Auctioned to Him 9_Wait

by Charlotte Byrd

  “Meth? Are you serious?” I ask, rolling my eyes. I definitely don’t believe that. “He does not. That’s a lie.”

  “I heard it from Juliet a while ago. And she heard it from someone else.”

  “Oh, wow, who can argue with testimony from ‘someone else,’” I say mockingly.

  Tristan ignores me and continues, “I didn’t want to say anything at first ‘cause I thought you’d just find out on your own. But then I heard that you were going away with him.”

  “I don’t believe you.” I shrug.

  “He’s been arrested, Alice. He’s got a record.”

  I shrug. I don’t know anything about this. But I don’t disbelieve Tristan. I just don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Besides, is a record enough of a reason to cancel? It’s a great excuse, I suddenly realize. But then I look at Tristan. He’s searching my face for some hope that I’m with him. No, I can’t give into him.

  “Alice, please, don’t go. I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “Tristan, I don’t understand what you want from me,” I say, even though he had just answered my question. I take a deep breath and try again.

  “Tristan, we’re over. Don’t you know that? Why are you going around finding out dirt on my boyfriend?”

  He doesn’t respond. Hoping that he’ll just leave, I go back to packing.

  “Alice…” he starts, but I cut him off.

  “You’re just jealous, Tristan. We’re not together and I’m not talking to you anymore because you’re an asshole. And now you’re mad. You want to make my life difficult. Really, I thought you were better than just a gossip.”

  He shakes his head, but doesn’t make a move to leave.

  “And by the way, please don’t put me in the middle of you and Tea, whatever it is you two have going. She knows that I’m mad at you for some reason, but she doesn’t know why. And she was pestering me about it. I don’t want to be involved in your drama, Tristan. You got that?” I say.

  I turn toward him. He’s still standing in the doorway.

  “Alice, please,” he tries again. I’m over it. I kick his foot out of the doorframe and slam the door in his face.

  40

  Simon has rented a car for the occasion. I haven’t been in a car that wasn’t a cab in more than two months and I feel excited. I honestly didn’t know how I’d miss the car and the freedom that comes with driving until I was back in one. Simon lets me drive even though the rental car isn’t under my name. Sitting at the wheel again after all of this time makes me realize how confined I’d felt living in New York. I can go anywhere. I can drive all day and get to Canada. Or drive 18 hours and be in Florida. Or four days and end up back home in LA.

  “How do people live in the city their whole lives without going anywhere?” I ask Simon, rhetorically.

  “Many New Yorkers think that going across the park is a huge deal.” He shrugs.

  “Well, I sort of get that.” I smile. “You have to take the bus or change trains. But if you had a car…”

  I let my words trail off as I imagine all the wonderful places that I could go and all the things I could see if I had a car. Connecticut. Boston. Maine. Fuck, even Newfoundland.

  Unfortunately, I won’t be going to any of those place today. Within two hours, we arrive at a little outcrop of cabins in a forest. This place isn’t far away, but it feels like we’ve traveled to another universe. A world in which Manhattan and all of its lights and craziness doesn’t exist. The trees glisten in the sunlight. Not a single leaf is green; all are different shades of fall: yellow, orange, red, gold. A light wind blows in and a few gold ones detach and dance under the cloudless sky. The air is crisp and smells of dew and fresh pine.

  “It’s beautiful,” I whisper, immediately forgetting all of my concerns about coming here

  Nature always puts me at ease. Unlike in New York where getting to nature, real nature, requires a car rental, back home, getting immersed in nature is a piece of cake. Wilderness is only a five to ten minute drive away, depending on where you live. Despite what many people think, Southern California is a wild place. Its mountains and hills are filled with mountain lions and coyotes. Even in the suburbs, where my parents live, coyotes often come right up to the house to sing their screeching songs of hope and loss.

  Being back here in the wild, on Peekamoose Mountain, I feel homesick and at peace at the same time.

  “You know, I’m really glad that I came out here with you,” I say. “I wasn’t so sure at first, but now that we’re here, it feels really nice. I really needed a break from the city.”

  Simon smiles at me, the kind of smile that uses his whole face. His eyes twinkle and his cheeks get flushed.

  After an hour-long hike, we come back to the cabin energetic and more alive than before. We laughed practically the whole time we hiked and my sides hurt not so much from the exertion, but from the stitches that I got from laughing so hard.

  “I’m going to get some firewood,” Simon says. “I want to start a fire.”

  I nod and go inside the cabin. It’s definitely quaint and cozy. The advertisement didn’t lie. The bed is soft and piled with more blankets and throws that we can possibly use. There’s a big wardrobe in the corner and it temps me to unpack my bag. I open the zipper, but don’t get any further than changing my sweaty shirt for Tristan’s merino sweater. No, not Tristan’s. It’s my merino sweater. The uplifting song of a blue jay catches my attention. I walk over to the window for a better look. I admire the way the bird’s blue feathers glisten in the sun and the way she sings without a care in the world. And then, just a little further down the worn path in between the trees, I spot Simon.

  I’m about to call out to him, but something stops me. Instead, I just watch him. He drops the pile of wood he’s been carrying under his arm onto the ground and pulls out a dirty glass pipe from his pocket. He looks around to see that no one’s around and lights up. It could be weed. But growing up in LA, I know plenty of people who smoke weed. And none of them do it in secret, hunched over with that paranoid look in their eye.

  I open the window. Call out his name. I want to see how he’d react. He doesn’t know where my voice is coming from and crouches down behind a bush to hide. Through the shrubbery, I see him take one big drag and put the pipe into his pocket.

  A few minutes later, Simon walks back into the cabin holding the firewood with both hands.

  “What’s up?” he asks breathlessly.

  I’m sitting on the bed, not sure how or where to start. A strange feeling of malaise spread throughout me. Quickly, I realize that it’s not so much malaise, but disappointment. I really thought that Simon was better than this. I’m not even talking about his addiction. I thought that he was better than a liar.

  I can’t beat around the bush. I just have to come out and ask him, straight up.

  “What were you smoking?” I ask.

  “What? Nothing. I wasn’t smoking anything.” He backs away from me.

  “Don’t lie to me. I saw you,” I say without getting off the bed. I feel like I’m holding a one-hundred pound rock in my lap and if I were to stand up, I’d have to take it with me.

  “Okay, okay. It’s nothing. Just something to relax.” Simon winks at me.

  He thinks he can use his charm and cuteness to avoid the conversation. To make me forget about what I saw. But I can’t. It’s not just something to relax. His actions back there pretty much told me that. I don’t say anything.

  “C’mon, Alice. Don’t worry about it, okay?”

  “No,” I shake my head.

  “Let’s just forget about it. I won’t do it again, I promise.” He crouches down next to me.

  He puts his arms on my lap and looks up at me with pleading eyes. For a second, I’m tempted to just forget about it. I don’t like fighting. And the cabin is quite relaxing. But then I get a whiff of his scent. Definitely not weed. I’ve never smelled meth, but that’s the only thing I can imagine it to be.

 
“I can’t, sorry,” I say, pushing him away.

  The invisible one-hundred pound rock vanishes as soon as I get up. My cheeks get flushed. I’m angry. Mad. But not entirely with Simon. I’m mad as hell at Tristan. I walk over to my bag. Turn around. Suddenly, I feel totally apathetic toward Simon. It’s like this is the excuse that I’ve been waiting for.

  “Have you ever been arrested?” I ask.

  I examine his face closely. Simon meets my eyes, doesn’t look away. His stare is disarming.

  “No,” he lies. I know it’s a lie. And by the expression on his face, he knows that I know it’s a lie.

  “Okay, okay, yes.” Simon walks over to me and grabs my hand. He thinks that physical contact will make me more sympathetic to him.

  “But it was last year. It was really not a big deal, Alice.”

  “Yeah, I guess not,” I say. I pick up the few things that I’ve taken out of my bag and stuff them back inside. I’m leaving because of the drugs, but it’s just an excuse. I know it. This whole trip was way too soon for us. My only regret is that I didn’t listen to myself when I’d thought that it was too soon.

  “Where are you going?” Simon asks.

  “Home,” I say. “I’m going home.”

  “What? Why? We have this great cabin. C’mon stay, please.”

  “I’ve had doubts about this trip before. And this just confirmed it,” I say, pointing to the pocket where he put the pipe.

  “This is nothing, Alice. It’s just for fun.”

  “Really? So why were you arrested? Why did you feel the need to smoke in the bushes if it’s nothing you’re ashamed of?” I say, grabbing my bag.

  I’m grateful for the fact that I didn’t unpack right away.

  “Alice, please. C’mon, be reasonable.”

  “I am. I don’t want to stay.”

  “Well, I do. And I’m not going back to the city until Sunday,” Simon says defiantly, plopping down on the bed in protest.

  I hadn’t considered this possibility. Shit.

  “Fine,” I say after a moment.

  “What are you going to do? It’s dark out there already.”

  “I’m going to take a cab or an Uber,” I say.

  “All the way to the city? It’ll cost you a year of rent!” he laughs. I’ve never seen this side of him before. The mocking, insensitive, petulant, child side.

  “I’m going to take a cab to the train station,” I explain. I don’t know why I even bothered. It’s none of his business anymore.

  Simon jumps out of bed, meets me by the door.

  “Alice.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. I shrug him off.

  “Alice,” he says louder this time. “You can’t leave.”

  “I am leaving.” I turn the knob.

  “Goddamn it, Alice.” He hits the door with his fist, slamming it shut.

  He startles me. The door slams shut with such force, the hairs on the back of my arm stand up. A shudder of fear courses through my veins.

  What if he doesn’t let me leave?

  What then?

  I turn to Simon. His face is inches away from mine. I can feel his hot, fiery breath on my face. Blood drains from my cheeks and lips. My heart pounds so loudly in my chest that I hear it in my temples.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  Thump-thump.

  I take a deep breath. I don’t look away from him. I’m leaving this place one way or another.

  The darkness in his eyes slowly fades and the old Simon comes back to me.

  “I’m so sorry, Alice, really,” he says. He puts his head on my shoulder.

  “I know,” I whisper. “But I have to go.”

  I open the door again. This time, he doesn’t stop me.

  When I get out of sight from the cabin, I finally let out a deep sigh of relief.

  41

  About a mile down the road, I start to waver on my decision to leave in such haste. I tried to call a cab, but I didn’t realize it until after I left that I have absolutely no reception out here. Not even one bar! Still, I can’t go back. Simon’s insistence on me staying scared me. If I wasn’t sure about leaving beforehand, I certainly was after. There’s a lot I don’t know about him and I had no business coming out here with him.

  I remember what I heard a while ago about women and intuition. Apparently, women have great intuition. The problem is that they often don’t listen to it and don’t act accordingly to it because of a variety of factors. They don’t want to hurt someone’s feelings. They feel embarrassed. They think that it’s illogical. It doesn’t make any sense.

  From now on, I’m going to listen to my intuition a lot more, I decide. If I had listened to it earlier, I wouldn’t be in this mess.

  The road’s winding and lit only by the blue light from the moon. But moonlight doesn’t penetrate every bend; the trees hugging both sides of the road block most of it.

  The scent of pine is no longer inviting and comforting. Instead, I’m starting to get scared. I haven’t been scared of the dark since I was six years old, but alone in the woods, all my old fears creep in. I turn on my phone. I still have plenty of battery left. I click on the flashlight button and the bright LED brings me some relief.

  One car drives past me. And then another. A few minutes later, another. They all slow down when they see me. Again, shivers run up my spine. I shouldn’t have stayed up late watching a marathon of old Dateline programs last night on YouTube. All those murder mysteries, which seemed so interesting when I was in the safety of my bed, now seem terrifying. College girl walking down an abandoned country road all alone. I can just hear Keith Morrison’s soothing but sinister voice narrating my crime story.

  “Okay, okay. You can’t think like this,” I say out loud. “The train station is 3 miles away from the cabin, you only have, what, 2 more to go? You can do this. Nothing’s going to happen. Just stop freaking yourself out.”

  I look at my phone again. There’s something comforting about it even though I don’t have a signal. It’s way out. My lifeline. I thank God that the directions to the train station are still cached on the maps screen. Otherwise, I’d be totally fucked.

  A car pulls up next to me. I don’t hear it until the driver honks the horn.

  Beep. Beep.

  Fuck. It’s Simon. He has found me. There’s no way I’m getting into his car. I look around before turning to face him. What can I do? I can run into the woods, I decide. He’ll have to first realize what I’ve done. And if he wants to follow me, he’ll have to pull over, park the car, get out and then run after me. That will give me a good running start.

  No matter what you do, don’t get into that car, I whisper silently to myself. If that’s one thing that I’ve learned from all those crime shows is that it all goes to hell when the girl gets into the car.

  “Alice!” I don’t believe what I hear. The voice is definitely not Simon’s. But it can’t be who I think it is. Can it?

  I turn around. My ears weren’t lying. It is Tristan.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask. The cold air nips at my throat. I pull my coat closed at my neck, wishing that I hadn’t forgotten to pack my scarf.

  “Get in,” he says. “It’s freezing out there.”

  I want to. Really badly. It is freezing, colder than freezing, probably. But I’m mad at him. And he still hasn’t answered my question.

  I shake my head. I’ve had enough of guys bossing me around for today. I continue walking, well aware of that fact that it’s my pride that’s keeping me out of his car. Not any intuition. Tristan’s a great guy and he’d never make me feel uncomfortable. He’d break my heart and make me wish that I was dead, but he would never scare me.

  He drives slowly alongside of me.

  “C’mon, Alice. Stop fucking around. Get in,” he says through the rolled down window.

  I shake my head.

  “Why are you here?” I yell. Partly because of the howling wind. And partly because I’m mad at him. “Are you
stalking me?”

  “Why are you here?” he yells back. Clearly, not answering my questions. “If you’re having such a good time with Simon, why are you walking down the road all alone in the middle of the night?”

  “Fuck you!”

  “C’mon, Alice. Please, get in.” The tone in his voice changes. He’s pleading now. But my heart remains cold. My pride stands strong.

  “I don’t need you to stalk me, Tristan. I’m fine,” I say.

  I expect our banter to keep going until I reach the train station. I can use an escort. It is cold and dark and windy. And I am scared of being all alone out here. But then it doesn’t.

  “Fine,” Tristan yells and drives away. The screeching of the tires as he pulls away breaks my heart.

  “No, no, no,” I say, watching him disappear into the darkness. “Please don’t go.”

  But I don’t run after the car. I stop, stand there like a statue. Unable to move. A feeling of inevitable doom spreads through my body. Regret. Why didn’t I just get into his car? Why did I have to be so stupid? He came all the way here. He was here to help. He loves you. Why did I have to be so cold? So unforgiving? A million other things that I should’ve said and done run through my mind.

  I look out into the distance. Waiting for him to return. But he doesn’t. He’s gone. Really gone.

  I take a deep breath.

  You can only depend on yourself in life. There’s no one else. Definitely not some guy.

  A set of headlights from across the road blinds me and disappears. The car makes a u-turn across the road and pulls up next to me.

  “Tea and I broke up,” Tristan yells through the open window.

  42

  This time he doesn’t have to coax me inside. Neither of us says another word as I climb into the passenger seat. I don’t get in because of what he said. I would’ve gotten in if he had said that he hated me. It’s not every day that you get the chance to right the wrong decision that you’d just made. And I didn’t need any more signs that this is what I had to do.