my breathing slowed and my heart settled in my chest, I turned my face away. What the hell had just happened? I couldn’t dare look at Everett, so I swallowed hard, clenched my jaw.
There was silence between us, as if we both couldn’t believe this had happened in just a few moments. He’d essentially kicked me out and then I’d come back in.
I didn’t want to identify the emotions that swept over me. I sat up and found my shirt, tugging it over my head. I stood up and buttoned up my shorts, all the while keeping from looking at Everett.
My hands trembled on the button and I squeezed them into fists to still them.
“Parker,” Everett started, but I interrupted him.
“No,” I said, putting a hand up, letting my hair spill down and shield my face from his.
“No?” he asked. I felt his hand touch my arm and I immediately yanked it away from him. Regret. That’s what I was feeling. I didn’t want to name it, but it sat within me anyway, flowing in my veins, keeping my eyes from his.
“No,” I repeated. “This was a mistake. You. You aren’t good for me.” The words were hard to say, but they came unbidden from my throat. “You’re an alcoholic, you’re dying, and yes, dammit, you’re really rude.” The words, though true, weren’t why he wasn’t good for me. But I wanted my words to cut deeper than a knife. I wanted to hurt Everett. Because in making me feel all these things, he’d hurt me. He’d cut me deeper than Morris Jensen ever had.
I whipped the door open and ran.
I hadn’t slept. I’d fallen into my bed while the night replayed over and over in my mind. It was like walking through a nightmare, on repeat. And the feelings lingered. They weren’t drops that I could numb myself to. They were real, true feelings. I didn’t want them.
Around sunrise, I stood at the kitchen sink in the apartment, taking desperate bites of leftover, cold pizza. I used my fingers to push in the pieces that hung out of my mouth, trying to fit where there was no room. That was when I felt the first tears. They ran from my eyes so steadily that my hands were drenched, my mouth capturing some of the salty tears while I tried to swallow the pizza. The lump in my throat wasn’t from improperly chewed pizza; rather it was suffocated regret. I was using food as hate, punishing myself with my mistake.
I threw the remnants of the pizza onto the counter and hacked out what was in my mouth into the sink. What the hell was I doing? I used my hands, furiously pushing the pizza down the garbage disposal as the sobs wracked my body. I gripped onto the edges of the sink, hung my head, and let the regret pull me under.
Why did I always do this? Why did I purposefully hurt people? And why was it bothering me now? Pain was growing inside me like a weed. Ugly, twisted, the roots curling around whatever I let it touch. And I’d let that pain take root in someone else. Why? I couldn’t say. Maybe it was less lonely to know I wasn’t the only one hurting. He’d hurt me, so I wanted to hurt him.
I ripped off a few paper towels and mopped up my face before staggering out of the kitchen and collapsing onto the sofa. I threw an arm over my eyes to block out the sun that shined stupidly through the windows. Why hadn’t my roommates closed the blinds? Half the time they wandered into the apartment just as the sun was making its way across the kitchen. When I didn’t give them a ride from whatever hell hole they walked in to, that usually meant they were out until early morning. Carly and Jasmine were often loud and still inebriated at dawn, their legs unable to carry them to their respective beds. The sofas served more as beds than actual places to relax. It was usually why the sofa usually had a slight scent of booze.
I turned my face from the microfiber, gagging at the scent of stale, sweet-smelling vodka. As if I’d dreamt it, I heard the key being jammed into the lock on the apartment door, and high pitched giggles interrupting the calm of the morning.
“Which way does it turn?” The voice was loud and felt abusive to the air around me. Like the sound of a cymbal clapping in my ear. The giggles erupted again and I heard the sound of something falling in the hallway. Judging by the sounds of clattering, I’d guessed it was a purse. I heard, “Shit!” yelled in between laughter and the sound of something heavy collapsing against the door.
I knew my roommates well, better than they knew me. After all, my favorite hobby was observing other people. I didn’t engage in reckless behavior – my incident with Everett not included – I didn’t do anything that was fun but also dangerous. I didn’t just toe the line of caution. I hid under it.
So when my roommates fell into the door while it swung open I just watched. I’m sure some would see my behavior as odd, bordering on creepy, but I was fascinated by human nature. And my current view featured lots of legs and wild hair.
Jasmine caught my eye first. She towered on her hot pink heels. Her white shorts were short enough to be seen as beach wear – at least for me – and covered in stains. Her pink and white sequined tank hung off of her like it had been stretched within an inch of its life and finally gave up. Her bright white teeth flashed against her tan skin as she fell onto the floor on her back, heels cracking against the wood floor. Her long blonde hair was a mess of tangles all around her. I barely made out the sparkle of a tiara that was worn haphazardly in the giant mane of hair.
Carly was doubled over, holding her stomach as the laughs rolled off of her body. She flung her purse on the floor as she laughed so hard I half expected her stomach to slide out of her mouth and onto the floor. Where Jasmine was my polar opposite in personality, Carly was the in-between. Her current outfit of flip flops and jeans were something I would have chosen myself, more for comfort than style. But Carly compromised with Jasmine on the top – a deep v-neck tee that was orange. Not the kind of orange you’d see in the produce section, but more like in the tropics. It too was covered in stains.
I watched them quietly from the couch until Jasmine rolled onto her stomach and pushed the hair from her face when she spotted me. She squinted at me and propped herself up on her elbows. “What’s wrong with you?” she slurred. She looked like a drunk princess, with the tiara crooked on her head and her makeup smeared.
I wrinkled my forehead in confusion. I was lying on the couch like a normal person while she looked like she’d been dumpster diving, and there was something wrong with me?
Before I could answer, Carly turned her attention towards me and cocked her head to the side. “Are you okay?” she asked, walking closer to me. It was then that I remembered the tears that had come on so suddenly. Self-consciously I turned my face away from her scrutiny.
“I bet she stayed up all night studying instead of partying with us, Car,” Jasmine said, dismissing me instantly. I’d never been more thankful for her incorrect assumptions. Jasmine groaned and placed her hands on the ground as she pushed herself to standing. She wobbled a bit before grasping the column that separated the dining area from the kitchen and pulled her shoes off. “I’m surprised I didn’t ruin these,” she said loudly.
Carly collapsed on the end of the couch, just next to my feet and let her head fall back against the cushion. “That was so fun,” she said, eyes closed. I watched her lips tilt up in a small smile. She sighed.
Jasmine wobbled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Here, Car,” she said, grabbing a bottle of orange juice. “Drink this.”
It was my bottle of orange juice. And instead of pouring the juice into glasses like a civilized human, Jasmine lifted the bottle as if she was going to drink directly from the opening.
“Hey,” I barked, relaxing into the annoyance I felt. I embraced the annoyance. “That’s mine. If you want some, ask. And if I say yes, use a glass.”
There was complete silence. I looked at Carly who was staring at me like I had multiple heads attached to my body.
“You grew some balls, Park?” Jasmine asked, holding the jug of orange juice halfway to her mouth.
I was normally closed off, avoided confrontation like the plague. And yet, I’d just told Jasmine off for the first time since I’d met her.
I stared at her, glaring. It was too early in the morning and I was far too sleep-deprived to deal with this. I didn’t want to think about the fact that I was also a mess of confusing emotions. “Use a glass, Jasmine.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, a small smile playing on her lips. Jasmine often looked at me like this; like I was a toy she liked playing with. Except there was nothing innocent about it. She was going to test me, I knew it. A moment later, she lifted the jug towards her mouth, eyeing me defiantly.
Before I knew what I was doing, I stood up and walked towards her. I raised my hand, causing Jasmine to flinch. And then I smacked the orange juice out of her hand. It fell to the tile and exploded, spraying orange juice spectacularly all over the cabinets and floor.
Instantly, shock registered. Had I really just done that? I looked at Jasmine and she was just as shocked as I was. She looked to Carly and my eyes followed. Carly sat on the end of the couch, hand over her mouth, her eyes as wide as saucers.
I walked away then, towards my bedroom, leaving them with the mess. It was immature, sure. But I didn’t want to face them, to hear their questions – unspoken or otherwise.
I slammed my door, hard enough that it rattled it on its hinges, and collapsed on my bed.
When I awoke around noon, I had a text on my phone. It was a picture of my car.
Everett: Want this back?
I chewed on my lip for only a moment, my finger hovering over the reply button. Instead, I hit the button I knew I should: Delete.
I logged into my email and registered for fall semester classes at the local college before shooting Mira a quick email. Mira and I, though different in appearance and attitude, shared the same thought about phone calls: no thanks. The only way we communicated was via email.
MIRA,
I’M STARTING FALL CLASSES IN TWO MONTHS. DO YOU WANT TO MEET FOR LUNCH AT PAULIE’S SOMETIME?
PARKER
Clearly, I was as loquacious via email as I was in person.
While I pulled my hair into a ponytail, Mira’s reply came through.
MOUSE,
NO CAN DO. I’M OUT OF STATE. I’LL LET YOU KNOW WHEN I’M BACK IN CALIFORNIA.
M
Mira was the closest thing I had to a friend, though we never connected the way two women engaged in a normal female friendship did. We didn’t go to the movies or to dinner. We played with knives and tried kicking each other’s asses. But it’d been a long time since we’d done either.
So I couldn’t help the tiny drop of disappointment. Instead, I embraced the annoyance. It furrowed my brown, straightened my lips. I wore annoyance really well.
I closed my email and stood, walking to the window to look out. My car was missing from its usual parking spot. I’d have to figure out what to do about that. Call a tow, probably. I sat on the bed, facing the window and fell into memories from the night before.
While I stared out the window, I heard a knock on my door. Before I could call out, the door opened and Carly stepped into my bedroom. “Hey, Parker. Can I come in?”
“You already are,” I replied, matter-of-factly.
Carly looked at me confused, so I rolled my eyes and gestured with my hand for her to come all the way in. “What?” I asked.
Carly shut the door behind her and approached my bed, wringing her hands together over and over. “Are you okay?” she asked, hesitantly sitting on the corner of my bed.
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
Carly tucked a lock of her dark hair behind her ear and looked at me. She looked unique. Her mother was Swedish and her father was Chinese, lending her a really different look. Asian features mixed with green eyes and freckles on her nose.
“I feel really bad about earlier. Jasmine was drunk.”
I rolled my eyes again and stood up, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “If you’re excusing her from her behavior because she was drunk then she must be drunk all the time. That wasn’t anything unusual for her, Carly. She’s a selfish bitch. She sees me as toy.” I suddenly felt like I’d said too much. And judging by the look on Carly’s face, she agreed.
She slowly stood up from my bed and looked down at the ground. “Well, I’m still sorry.”
“Don’t be. I made the mess.”
“I cleaned it up,” she offered, looking at me hopefully. Sometimes she looked at me like she was a puppy desperate for attention or affection. I think that’s why Jasmine had such a hold over her. Jasmine was a leader, and Carly was very much a follower.
“Well then I’m the one who’s sorry,” I replied.
“Jasmine refused.”
“That’s shocking,” I deadpanned.
Carly threw back her head, sending curls in every direction as she laughed. “I know, right?” she said between laughs. She smiled at me and left my room a moment later.