Haze

by Andrea Wolfe

  "You've already slept with him." Timothy stared into the empty bottom of his cup like it was a black hole. His simplicity showed no limits.

  "I didn't say anything, Timothy, except that I wasn't comfortable discussing the subject with you."

  I half expected him to pause at that moment, but he didn't. He charged straight into battle, guns drawn and ready to kill.

  "You're a fucking slut, Effie. That's all you are. I come all the way here for you, and you repay me by fucking some guy you just met off the street." I seemed to have made him unable to make eye contact, at least during that awkwardly tense moment when it would have made his words that much more effective.

  His acid tongue burned, that was for sure, but I fought to ensure he didn't hurt me with his irrationality. I had never so much as even considered cheating on him while we were together, making this all the more idiotic. I took a deep breath and sighed, trying not to escalate the situation any further, but also trying to speak with finality. I couldn't leave him with any shimmering one in a million chances that he could cling to.

  He was dangling from a cliff—and I had no interest in saving him.

  "Timothy, you're obviously upset, and frankly, you're being really offensive. I don't want to see you ever again. You blew your chance." It was so raw, but dammit, it was the truth.

  "You don't get to make that decision, you slut." Timothy had never been the religious, purity-seeking type. Had he suddenly converted to something? Church of Hate was my only guess, if one even existed. "You're a whore."

  Why the hell did he care so much about my sex life? It was really freaking me out.

  I couldn't restrain myself any longer. "We broke up, Tim. It's over. It's been over. You're too stuck living in your own deluded mind to figure it out. You can't just hit play again and expect me to go along. And enough with the fucking slut talk."

  By this point, he looked a cobra, ready to strike and deliver a fatal blow. "Fuck you, Effie!"

  I stood up."I'm not taking any more of this from you. You're acting like a child, plain and simple. Coming here to talk to you was a big mistake."

  "Sit the fuck down," he snarled. "You're going to hear me out—or else." His eyes remained fixed on me with animalistic rage, like something infected with rabies.

  Oh, shit.

  I paused, realizing he might indeed be threatening me. "Or else what?" I had to feel this out, had to see what options were available and satisfy my own morbid curiosity. As it turned out, I had none.

  "Sit the fuck down!" He screamed this time and lunged at me from across the table, his full weight knocking me down into the chair. It tipped backward and I fell onto the floor, my head striking the ground with a hard thud. Tears immediately started spilling from my eyes as the world began spinning.

  Fuck you, Timothy. It was the first thought to arrive on the scene.

  There was one of those moments, the moments that you see in movies where time seems to stop. The main character (me) was reflecting on her life, thinking about the choices she had made. There was her past—bold flashes of memories involving adolescence; warm, inviting memories only—and then images of her time with her romantic interest (Jack). I suddenly longed for him, wishing more than anything that I had never left the safety of his arms this morning. My mind had that one, singular focus—Jack.

  This had been such a stupid mistake.

  When I returned to reality, I half expected Tim to jump on me and attack me further, to bludgeon me with literal and figurative insanity. That's not what I saw, however. Hell, I didn't feel it either. I guess the fall hadn't killed me.

  Although I was a little disorientated, I heard a very familiar voice shouting along with Tim's. And then Tim was being dragged outside. Several people came to my aid, helping to lift me off the ground. "Are you okay?" Everyone had the same question and they wouldn't stop asking it. Was I really that fascinating?

  Attention was always nice, but then again, this wasn't the best situation.

  "Dammit," I muttered, straightening out my hair as I also felt the back of my head. I curiously checked my fingers after rubbing the point of impact. They were blood-free. I sighed a monumental sigh of relief, one of the biggest ever in my life.

  "Seriously, are you okay?" An older man was lowered to his knee, staring into my eyes. I was magically sitting up now, the chair presumably lifted by this kind stranger. By his professional demeanor, I assumed he was a doctor.

  "Yeah, yeah," I said mechanically. "Where the hell did he go?" I noticed what sounded like a commotion, but hadn't put two and two together.

  "That guy pulled him outside. I guess they're fighting or something." The people that had come to my rescue were now watching the front window like it was the season finale of American Idol. "You need to relax for a second," he said after noticing I was about to leap from my seat, fueled by adrenaline.

  Guy? Fighting? I turned, my eyes immediately gravitating toward the bright light of the outdoors—and just in time to see a fist connect with Timothy's stomach. He keeled over and then fell against the solid glass of the coffee shop before tumbling to the ground.

  "Don't ever go near her again or I'm calling the police!" That familiar voice warmed me instantly like that first sip of coffee on a winter morning. Stupidly relevant, especially since I was in a coffee shop.

  Yeah, it was Jack, and I had no idea what he was doing here. Had he followed me here? Shown up at the perfect moment like my own knight in shining armor? I watched him run in front of the building until he was at the door again. The world seemed to skip like a scratched DVD and suddenly he was right there in front of me.

  "Effie! I'm so sorry," he said, his voice exasperated and desperate.

  "For what?" I leaned into his hug, allowing his arms to wrap tightly around me. It was exactly what I needed. All eyes were on us—and that felt just fine. Business had ceased for several minutes, but things were slowly easing back into normality. At least there was something vaguely resembling a happy ending

  "I encouraged you to meet that psychopath. God, what was I thinking?"

  "He wasn't a psychopath before." It was the truth. "But he's was crazy now, that's for sure."

  Jack reached over and shook the older gentleman's hand. "Thanks for keeping an eye on her," he said. "Are you a doctor or something? Is she hurt?"

  "I'm fine, Jack," I blurted out.

  "I'm retired," the man said. "But I was a doctor." He smiled warmly. "There's no blood, and she seems to be coming back to her senses just fine. The rug cushioned her fall for sure. If she has trouble concentrating or has any serious headaches within the next couple of days, take her straight to a hospital."

  "I told you I was fine." I said it again as if I was defending myself from another one of Timothy's verbal attacks.

  "I'll take her immediately if anything changes. Thanks again, sir."

  The man nodded and then stood up, returning to a table with what looked like his family. It made me wonder if Jack and I would ever have a family like that. Maybe I was getting ahead of myself, but in the aftermath of trauma, it felt okay.

  Jack kissed my cheek repeatedly, running his fingers through my hair as he tried to cope with what was left of the situation. "It's not your fault," I said. "You saved me anyhow. He probably would have punched me or something."

  "Thankfully, he's not a good fighter," Jack remarked. "I would have been done for if he happened to be one of those MMA guys. You just can't tell sometimes."

  I started giggling uncontrollably. "Has someone surprised you with that before?"

  He gave me a quizzical look. "Well, no. I just know MMA is popular, and so it would follow that there are probably fighters wandering around somewhere."

  "Definitely not Timothy. You should see how afraid he is of centipedes. He almost started crying one time when one fell into the shower."

  "I hate those things," Jack said. He shook his head and cringed. "Give me the MMA guy any day."

  "But they eat pests!" I wasn't su
re why I was defending the honor of centipedes, but it was fun. "Maybe you should go hang out with Timothy. You guys sound like you've actually got a lot in common." My giggles continued to erupt, perhaps because it was actually that funny—or I was just hysterical. Probably the latter.

  "Whatever you say, Effie. I'm just glad you're okay. If he would have messed up that pretty little face of yours, I might have—"

  I shot him an incredulous look. "You might have what? You really don't need to act like a tough guy around me."

  "Yeah, I don't know what I would have done. I'm supposed to be a pacifist, and I just punched your ex in the gut. I'm such a hypocrite."

  "My hypocrite," I said in place of the more common hero.

  We stayed there together—Jack kneeling on the floor, me on the chair—until it had probably become awkward to watch. "C'mon," Jack finally said. "Let's go back to my place. I'll cook you something."

  "Okay." After what had happened, it sounded perfect.

  ***

  People had already forgotten about us by the time we finally left the coffee shop. This wasn't like the small towns of my past where this sort of event might have actually made the front page of the newspaper—this was New York City. Everything moved at light speed. The slate was clean almost before we had finished writing on it.

  If it wasn't a terrorist attack or major natural disaster, the city had definitely seen more exciting things.

  When we got back into his apartment, I collapsed on the couch and Jack climbed on top of me. His weight was incredibly comforting. I sunk into the cushions, surrounded by soft pillows and his body. He kissed me slowly, purposefully and gently, tickling my tongue with his own.

  The warm gesture stopped abruptly. "God, I was so worried today." His expression was tense, vacant.

  "I'm just glad you were there, you stalker." I smiled at him and kissed his stubble-covered cheek. "Where were you sitting?"

  "I was just around the opposite corner. I snuck in after you started talking to him. Something told me I just had to." I was watching his mind wrestle with the day's events, his facial muscles displaying the score. I hoped he was winning.

  "I didn't see you at all." I guess I had been just too entranced by Timothy's whirlwind insanity. It was like staring at a car crash or something.

  "I really was worried, Effie. I don't know what I'd do if I’d lost you in there, if he’d really hurt you or something. I couldn't live with it, especially not if it was my fault." His words were so big, so meaningful, expressing concepts that I could barely grasp at this point in the day.

  I couldn't understand why I was coping with the situation so much better than he was. I mean, I was the one that had been under attack, not him. We hadn't even been seeing each other that long. And it all turned out okay in the end, thanks entirely to his unexpected intervention.

  Now we were in the apartment together safe and sound, relaxing and having a good time. Trouble was behind us.

  Questions popped into my head, going off like a chain of firecrackers. Were we moving too fast or something? Had I gauged him wrong? No matter what I tried to convince myself of, I just couldn't get past his authenticity—something appeared to lie beyond his surface, something significant that he was keeping from me. I immediately knew that it was that something that was weighing so heavily upon his conscience.

  I held him tightly, clutching his body for dear life as we both silently sorted through our own emotional baggage. I had exhausted my vocabulary and been reduced to thoughts only.

  In a way, I didn't want him to care about me so much. I didn't feel worthy of that sort of consideration. I frequently had those feelings of inadequacy, those erratic impulses that said you're not good enough for anyone. At my worst, I sometimes found myself feeling pathetic and used up, as if I had already passed my prime and was ready to be discarded.

  Jack was rich and successful, with looks that matched or exceeded his success—and he had anything and everything he wanted. Today was just him being a Good Samaritan, that was all. I just got lucky. Somebody else would have come to my rescue if he hadn't. I was getting carried away if I assumed anything other than that.

  But no matter how hard I fought, my mind kept returning to one thought, the impossible, the unimaginable, the unfathomable—maybe he really did care about me...

  Chapter 7

  Once we started moving around again, Jack made us steaks and a huge Cobb salad, one comprised of some of the freshest greens I'd ever eaten. I swear the food he made at home was almost better than the over-the-top expensive dinners he had treated me to. Funny that it took a supremely rich guy to teach me that great food could be had easily at home.

  One-and-a-half glasses of wine down, and full of unflagging adrenaline, I decided to drill Jack for information.

  "It's nothing," he insisted, my first wave of questioning behind us. He was a terrible liar, at least today.

  "You're holding something back from me, Jack. What happened to you?"

  He tensed up, wound tight as piano wire, holding his wine glass so firmly I feared it might shatter between his fingertips. "Effie, I know you're concerned, but I just... just can't." He was so frazzled by my inquiry that it made me wish I'd never asked at all.

  Why was I doing this?

  I couldn't believe how much it was affecting me to see him like this. He had been so brave when he came to my rescue—but now he was humbled, like a dropped popsicle melting in the hot, direct sunlight. I really didn't want Jack to wind up as a fruit-flavored stain on his expensive carpet. I would need a change in strategy.

  "Fine," I said. "I'm sorry. Seriously." There was just a hint of a defensive tone in my voice—and he sensed it.

  Jack fell silent and then jumped to his feet and walked to the closest window. He stared out into the city; perhaps the sprawling view was cathartic. Something was driving him crazy—and I wanted to know what it was. The problem was, I wanted to be sympathetic and let it go as much as I wanted to know what was plaguing him. What was he hiding? I swore this next try would be my last.

  "Jack, this is killing you. What is it? I don't like seeing you like this." I put it out there and waited like a hunter, hoping that he would take the bait.

  "It's stupid," he said. "I shouldn't care anymore. I always feel dumb when I get caught up in it."

  "You obviously do care. There's nothing wrong with that."

  "Dammit," he whispered. "I swore to myself that I'd never bring this up around someone else again. I just... just couldn't help but remember it all again at the coffee shop, when he—" He froze for a second. "It rushed back so quickly. I didn't expect this to happen ever again."

  "Suppression obviously isn't working, Jack. Have you ever properly dealt with this?" I felt like a junior psychologist, even though that wasn't at all the intent of my questioning. I wanted to know, wanted to help, if that was even possible.

  "I'm not so sure anymore." He picked up his wine and began, peeling back the protective layers of his mind until he reached his true focus."God, I can't believe I'm doing this," he remarked. "You really want a front row seat to my emotional baggage?"

  "Why wouldn't I?" I asked. "I'm your—" I froze up for a second, not sure how to define myself. Was I his girlfriend? Did I even want that right now? "I care about you, Jack," I said, correcting my potential folly before it began. He didn't seem to notice one way or another.

  "Katy," he went on. "I loved her, okay? I can't take that feeling away, no matter what." His features and demeanor softened up so much I feared he might just curl up and die right in front of me.

  I gulped, worried that I had indeed opened up a door that I shouldn't have. The last thing I needed was to find out that he was still in love with his ex, probably a beautiful woman—assumed to be more beautiful than me, of course; my own assumptions were never reasonable—and having to let me go in exchange for her. Way to go, Effie! I was a cat about to be killed by curiosity.

  Deep breath. I needed to relax since this was his mome
nt, not mine.

  I poured another glass of wine and took a sip. "Please, go on." I was at the top of the rollercoaster, ready for it to plummet toward the ground at hundreds of miles per hour while people screamed around me. Oh yeah, and my hands were in the air.

  He continued.

  It went back to his college days at University of Minnesota—that was sort of a relief since I assumed that meant it was a long time ago—when things had become uncertain in his life. He was writing music and wanted to pursue a full-time career of performing, yet he was also trying to keep his parents happy by completing the schooling they were picking up the tab for.

  "College was their idea for me," he added.

  On top of that, he had a long-term girlfriend since the age of sixteen, Katy, one who also contributed to the very complex mess that his life had become. She had followed him to the same university prior to choosing a major, and now that she had a more defined goal—and definitely some wanderlust—she was having second thoughts about her choice and wanted to move to Chicago.

  His parents didn't like her, which didn't help the situation at all, especially not when she wanted to move out of state and he wanted to follow her. He was trapped between trying to satisfy their requests, his own aspirations, and his desire to be good to her, the ultimate conflict for a twenty-year-old.

  They had wound up at a party one night, both far too drunk for their own good. She had to work in the morning ("It was a stupid, low-paying desk job where almost nothing went on, so it was even less important that she was there," he said), so after a great deal of deliberation, she ended up driving home while he slept on the couch. He never saw her again, except at her funeral, the open-casket imagery something he'd never forget.

  She slid down a hill and crashed on the icy drive home, a fatal, tragic accident. Thankfully, there were no other victims—well, except for Jack, who felt more mangled inside than the smashed car had been. Even though he couldn't change anything now, he still felt personally responsible for it—and it happened to be death. He was certain that there was something he could have done to prevent it, even though he had also been drunk and obviously not thinking straight.