Unscathed

by Tim ORourke

Page 6

 

  How long had Mina been in the States? Maybe she was here on some student visa and had to go back when she was done with college? That might work out for the both of us. We could have some fun and then both split without any of that “I love you” and “can’t live without you” crap. I didn’t need any emotional ties. Mina seemed to be hurting, even though she tried to hide that fact. But I had my own stuff to deal with so really didn’t want to be offloading hers. If I were honest, I just wanted to climb inside her panties – nothing more. What, with dad missing for almost a year now, I had my own problems, too. He had gone missing before – but that had been the drink. The booze had gotten to him real bad after mom had died. The women had gotten to him too. Since her death, my dad had pissed what little savings he had up the wall or spent it on women who climbed in and out of his bed. I was surprised he didn’t have a revolving door stuck in his bedroom. It had pissed me off to start with. I didn’t like the idea of him being with women so soon after my mom’s death. But I’d heard him crying one night. I couldn’t go to him. I wasn’t good at that tactile stuff, and neither was he, unless she was a brunette with her boobs hanging out. So I left him alone to cry into his bottle of J. D. I tried to talk to him about it as we had worked on my truck together – but I could never find the right words. They kind of lingered on my lips, but never formed into words. So I would just hand him another bottle of beer and we would work in silence. I wish I had that time back now. But he had gone. Where, I didn’t know, and neither did the cops. To be honest, I don’t think they were really interested. He was a forty-five-year-old male with a drinking problem. So what? I knew that’s what the cop was thinking as he’d filled out the missing person’s report. I tried my best to investigate myself, but without much luck. None of his so-called buddies had heard a word from him, and he’d already had his position filled at work. What did he have to come back to? No wife, no money, no job, no friends, and a son who had flunked out of college. No wonder he stayed away and hadn’t come back. But all the same, I missed him. He was my dad, despite his problems. If he did come back, I would talk to him this time around, even if I had to sit and watch him cry. But sometimes, when I looked at myself in the mirror, it was my dad I could see looking back at me. Maybe I should get a revolving door fitted in my bedroom, too.

  The house I shared with Austin was in darkness. Guessing that he had gone to bed already, I took a beer from the fridge and went to my own bed. Staring up at the ceiling, I wondered where my dad was. Then clutching my beer to my chest and closing my eyes, I made a mental note to call Orlando P. D. tomorrow and ask if they had any leads in his disappearance.

  Chapter Ten

  Mina

  My lips were still tingling as I headed towards home. Jax’s kiss had been passionate but soft. I had been right, though – his goatee had tickled. But that had been the only soft thing about him. His body had felt hard and strong pressed against me. I’d liked that – a lot. I liked Jax. He wasn’t my usual type – but what was? I wasn’t sure I had a type. I’d been put off by the last. He had hurt me – more than he would ever know. But then again, he probably did know, and that’s what hurt the most. He let me take the blame. He let my mother push me away.

  I slipped my iPhone into the dock on the dashboard and pressed play. Sailing on the Seven Seas by OMD started to play and I strummed my fingers along against the rim of the steering wheel. I still loved listening to British bands. It reminded me of home, just like the picture of the London skyscape I had on my bedroom wall at my uncle and aunt’s house. I would lie on my bed and stare at that picture for hours and imagine that I was still there, standing outside St. Pancras Railway Station in the drizzle, looking left along the Euston Road in the direction of Kings Cross and secretly take snaps of those who passed me by. The pictures weren’t as clear back home – that was the only difference. Perhaps it was the constant rain? Perhaps it acted like static somehow and made the pictures and film footage blurry. My first secret pictures of Jax had looked smudged somehow, like someone had rubbed Vaseline over the camera lens of my phone. But over the weeks and months I’d been following him, they had become clearer. They still weren’t perfect, but they were getting clearer the whole time.

  Slowing, I steered my car towards the curb. I pulled up onto the drive, and parked. Both my uncle’s and aunt’s cars were outside the double fronted garage. I pressed the key fob and the headlamps flashed. Jax had been right; one of them was out. I let myself into the house, and taking a bottle of water from the fridge, I headed upstairs to my room.

  “Hey, Mina,” someone said from the darkness at the top of the stairs.

  The landing light was switched on and I could see my uncle standing above me. With a hand pressed against my chest to slow my racing heart, I headed up the stairs towards him.

  “Hi, Uncle Rob,” I said.

  “What are you creeping around in the dark for?” he smiled.

  “I didn’t want to wake you and Aunt Claire,” I explained, reaching the top of the stairs.

  “You know I wouldn’t have gone to sleep until I knew you were home safe,” he said.

  “You worry too much. ” I gave him a fake scowl.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that…”

  “I know,” I whispered. “It’s okay, Uncle Rob. ”

  Both he and my aunt had had a daughter who had died aged six. Run down outside her school. Her name had been Summer. The driver had never been caught. She had been a pretty girl – I had seen her in pictures. Memories were all my uncle and aunt had left. I think that’s why my uncle was so happy and willing to have me go live with them when my mum pushed me away. It was like they had a second chance. I knew they thought of me as a daughter. My uncle had often said I could drop the “Uncle” and just call him Rob – Dad if I wanted to. But I couldn’t. My dad was dead and he could never be replaced. But I loved my uncle and aunt very much. They had been very kind to me and given me a home. My mum had told them what I’d done, but they never spoke about it. That was fine by me. But still I hid the pictures I took. They might not be happy if they thought I was still doing such a thing.

  “Have you been anywhere nice?” he smiled, his hair skewwhiff from where he had been lying in bed.

  “Just had a milkshake with a friend,” I said.

  “Anyone I know?” he winked.

  “Just a friend,” I smiled, leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek. Then turning down the landing towards my room, I said, “Goodnight, Uncle Rob, and thanks. ”

  “Thanks for what?” he called after me.

  “For waiting up,” I said, pushing open my bedroom door and glancing back at him.

  “Sleep tight,” he said with a flick of the wrist, as if it really was no bother. He headed back into his own room and shut the door.

  I closed my bedroom door. It was a warm night, so, taking my phone from my shorts pocket, I kicked them off then removed my T-shirt. Crossing my legs, I sat on my bed in my bra and panties and hit the photo icon on my phone, then selected video.

  “…Expecting a call?" I heard Jax’s voice hiss through the tiny speaker on my iPhone as I replayed the footage I had recorded earlier.

  "Huh?" I heard myself mumble.

  Did everyone hate the sound of their own voice? I hated mine.

  "You haven't let go of your phone since we got here," his voice said.

  That’s where I had ended my recording in the diner – afraid that Jax might figure out what I had been up to. I dragged my fingertip over the screen, taking the short video back to the beginning. I watched and listened again. It was like watching footage shot in one of those undercover stings you see on the TV. Jax was looking over the top of the camera and at me, totally unaware that he was being filmed. The film ended and I started it again. I raised the phone in front of my face and stared at the footage. I stared at Jax, then just past him, just like I had in the diner. I could see the
waitress with the tight arse in the background leaning over another table and serving another customer. The footage ended, and I played it again, then again and then again until my eyes started to feel heavy.

  Covering my mouth with the back of one hand, I yawned, and lay back on my bed. I switched off the lamp. The light from my phone made my bedroom glow an eerie blue and grey. I looked across the room at the picture of London. I could just make out the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. I thought of all those secret photographs of Jax hidden behind that picture. The first I’d taken because he was cute, but I saw something in that photograph that no one else could see. I saw what was making Jax so unhappy. Closing my eyes, I pressed the phone to the side of my head and I went to sleep listening to his voice… listening… always listening…

  I woke with a start. Had I been dreaming? I couldn’t be sure. My phone lay on the pillow next to me and it was beeping. That’s what had jolted me from my sleep. The battery was almost dead and the bleeping sound was the warning, reminding me it was time for a recharge. Plugging the phone into the power socket, I hit the shower and got ready for college. I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, and dressed in a light sweater and jeans. My phone was only half charged when I unplugged it. That would have to do. I bounced down the stairs and into the kitchen. My aunt was squeezing the juice from several oranges and my uncle sat at the table with a mug of coffee, reading a copy of the Orlando Sentinel.

  “Morning, sleepyhead,” Aunt Claire said, handing me a glass of her pressed orange juice. I looked at the mountain of orange peel on the breakfast counter, then at the half filled glass she had handed me.

  “You know they sell this stuff in cartons for a reason, Aunt Claire,” I smiled.

  “That’s not real orange juice,” she said, taking another orange from the pile and cutting it in half.

  “You’re wasting your breath,” Uncle Rob said, not looking up from his newspaper. “It’s just another fad, it will soon pass. ”