Kumbaya Much

by Bella Street

  He shook his head. “I'm sorry, Miss Carter, but I can see you're having some mental disturbances—”

  “Hey!” Trent protested.

  “Excuse me, I was speaking. Miss Carter was already here, claiming she saw a cat skeleton in an empty box, imagining I'd name an animal Schroeder. I suggest she seek help from a psychiatrist.”

  “Trent, give me your knife.”

  He looked askance at Seffy. “Are you going to cut him?”

  “Just hand me the knife.”

  Trent gave Seffy a small pocketknife and watched in amazement as she stabbed her finger. Eugene's eyes widened as a bead of blood pearled up on the tip of her finger.

  “Now, Eugene, I've got some wicked voodoo going on in my blood, and hey, it's even killed a couple of people. If you didn't like me sneezing on you, you're definitely not going to want this anywhere near you, so you better 'fess up.”

  The scientist scrambled under the desk and began to whimper. “She made me promise!”

  Trent stared at Eugene, shocked by his behavior. “Dude, man up and tell Seffy what she wants to know.”

  He blinked in terror at them, shaking his head.

  “Is this about Fiona?” Trent said. “Because we won't say anything to her. Seffy just wants to settle something in her mind and move on.”

  She tossed him a grateful smile.

  Eugene's eyes widened even more behind his glasses. He slowly came out from under the desk and stared up at them. “No, don't tell...Fiona.”

  “We won't,” Seffy said quickly.

  Eugene appeared to be collecting his thoughts. He tugged down the front of his shirt, but still failed to appear dignified as he crouched on the floor. “There was a cat. Miss Carter is correct.”

  Seffy sucked in her breath, pressing the skirt to her chest. “I knew it.”

  “Where is the cat now?”

  “It's dead, just like Miss Carter thought.”

  Her expression clouded. “How did it die?”

  Eugene opened his mouth and closed it again.

  “Was it old? It didn't seem old.”

  “I...”

  Trent suddenly realized where this conversation was going. He touched Seffy's arm. “You got the information you needed, Sef. Let's go.”

  “Eugene, answer my question.”

  “She made me—” He shook his head. “I just do what I'm told.”

  “You killed it?” Seffy whispered.

  “Animals aren't allowed in the compound. I thought I'd made that clear.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “It was an innocent cat. How could you?”

  “I'm sorry—”

  “Is that how you people operate? You just dispose of the innocent?”

  “Sef,” Trent said in a low voice, tugging on her arm. “Let's go.”

  “Did I see its bones in the box?”

  Eugene shook his head, his face red. “There were no bones. You must've imagined that part. The animal was...dealt with outside the compound.”

  Trent sent the scientist a dark look and drew Seffy out into the hall. He put his arm around her, urging her forward.

  She seemed to turn inward, her eyes unfocused. It was a silent walk back to their rooms. When he delivered Seffy onto her couch, he released a heavy sigh. “I'm sorry, Sef. Really I am.”

  She had the skirt crumpled up in a ball in her lap. “It's okay.”

  Trent crouched down next to her. “No it's not.”

  “I'll be all right.”

  “Let's get something to eat. And I'll stay with you tonight.”

  She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide but secretive. “I'm not hungry.”

  “Do you want me to stay for a while?”

  She shook her head. “I'm good.”

  Trent stood, unconvinced but not wanting to add to her stress. “I'll be next door if you need anything.”

  Seffy sent him a blank smile. “Thanks, Trent.”

  He went back to his room, preparing for another long night.

  ***

  He heard a noise two hours later. Dropping the book—a Cold War spy novel he'd found in the commons room—apparently the compound had no sense of irony—Trent strode down the passageway, not bothering to be quiet. He found Seffy on the floor, in a tank top and her tracksuit pants, her hair damp and tousled.

  She looked up at him, smiling and patting the wall, a hectic light in her eyes. “I hear him. He's here.”

  “Who's there?”

  Seffy laughed. “The cat. He's in the wall. He must've escaped from Eugene after all.”

  Trent got on the ground with her. “I don't think so, sweetheart.”

  “No, listen.” She pressed her ear to the wall. “I can hear him meowing.”

  He pressed his ear to the wall and listened hard on the outside chance there was a cat trapped in the crawlspace.

  “Do you hear him?”

  Trent licked his lips and shook his head.

  Her smile faded. “You're not trying.”

  He leaned his head against the wall and regarded her. “Sef, what's this really about?”

  “You know, sometimes things get lost, even if they thought they knew the way. It doesn't mean you give up and let them die.”

  He took her hand in his, hoping to give her some kind of anchor.

  “He's meowing so loud. I can't believe you don't hear it.”

  “Did Gareth say something to upset you?”

  Seffy went very still, and for a moment, a clarity came to her gaze. She lowered her eyes. “If we don't get the cat out of the wall, he'll die.”

  Trent pulled in a breath, struggling for the right words. “The cat didn't deserve to die, Sef. It was innocent.”

  Her eyes flashed up to meet his. “Yes, he was!” She grimaced, biting her lip. “It didn't do anything wrong. It never meant to do anything...bad.”

  Her voice trailed off as her shoulders began to shake. Trent scooted next to her and drew her into his embrace, knowing the cat wasn't the real issue. He pressed his face into her hair, wondering what the hell Gareth could've said that would make Seffy react this way.

  Her arms slid around his neck and she hugged him hard. He could tell she was struggling to hold it together. When her breathing finally slowed, Trent coaxed her onto her feet. He scooped her up and put her on the bed, then stretched out next to her.

  “I'll just lay here until you go to sleep, okay?”

  Seffy nodded, resting her head on his shoulder, and her arm across his chest. But instead of relaxing, her fingers fidgeted with his shirt. He wondered what she was thinking, but was at least glad she wasn't alone to deal with whatever she was going through.

  “Trent?”

  Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. He rolled onto his side and faced her, their noses almost touching. “Yeah?”

  “Do you...like spoiled girls?”

  He schooled his expression as he considered her words. Did she mean like spoiled rotten? But that didn't make sense. Then his heart thudded as her meaning became clear. Trent touched her face and looked her in the eye. “I like you.”

  She sighed, seeming unsatisfied by the answer. After a moment, she said, “I'm not so great.”

  “You're not?”

  She shook her head then made a spinning motion with her finger pointing at her temple.

  “Sef, you might be really stressed out, but you're not crazy.”

  “Just when I think I'm getting better, something happens to set me off.”

  “This place is enough to make anyone nuts.”

  “I thought you said I wasn't crazy.”

  He sent her a gentle smile. “You know what I mean.”

  “So you don't mind that...I'm damaged goods?”

  Trent experienced a surge of white hot fury, but he kept his voice even. “Who isn't? I mean, look at me—an ex-junkie and all.”

  She considered that for a moment. “Yeah, but you're all better. What if I'm not?”

  “Sef, all we can do is try our b
est. Anyway, are you sure you don't have unrealistic expectations for yourself?”

  She shrugged. “I don't know what realistic is anymore. Maybe I never did.”

  “I think you're doing good.”

  “Sure you do, even though you're talking to me in a slow, steady voice like you're humoring the mentally insane.”

  “Just the fact that you recognize that means you're not insane.”

  “What if I'm an insane genius?”

  “That has possibilities.”

  A smile flickered at one corner of her mouth. “Thanks for being with me. You're like my personal chill pill.”

  “That's actually on my mission statement letterhead.”

  Seffy sat up and took a deep breath. “It's late and I've asked enough of you for one day.”

  “I don't mind.” When Trent saw she was determined, he got up and off the bed. “I'm right next door.”

  “I know.”

  He sent her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She smiled back, looking vulnerable and sleepy and so damn desirable. Trent went into the closet and closed the door.

  Now it really was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Seffy might as well face facts.

  She reached into the box and pulled out a creased, unlabeled can. Using the freshly washed can opener, she took her chances. Her shoulder slumped when she recognized chili. Not the breakfast item she had in mind. She decided to try one more can.

  This time she hit pay dirt—or at least, peaches.

  She felt a little better after consuming the entire contents. They didn't taste any different than the regular cans, and the pieces seemed to be the same shapes. She wondered again who'd sent her the box. Fiona would think of it but probably wouldn't go to the effort. Addison? Eva or Cynthia? The only person who saw her in the pantry was the scary lunch lady. Maybe the lunch lady was evil. Trent seemed to think so, anyway.

  Seffy washed the can opener and fork in the bathroom sink and tossed the can into the garbage. She made the bed, organized her dressers, and inventoried her makeup. She needed to stay busy, so she headed to the commons room, and finding it empty as she expected, she organized the books by author, the music by genre, and the videocassettes by title. When that was done, it was only ten am.

  Daunted by the long hours stretching before her, she headed to Trent's room and peeked through the closet door. He was gone, which served her purposes. She crawled up into the attic and headed to the Light Room. Once there, she cleaned and organized it as well, which mostly meant fluffing and arranging pillows and shaking out the blankets.

  She noticed the sky was stormy through the skylight. Rain mixed with snow pelted the little glass square. Even the storm was the wrong color—magenta tinged with green.

  She returned to Trent's room, checked to make sure he was still gone, and crawled out onto the desk. Once she was on the floor, she surveyed the space. While he wasn't a total pig, neither was he a neat freak. She changed his sheets and made the bed and picked up dirty socks she found in a corner. There was a hamper by the door for housekeeping, and she tossed the socks inside.

  His doorknob rattled. She turned and dashed back to her room, then slid out her door into the hall. It was important that he not see her today. She wanted a fresh start.

  Seffy began walking the halls. She counted doors and noticed when old concrete block gave way to newer cement walls. She went around strange corners and took unfamiliar turns, all in an effort to stay distracted. If she stopped, she might be forced to think of Gareth, cats, or what she was about to do. Better to keep moving.

  At noon, she went to the cafeteria, and peeking past through the safety glass, watched all the people milling about, standing in line, eating, and visiting with friends. Every one one of them was a nameless stranger. She'd lived here at the compound for months and didn't recognize a single face. As she left the area, she paused long enough to grab a candy bar from the pantry.

  Seffy headed for an exit and stepped outside onto a covered metal stairwell and looked out over part of the garden and school building. The wind shocked her but she breathed the cold air in deep, watching the dead tomato plants and leafless shrubs bend in the lashing wind. When she could no longer bear the cold, she went back inside the building. She watched for a few more minutes from the window, but the glass separated her too much from the violence of the storm.

  With slow steps, she headed back to her room. Seffy had cleaned it to the point that it almost looked uninhabited. She opened another mystery can—fruit cocktail—and had it for dinner. Once that was cleaned up, she took a long, hot shower, scrubbing her body hard. She shampooed her hair twice, then conditioned it, allowing the cream to stay on longer than the suggested two minutes.

  After her shower, she applied lotion to her freshly-shaven legs, brushed and flossed her teeth, dried her hair and added some curls. Makeup came next. Seffy dressed in her yellow pajamas then went and sat on her bed to wait. What would be the right time? Was there a specific hour? The clock said it was eight in the evening. Was that too early?

  Despite Gareth's opinion of her, she was relatively clueless how to proceed. She swallowed hard, reminding herself not to think about Gareth.

  Tonight was all about Trent.

  Planned. On purpose. Absolutely intentional.

  How would Trent react? She was pretty sure he'd try to talk her out of it. But she wouldn't let him, although she didn't know how she would convince him. Seffy chewed on her lip, worried about the potential for rejection, then realized her lip gloss had worn off. She went back in the bathroom to reapply it, and saw that it was nearly nine.

  Seffy simply couldn't wait any longer. Five more minutes and she'd lose her nerve. And losing her nerve might be...

  Irrevocable.

  She got up and walked down the passageway, her heart roaring in her ears. Maybe Trent wasn't even there. Maybe he just wanted to be alone. Seffy pulled in a deep breath and pushed open his closet door. It opened silently and she stepped inside his room. The panel slid shut behind her as she took another steadying breath.

  Trent looked up from where he lounged shirtless in a pair of Levis on the bed. His eyes widened when he saw her, then turned questioning. Seffy approached the bed and stood there, hoping she wouldn't have to explain her presence. Even with her gaze averted, she sensed him trying to discern her angle. When he dropped the book he'd been reading and got off the bed, she knew he had an inkling.

  Reaching her, he slowly lifted her chin. Seffy had no choice but to meet his eyes. She allowed him to look deep, doubting he could figure out the jumble of her emotions any better than she could.

  Beyond the obvious.

  Already she was trembling, waiting for his reaction. Both rejection or acceptance had the potential to shatter her.

  Trent brushed his thumb against her cheek, his eyes asking her if she knew what she was doing. She was thankful when he didn't immediately speak. He could've said how he knew she'd come, how it was only a matter of time. But that much was obvious and didn't bear repeating.

  “I can't keep saying no to you,” he said after an agonizing silence.

  “Then don't,” she whispered.

  Trent twisted away and turned off the nightstand lamp, shrouding the room in sudden darkness. A sliver of light came from the bathroom door that was slightly ajar, outlining the contours of his body with a subtle golden glow. He turned back to her. Seffy felt the heat from his skin as he closed the gap between them.

  She closed her eyes, waiting for him to make the first move. God knew she was frozen with anxiety. She chanced a look at him and caught her breath. The vulnerability shimmering in his eyes surely matched her own. That glimpse into his soul calmed her a little. Maybe they were in the same place. Maybe he'd been waiting for her tonight.

  Trent brushed her hair away from her face, his palm skimming her jaw. She watched his face descend and tipped up her mouth to receive his kiss. His lips brushed across hers in a gentle to
uch as her eyes drifted closed. There was a part of her that didn't want tenderness. On some level she needed to be punished. Seffy considering verbalizing her thoughts, but the pressure of his lips increased. It was an incremental, slow assault that sent her thoughts fragmenting in a building wave of incoherent yearning.

  He didn't seem to be in a hurry. She'd assumed he'd rush things before she could change her mind. Somehow his certainty made her reservations dissolve. His lips traveled from her mouth, to her face, to her throat while his hands roamed her body with a feathery touch.

  She felt a flutter of air as he unbuttoned her flimsy top and slid it from her shoulders. He kissed her collarbones, his lips moving downward to nuzzle her breasts. She kept her eyes closed, visualizing the path of his hands and mouth, biting her lip hard as her skin flushed under his touch.

  Seffy caught her breath when he knelt down on the floor and tugged at the drawstring of her pajama bottoms, letting them whisper to the ground. She held onto his shoulders for support as he pressed his face against the swell of her stomach, his hands hot on the small of her back. Then he slowly stood up, his shadowed expression strained, and found her lips again.

  Seffy reached out to touch his chest with shaking fingers. His skin was warm and soft over hard muscle. She ran her hands down his ribs and noticed that his kiss deepened, becoming more earnest. Did her touch affect him like it did her? Testing her theory, she allowed her fingers to skim inside the waistband of his jeans. Trent pushed her hands aside and fiddled with the button fly. With hectic movements, he kicked off his pants and pulled her down onto the bed, rolling her to the center of the mattress, his arms like steel around her.

  His movements took on a more desperate tenor, and a growing craving for his touch kept her response in kind. He explored her body with restless hands and a hungry mouth, touching her as if he knew her of old; as if he knew every secret place, every shameful desire. Doubt gave way to an unexpected need to yield to his escalating exploration. She wasn't expecting this hunger to be connected to him. She never expected the yearning for deeper intimacies. But the pressure building inside her for more made her movements needy.