by Valentina F.
"You don't owe me anything, it's my treat." I hear Paul's voice behind me, but it takes me a while to focus on his words.
"Sorry? No, no way..."
"I paid for dinner," he interrupts. "And you give me a ride home...and that's final...or I'll be offended."
"Paul!"
He puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me in close. "Don't worry, I'm not coming on to you, but if Ben’s going to dedicate this song to you again, then it serves him right if he thinks we're leaving together...he and his band can go fuck themselves, you don't need them."
He leans closer and kisses me on the temple, but he's so close that from a certain angle it looks like he's kissing me on the lips.
Hand in hand we leave the bar. "You're a strange guy, you know that?"
"I don't care if you're compatible or not, he has no right to treat you like that. Now I know about you two, the idea that he sang that song to you on your birthday pisses me off even more."
I put a hand on his chest and smile. "It's nice of you to worry about me like this, but that's not exactly what happened. It's my fault if we're not together, I pushed him too far. I was stupid and I hurt him."
He looks me up and down. "Are you kidding me?"
"No, honestly. It's my fault. I acted like a spoiled brat that thought she could have it all." The tears well up in my eyes as my voice lowers at every word.
"Okay, but he's still an idiot." He runs a finger under my right eye and wipes away the only tear I allow myself to cry.
41
"Sure you don't want to come?" Mark drums his fingers nervously on the frame of my bedroom door.
"No, I have to study. I have a test tomorrow afternoon." I tighten my grip on my pencil. The last thing I want to do today is go to Uncle George's birthday party at Daytona Beach and see all my ex-classmates. Last time I was there it was with Cat and I can't stand the thought of being in the same room as her, pretending not to know her. It was Thanksgiving weekend and it was perfect and now, almost a month later, we barely talk to each other. It didn't have to turn out like this and I don't want to ruin the only untroubled memory I have of her.
A few minutes later I hear Cat's car pull out of the driveway. I don't run to the window and watch her leave, but it takes a massive effort to remain sitting here, my head over my books. I spend the next two hours studying, never taking my eyes off my notes. Knowing she's not around is a great help because I'm not tempted to peep over at her room every couple of seconds. When my concentration runs out and I realize I'm dying of hunger I stand up. As usual, there's nothing to eat in the house and the only alternative is to raid the girls' refrigerator.
I grab my keys and a spare for their house and leave through the patio. The light is on in the family room and I roll my eyes...when they get their bill they'll be complaining about spending a fortune on utilities.
I knock automatically on the door before entering. "Anyone home?" I ask, without expecting an answer.
"Ben?" Cat's alarmed voice makes me freeze. What the fuck? She's supposed to be at Daytona with the others. I pummel my fists against my head but I can't just stand here in the doorway.
"Wait! Don't come in!" Her anguished tone makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I do the exact opposite. I take a step forward and I'm in front of her.
"I told you not to come in!" My eyes open wide. She's half naked, wearing only her underwear––if you can call it that––and a short tank top that accentuates her slim figure. She tugs it down but there's not enough of it to cover herself. I immediately turn around, feeling my cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Sorry, you scared me."
I laugh as I hear her dash from the room. God, she's so beautiful! One minute later she rushes back, this time she's wearing a pair of white cotton shorts and a baggy t-shirt that covers her ass. I definitely preferred her half-naked.
"What are you doing here?" we ask at the same time. I find it funny, Cat not so much.
"You first..." she says.
"I didn't go to Daytona because I had to study. You?"
"I'm leaving the day after tomorrow and I've got a thousand things to do," she says, glancing over at the wooden chopping board on the worktop. She's cooking something.
"But your car's not outside."
Blondie sneers and looks me up and down. "I loaned it to Mark. Jessica's not coming back until tomorrow night and he needs to be here early tomorrow morning."
"Why didn't he ask to borrow mine?" She arches an eyebrow and waits for me to answer my own question. "Okay, I wouldn't have lent it to him…Did you know I was staying in Orlando?" I ask cautiously. It's the first time in the past month that we've been civil enough to exchange more than ten words.
"No, I thought you were with the guys. It's Uncle George's birthday, I figured you wouldn't want to miss it."
I sit on the stool in front of her, my elbows on the table. "What are you cooking?" I'm so hungry I could eat a horse.
"Carbonara. You hungry?" she asks without looking at me.
"Is that an invitation?" I can't hold back my teasing grin but she doesn't fall for it. She looks at me bored, that bitchy look on her face, that is as necessary to me as breathing.
"Not really. But when you turn up at dinnertime...you practically invite yourself."
If it weren't for this crazy urge to be near her I'd be mortally offended but sometimes certain battles aren't worth fighting and I decide not to reply.
"Need a hand?" I ask as she turns to get eggs from the refrigerator.
"You can set the table if you like..." She breaks the eggs into a bowl and beats them with a fork, leaning back against the sink. She looks amazing.
We remain silent for what seems like eternity. I calmly set the table, trying to avoid any form of physical contact with her, while Blondie fries bacon.
"How hungry are you?" she asks, holding up a fistful of spaghetti.
"I haven't eaten since this morning at breakfast."
She looks down at the spaghetti. "I don't think there's enough here." She lays it down on the chopping board and walks over to the cupboard. They keep pasta and stuff on the top shelf and she can't reach. She stands on tiptoe and her shirt rises a few inches, exposing part of her back. I feel like a creep. The sight of those few inches of skin has me literally drooling.
"I'll get that," I say, hurrying over, sandwiching her between the countertop and my body.
As I reach up for a new packet of pasta, I feel her stiffen against my chest and I'm ecstatic to think I still have that effect on her. I'm invading her body space but I can't help it, I'm drowning in the warmth of her body. Cat stands there, still, and I pull away, gripping the cardboard box of pasta.
I step back and wait for her to turn and look at me, but we're still too close. I hand her the pasta, unable to take my eyes off her.
"Thanks," she mumbles, moving to the side.
"Is there any of that red wine left?" I ask, looking in the same cupboard, but not seeing it.
"You mean the one you wanted to open to celebrate my engagement? No, sorry, we drank it." She glares at me angrily, her eyes making me freeze. I totally deserved that...I deserve whatever she throws at me.
I roll with the punch. "I have a couple of beers in the fridge...if you like..." I offer.
Blondie shrugs then opens the door of a small cupboard under the sink. She takes out that bottle of wine and thrusts it in my face. "Do you know how to open it at least?"
The little bitch. It's the wine I was looking for. I don't know if it's a good idea to add alcohol to the tense situation, but she takes a corkscrew from the drawer and hands it to me. I try to convince myself that, perhaps, the wine will help us relax.
"You're not wearing your ring," I blurt. Why didn't I just uncork the bottle instead of shooting my mouth off? I know she doesn't wear it, I noticed last week when we were in the bar.
She doesn't say anything. She lays a ladle in the skillet, ignoring me.
"I didn't know you'd stopped wear
ing it."
"There's a lot of things you don't know, Ben," she snaps. She takes the colander and puts it in the sink. "The pasta will take another six minutes."
She takes two water glasses from the cupboard and puts them on the table.
"No wine glasses," I tease.
"You deserve a plastic cup."
Like this, the conversation is going nowhere. She's still furious with me and I don't blame her. We've hurt each other too much to just turn a blind eye and move on. We haven't spoken for three weeks.
"What are you listening to? It's cool."
"Vasco Rossi. The best and most famous Italian singer, ever."
"I've heard this song before."
She smiles and turns to the stereo, turning the volume up. "It's a cover of “Creep” by Radiohead. In Italian it's called “Ad ogni costo,” whatever it takes." She shrugs and is simply beautiful.
Neither of us speaks as I pour the wine and hand her a glass. The tiny kitchen timer bursts into life and she turns back to the stove, picks up the pot, and drains the water. She puts the pasta back in the pot and adds the beaten egg, hot oil, and bacon, then turns the flame up, mixes everything together, and sprinkles in a whole bag of grated Parmesan. She's so absorbed and looks so perfect I can’t help staring.
"I think I made too much." She gives me a worried smirk and my stupid heart threatens to stop beating.
"Trust me, it will get eaten," is all I can say.
It smells so good my mouth is watering and the fact that it's just us, all alone in such a domestic setting, feels incredible.
"Buon appetito," she says in Italian, twirling the spaghetti around her fork.
"This is mind-blowing!" I splutter, my mouth half-full of pasta, but I don't care. She's full of surprises. This is the best thing I've ever eaten. I know I'm half starving, but it doesn't matter, it's so damn delicious.
"I know." She smiles smugly.
"You're such a..." I stop myself just in time, leaving the sentence hanging in mid-air.
"What? A snobby bitch?" she teases.
"Yeah, but you already knew that," I crack, taking a sip of red wine.
She raises her eyebrows but can't stop herself from smiling.
We hardly talk during dinner, but we don't need to. Just being near her makes me feel better and silence is a million times better than our furious fights.
"Are you glad you're going home?" I ask. I'm stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey but too greedy to put my fork down.
"I'll be happy to see my dad again."
Okay, let's try another question. "Are you coming to the Blue Rock tomorrow? It's our last show before the holidays and it will be crazy."
"I'm not sure. I have to get up at 5:00 a.m. on Saturday and I have so much left to do."
I can't hide my disappointment. The thought that, after tonight, I won't see her for another two weeks makes me feel sick and she knows it, because she can't make eye contact with me for more than two seconds.
I need to change the subject before my heart breaks right in front of her. "At last we've found a girl to sing on our new song."
She suddenly looks up. "What girl?"
"Sarah, the girl I introduced you to last week at Blue Rock. We must have auditioned like thirty girls and she was the best. After Christmas we'll try her out at one of our shows, then start getting everything ready for recording one of our songs with her."
She smiles and shakes her head from side to side. "Sarah. The brunette who's in and out of your place at all hours? That Sarah?"
"Sure. I thought you knew." I look at her, my head tilted to one side. So, that's what our friends have been up to. They're not telling her anything about me and they're not telling me anything about her. How about that?
"No, I mean...it doesn't matter what I thought."
"Didn't Mark tell you about her?"
She shrugs.
"Who did you think she was?"
"I told you, it doesn't matter." She stands up and clears her plate.
"Yes, it does. Did you think she was my girl?"
She leans back against the sink, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "It's none of my business."
"No. No, it's not, but she's not. I haven’t done anything with Sarah, or with anyone else for that matter." I get to my feet and walk toward her, holding my empty plate. She doesn't move. I lean over her and drop the plate into the sink.
She looks up at me as I take a step back. "It's late and I'm a little tired."
I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, letting all the air in my lungs come rushing out. "Sure, I'll leave you alone now. Thanks for dinner. You need a hand to clean up?" I pour myself some more wine, filling the glass almost to the brim. Cat shakes her head and I sigh in frustration. I feel so helpless in front of her. "I'll bring the glass back tomorrow."
"Yeah, don't worry about it."
I know that if I walk out of this kitchen, I'll be throwing away my only chance to tell her how I feel, how much I miss her, and that I don't want anyone else if I can't have her.
I'm just about to speak when she turns and starts loading the dishwasher.
"See you, Blondie. Have a good trip." I can't find the courage to walk out, I stand here, staring at her back. If only she would turn around, give me the tiniest hope that we can still fix everything, I'd stay here forever. But she doesn't. “Come Back When you Can” by Barcelona blares out of the speakers and it seems the perfect song to say goodbye to.
"Bye, Ben." Her voice feels like a distant caress.
I have to get her out of my head.
42
I've been tossing and turning in bed for at least two hours now. I hate sleeping when I'm alone in the house, but that's not why I can't seem to just close my eyes and sleep already.
Finally, we were together.
Alone.
Calm.
And what did I do? Send him away. Instead of clearing the air, I freaking sent him away. Sarah is the new backup singer and all those girls I saw going in and out of the house over the past three weeks were there to audition. That's what he said, anyway, and honestly, there's no good reason not to believe him. Ben may have many faults, but he's not a liar. If anything, he's too honest.
I turn over once more and press my head into the pillow. How could I be so stupid? I miss him like crazy and I should have told him. What good is acting tough and being indifferent if I can't get him out of my head? I lash out against the mattress. God, I feel like going over to his house now and telling him everything.
Just when my eyelids are growing heavy and I'm finally about to sink into a deep sleep, a deafening noise has me sitting upright.
What the hell was that?
There it is again. Someone just broke a window, no doubt about it. My blood turns to ice and my heart beats so fast I feel dizzy as I leap out of bed in a panic. I fumble for my iPhone on the nightstand, but it's not there. Shit, where is it? I hear the soft rustle of footsteps coming from the living room and don't know what the hell to do. Someone's in the house. They broke a window and sneaked in. Whoever it is, he creeps past my room and down the corridor leading to the other rooms.
I take a deep breath and do something I never, ever thought I'd be capable of. Instead of hiding under the bed or in the closet, I leave my room, without even thinking that I might bump into the intruder. It's as if my legs have a life of their own. I'm in a blind panic and one thought continues to echo inside my head: Get out! Don't stay here! Don't let yourself be trapped between these four walls, at the mercy of a maniac...or a serial killer!
I open the door wide enough to peep out, just in time to see a shadow creep into Jessica's room at the end of the corridor. Like a panther, I slip out of my room, heading in the opposite direction. What if he's not alone? What if I bump into his accomplice? Shit, I'd not thought of that. I have to get to the family room, I need to get out of here, now! I tiptoe toward the kitchen as fast as I can, intent on creeping out through the patio door and running over to
ask Ben for help. He's the only one who can help me. As soon as I set foot in the kitchen, however, a massive body pulls me back. An arm grabs me by the waist and a huge hand clamps itself over my mouth, making my eyes almost pop out. I struggle and try to scream but it's impossible.
"Shh! It's me! Shh, it's me...it's me! Shh! Shh!...it's me!"
I don't know how many times he repeats it before my brain finally recognizes his voice and I stop struggling. He drags me over to the bathroom near the garage door, whispering all the time, "Shh, it's me, Blondie...it's me, shh!"
Tears stream down my face and Ben holds me even tighter. We're in a tiny bathroom, no more than three feet square. His heart pounds against my back and his strong arms are crushing me so hard I can hardly breathe.
"Shh, Blondie, it's me. I called the cops. They'll be here in a few minutes."
He's here, there may be a thief in the house, but he's here now and I know he won't let anything happen to me.
When he's sure I won't scream, he lifts his hand away from my mouth. I turn toward him and sink my head against his chest. I can't stop shaking and he clamps his cold hand behind my head.
"I'm scared..." I whisper so softly I think he's not heard me.
"I'm here, Blondie...I'm here..."
We hear footsteps in the living room and I stop breathing. Ben pulls out of my grip and positions himself in front of me, like a shield. A glimmer of light enters the narrow space as he eases the door open a fraction, then he leans forward and peers out.
I squeeze my arms around his waist and pull him back. "Don't go," I whisper, because I know him and I know he's dying to get out and face the burglar, probably hit him, too. But I won't let him put his life in danger, not again.
"The cops are here," he whispers softly. He steps back, crushing me against the wall, then turns toward me, cupping my face in his hands. "I won't let anything happen to you." He presses his lips to my forehead and I sob silently again.
Everything happens so fast. The lights on the police cars suddenly turn on and the garden is lit up by a sea of flashlights. A megaphone bursts through the night. "Police! We have the house surrounded. Come out with your hands on your heads."