Last Girl

by K. S. Thomas

  He’s got a massive gash just over his eyebrow, one I’m quite sure could use some stitches. But he just swipes it carelessly, smearing the blood and dismissing it. “It’s just a cut. Nothing to lose your shit over.”

  I’m not buying it. I’m pretty sure I can see raw, mangled meat when the light hits it. It’s definitely worth losing my shit over. Especially when he’s refusing to acknowledge that at the very least it could benefit from some Neosporin and a band aid.

  “Let me look at it,” I demand, rushing to catch up to him since he’s making a beeline for his room.

  He turns briefly without ever stopping. “Save the nursing for your patients, Trix. I’m fine.”

  I hurry and run around him to jump right into his path. Then I reach up for his brow, but the way he keeps bobbing his head up and down, I’m not getting anywhere near it.

  “Would – you – stop – moving?”

  His hand flies up to grab my wrist. “Would you? I already told you it was nothing. The paramedics at the scene already cleared me. I’m good.”

  “Who was working?”

  He shrugs. “Jess and Braden.”

  I twist out of his grip. “Jess would do anything you ask her to because she’s got the hots for you and Braden would happily see you bleed to death because he has the hots for her. And I know you know that because you’re the one who told me this.” Then I take his hand in mine so I can start dragging him back out to the kitchen.

  He’s still leaning his weight against my grip, but at least he’s staggering along behind me. When we get to the kitchen I let go again and face him. He’s got on his thinking face, like he’s still stuck on my last argument. “When did I say that?”

  “Um, last year, when you came home with someone’s windshield wiper sticking out of your calf after you slipped and fell while climbing around on some wreckage trying to get someone out who was lodged in the backseat.” I don’t think I’ve ever used as many curse words as I did that night performing a mini surgery in my bathtub, getting that thing out of his leg.

  “Oh, right.” He grins and I can’t help but wonder what sort of physical pain it would take to actually bring him to his knees. I manage people’s pain for a living and I’ve seen some crazy high thresholds, usually from people you would least expect it from, but Penn is in a league all on his own.

  “Now sit,” I demand and point at one of the chairs around the table in the breakfast nook.

  “Is this going to take long? I’ve got a breakfast date coming over at nine.”

  “You’re going to have an ass kicking coming right now if you don’t shut up and let me fix your face. For someone who relies so heavily on being pretty, I’m surprised you’re not more concerned about this.” I reach up over the fridge to the cabinet we treat like a mini-pharmacy and retrieve everything I’ll need to clean up the cut and tape it up.

  “Haven’t you heard? Scars are sexy.” He smirks.

  “Only if the story’s good.” I shake my head and reach up to hold his face still so I can finally get a good look at the cut.

  “You tell me. Is launching yourself through a window, when you can barely see through the smoke and flames, to save a five year old from being crushed to death in a collapsing building a sexy enough story?”

  Dammit. Like he really needed another weapon to use against the female sex. Between the glowing embers he calls eyes, a disgustingly muscular body and an overall look I would deem surfer boy meets badass, Penn was already armed and dangerous. And that was long before he decided he needed to add to his panty – dropping skills by becoming a fucking firefighter. Now this scar and that story, women everywhere are going to start having orgasms just by coming into contact with him.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I’m still going to do what I can to keep this from leaving a mark.” Besides, he already has one scar on his face, right below his lip. The story sucks, and he never tells it, but I was there. I know what it’s from.

  Penn

  Trix smells like Lucky Charms and her cherry pomegranate soap. I hate when she stands this close to me. She always makes me hungry. And not for cereal.

  “You wanna talk about where you were when I walked in here?” I know where she was. Getting sucked in by the darkness. I’ve seen it happen often enough over the years to recognize the signs, I just can’t figure out how to stop her from going.

  “Just thinking about starting my new job tomorrow.”

  Liar.

  But I’ll go along with it. For now. “Private practice this time, right?”

  She nods, and her eyes shoot straight up again until they’re laser locked to my forehead and the work she’s doing there. “Yeah. Dr. Patterson. He’s a plastic surgeon who specializes in reparative surgeries. Does tons of pro-bono work helping families whose babies were born with birth defects.”

  That explains her interest in working for him. Trix doesn’t do anything unless it’s for some cause or another.

  I notice her gaze drop automatically expecting my response. It’s funny how it happens even when she’s so clearly fighting it.

  “Sounds like your kind of doctor.”

  I can feel her pressing down the small strips of tape over my brow. Then she steps back, examining her work. “Hope so. I interviewed with his office manager, so I haven’t actually met him yet. Kind of nervous, actually. What if he doesn’t like me? I really need this job.”

  I rest my hands on her hips, twisting them back and forth playfully in hopes it will get her to smile.

  “Come on, Trix. Not like you? How would that even be possible?”

  She arches her brow skeptically. “You don’t like me.”

  “Yeah, but that’s different.”

  Her eyes widen and she throws her hands up at me. “How exactly is that different?”

  “Because.” Still, I grasp her hips again and move her toward me, staring straight up into her teal eyes which are currently trying to ice me to death. “I love you, so liking you isn’t necessary.”

  “Yeah well, I’m not sure what you feel for me is love. It’s more like hate that got so old and moldy it became unrecognizable to the point it could be easily confused for love.”

  I smirk.

  “You sound like you’ve put some thought into this. Are you saying that what you feel for me is nothing but old and moldy hate?”

  She presses down on my shoulders to push herself away from me and out of the hold I keep placing on her. “Yeah. Pretty much.” Then she busies herself cleaning up the bloody gauze and leftover supplies from fixing up my face. She pauses briefly, a look on her face like she’s just thought of something. “Do me a favor and don’t pick at that. I’ll check it when I get home tomorrow and change it out if I have to. It should be fine though. Couple of days and it’ll be well on its way to healing.”

  “Thanks.” But I don’t move. I just sit here and continue to watch her clean up. She’s back in her head, unraveling. And I can’t stop it.

  I wait until she finishes in the kitchen and goes to hole up in her own room before I get up and head for the shower. When I get out I barely have enough time to throw some clothes on and meet Faith at the door. I’m not in any mood to give tours of the house, let alone introduce her to my roommate who currently has the dazed look of a mental patient. Faith is nice and all, and smoking hot with that flaming red hair of hers running sleek down her back, but she just doesn’t scream staying power, so there’s no need to build bridges between my life and hers when I know I’ll only burn them in the long run.

  Breakfast doesn’t lead to anything other than my asking her to drop me back off at Tony’s when we’re done. Faith in all her fiery perfection is already driving me nuts. There’s no denying how beautiful she is. Or how many men would envy me if they knew of her love for dirty, rough sex and watching football games. Only I hate watching football. And I’ve had enough dirty, rough sex to be bored with it. Not something I’d ever say out loud, obviously, but somewhere along the way, sex just beco
mes sex and no matter how fun or exciting, it’s empty, and while the pleasure is fleeting, the thing that lingers is the dirty part. The bottom line is, I’m starting to not like myself very much when I’m with her and I’m becoming uncomfortably aware that maybe this isn’t who I am anymore. Maybe it’s not even who I want to be. Either way, Faith is definitely not who I want to be with.

  “I thought we were going to your place.” She pouts, taking the turn down Tony’s street.

  “Change of plans.” I probably owe her more of an explanation than that, but I’m not in the mood to give her one. Now’s as good a time as any to be a total prick. If I’m lucky she won’t bother calling me again.

  When we pull up in front of his place I don’t bother asking her to park, I just jump out the second she comes to a full stop. She watches me for a second, waiting. Then she the throws her hands up in a scoff.

  “Aren’t you even going to invite me in?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  She shifts back into reverse in a huff, muttering obscenities under her breath and I find her even more annoying. Even Trix swears out loud for the world to hear her.

  I start walking up the driveway just in time to hear her tires squeal as she takes off. She’s pissed, but I’m pretty damn sure she won’t wait more than twenty-four hours to text me again. Women are twisted that way.

  Meanwhile, I’ve got a long day to kill and no desire to go home. Trix is busy coming undone and watching it happen is a slow motion torture even I don’t have the threshold to endure.

  I should stop by my dad’s place while I’m out. It’s been a while since I’ve been by and I’m about to dial his number and check in with him when I remember my last visit and decide against making an appearance after all. I was drunk last time he saw me. And kind of out of my mind. And he’ll bring that up. And then want to talk. And then I’ll start re-thinking my current plan of giving Trix space and that won’t be good for any of us.

  So, instead I’m standing here at Tony’s door. It takes less than thirty seconds for him to answer once I ring the doorbell.

  “Get tired of playing with fire already?” He wastes no time mocking me.

  “Man, just tell me you’re up for a round at the gym. I’ve got time to kill and some steam to burn off. I need a sparring partner and I know you’re not doing anything but laying on the couch waiting for time to pass until work starts again.” In two days. I may be slightly exaggerating the level of lazy he strives for. Regardless, he’s game for a work out and I’m grateful to know my day is about to get a lot less complicated.

  By the time I finally get home, the house is dark and I can hear the TV on behind her closed door. It’s a good sign. A little mind numbing television will do Trix good right about now. Hopefully she’ll just fall asleep in the middle of some cheesy show and stay passed out until morning. Just in case, I leave my own door cracked so I can listen down the hall. I’m a light sleeper. Comes with the job. In the end, I still wind up staying up until long after I hear the sound subside from her room, constantly staring at the deserted hall and imagining the quiet shuffle of her feet as they move over the hardwood floors.

  By the time I finally crash it’s only because the running loop of Trix thoughts streaming through my brain has me so dazed I can no longer keep my eyes open.

  I have no idea if I’ve been sleeping for hours or seconds when I wake up again to a soft thud that sounds like someone is bouncing a ball off of the wall somewhere.

  Without thinking, I climb out of bed and follow the noise down the hall until I’m standing in front of her door. I don’t knock. I never do.

  Inside her room, I’m greeted by pitch black. The thumping sound is louder and accompanied by a quiet whimpering that’s being muffled by some part of her body. Moving on memory, I locate her bed where I find her sitting with her back against the wall, repeatedly beating the back of her head into it while releasing near silent cries into the palms of her hands.

  I don’t say anything. She won’t hear me anyway. I just wrap both arms around her as tightly as I can, taking her away from the wall and putting an end to the damage she’s trying to do to her own head.

  Running my hand through her hair, I feel for a bump. It’s already forming, and judging by the warm liquid streaking my fingers, she was at this for a while, scraping her scalp in the process.

  “Death.” She whimpers softly and my eyes adjust enough to see the soft outlines of her haunted face. “It was everywhere.”

  “Death brings peace, Trix.”

  I press my cheek to hers as I lift her off of her bed to take her to mine.

  “Not this kind. It’s slow death. Never ending death. Cold, hard unbearable pain comes from this kind of death. There’s no peace. There’s never peace.” She grips my t-shirt with both fists, furious with me for not understanding and pissed at death for never letting up, never taking a day off. Always moving forward and never stopping to care who it takes away when it goes and who it leaves behind to suffer. I get that about death.

  I lie her down on my mattress, slowly peeling off her pajama bottoms. They’re soaked in sweat. So is her shirt.

  “There’s always peace for the dying, Trix. It’s the living who are haunted.”

  “I don’t want to be haunted anymore.” She continues to cry quietly.

  “I know you don’t.” I help her out of her top and cover her with my blanket before I slip out of my own clothes and crawl into bed beside her.

  “You’ll make it stop?” It’s the first time her big blue eyes have truly focused on mine.

  “It won’t last,” I remind her. “But I’ll do it. You know I will.”

  She nods and presses her body to mine in an almost desperate move, as if she’s hoping it will swallow up her entire being somehow, and I do my best to make that happen.

  Keeping her flush against me, I roll her onto her back until I’m completely on top of her, covering her entirely. My mouth begins to move down her neck and along her collarbone until the whimpers subside and slowly turn into moans and I know I’m taking her out of her head and putting her back into her body where everything she feels is just skin deep.

  With every touch I take her farther away from the images in her mind and closer to the ever elusive peace she seeks. I’ll never get her there. I know this. She knows this. All I have is an escape. And it’s temporary. But it’s better than watching her smash her head to pieces, so I do it.

  Being with Trix this way is both the most intimate and the most impersonal experience I’ve ever had. It’s not about pleasure, so I don’t waste time teasing her most sensitive parts. And it’s not about love, so we don’t kiss. Our mouths don’t touch. Ever.

  But when I’m inside her, when we connect, there’s something so deeply emotional about it, after eight years, I still can’t define what it is. And maybe I don’t have to. Maybe that’s the whole point. It just is. We just are. And when it’s over, all of the things that have been burying her alive from within, come out. It’s like we physically break through the barriers surrounding her soul, and all the dark, ugly pain comes rushing out of her. Until the next time.

  Chapter Four

  Trix

  I know Penn is awake before I even open my eyes. My entire body is neatly covered and tucked under his comforter, a dead giveaway he’s already been up. Penn’s never made it through an entire night without kicking the damn thing off the bed onto the ground and leaving it there until morning. He claims it’s because he gets too hot while I insist it was the years of bedwetting which initially spurred the habit.

  Regardless, I know he’s not sleeping, but for my sake, he has the decency to pretend and let me hurry from the room in shame without his watchful eyes following my every move.

  And I need that. The clear escape route. So that the next time I see him, we can both act like this never happened, which we can’t do if we’re still in the same bed together and I’m naked.

  Speaking of, I really need to find my pant
s. Then I see him start to move against his sheets and think maybe I don’t need clothes after all. Fuck it. I’m headed for the shower anyway.

  The door is still ajar from last night and I’ve barely placed my hand on the handle, grateful all I have to do is silently pull it open, when the sight of him sitting up rips through the calm in my mind and hits me like a herd of fucking elephants stampeding through.

  “Can you hurry up with your sneaking out? I really need to take a piss.”

  “Penn!” I fist my palm with such intensity I hurt my own hand.

  Meanwhile, his legs are sliding over the side of his bed and he’s on his feet before I can run from the room. Who am I kidding? I’m completely naked and my boobs may not be huge, but even they can’t sustain any grace while running braless.

  “Hey, I did my part. I faked sleep for a solid thirty seconds after you got out of bed. That’s more than enough time for you to get from here to the door. I can’t help it if you get derailed on your way out.” He comes up beside me, buck-ass naked himself, only, that’s not exactly unusual.

  “You just... just broke the ONE rule I have. ONE measly little rule which requires you to fake sleep so I can walk through life without having to hang my head in shame at every turn.”

  He smirks. “There are only two people who could possibly find out you’re having sex with me and they already know because they’re standing in this room. Right now. Who exactly are you trying to hide it from? Yourself?”

  I shrug. Kind of. Yeah. It makes it easier when I’m applying make-up if I can actually look at myself in the mirror. But I don’t say that. Telling someone you’ve been sleeping with for the last eight years, even if it’s only on occasion, that they make you want to pour acid over your body to erase the feeling of their touch on your skin because it makes you feel that dirty, isn’t flattering. Not even by Penn’s warped standards of a compliment.