Last Girl

by K. S. Thomas

  “You can keep your keys. I’m not planning on moving in.”

  He chuckles, his back to me at his tool bench. “No, just hiding out.”

  Annoyed, I plop down into the old futon along the garage wall. This thing is so nasty I’ll probably need a tetanus booster when I get up, but I don’t care. “Not hiding. Avoiding. It’s different.” It’s probably not.

  “Call it whatever you want.” He turns back to face me, a wrench in hand. “But if you’re going to sit on Doctor Tony’s couch anyway, perhaps you’d care to elaborate.”

  I shrug. “Trix is hot for her new boss and thanks to you and your little brainwashing efforts I’m not feeling too supportive of her desires to start screwing the good doctor.”

  I get the distinct feeling Tony is mocking me in silence because he takes an unusually long time to answer me. When he does I’m immediately sorry I opened my mouth.

  “You realize there’s an easy way to keep her from screwing other people, right?”

  I frown. Does anyone ever appreciate being told there’s an easy solution to a problem they find impossible to overcome?

  “That’s fantastic. Maybe you should tell me what that is.”

  “I would think it would be obvious.”

  Of course he would.

  “Well, since it’s not...”

  He laughs. “Dude, if you don’t want her to be with other guys, you need to be the guy she’s with.”

  “Oh, sure. I’ll get right on that. Right after I erase every memory she has of me from the last twenty years and forgets what an asshole I am. Then, I’ll totally date her. And you know, she’ll totally go for that.” I stand up, dusting whatever disgusting debris the futon may have left on me off and start for the door. Maybe stewing in my own pissy mood would be better.

  “You’re an idiot,” he calls after me just as I go to step out of the garage.

  “Yeah, I fucking know.” I slam the door shut behind me. I am an idiot. And not for coming here looking for advice. Because I refuse to take it.

  Chapter Seven

  Trix

  The rest of the day kind of flies by in a blur, and when I finally get to meet Cam it suddenly becomes clear as day why Nat didn’t see reason to warn me off of him. He’s at least forty, with no hair on his head but plenty on his back based on what I can see creeping up against his neck from under his scrubs.

  “Melissa got some sort of Daddy issues?” It’s killing me to say that with a straight face.

  “God, I hope so.” Nat rolls her eyes. “Meanwhile, you won’t need to worry about her trying to make a move on your boyfriend, no matter how charming he thinks he is.” She stops for a second, contemplating. “You do realize he hit on both of us when he came to get you for lunch today, right?”

  This time, I do laugh. “First of all, Penn is not my boyfriend. Second, he’s never been big on leaving vaginas unturned, so if there’s one in the room, he’s going for it. And third...I don’t really have a third. One and two pretty much cover it. Except maybe, I’m sorry he’s such a pig.”

  “Wait, if he’s not your boyfriend, then who is he? And also, what the hell kind of name is Penn anyway?”

  I slide the chart I was working on across the desk to her so she can sign off on it. “Penn was my brother’s best friend from the first day of first grade when they met and bonded over the fact that both their mothers thought it would be a good idea to name their sons after famous actors, using their last names. Bogart and Penn.” I flip open the next folder and pretend to scan it while I try to get a grip. Most days I can talk about Bo without skipping a beat, others, the mere mention of his name hits me like a fucking freight train. Today I’m somewhere between the two. A solid ‘mini cooper just ran over my foot’ sort of a feeling. “Anyway, when Bo died, I guess I kind of inherited Penn. I mean, we mostly hated each other growing up, barely tolerated one another the bulk of the time, but after Bo...it changed things. We still drive each other crazy, but we kinda can’t live without each other either.”

  “But you’re not together?” Nat stares at me like she has doubts about this.

  “Oh, God no.” I pick up a pen and then set it down again. “Why? You interested? I’m sure I could make that happen if you want.”

  I don’t know why I’m offering this. I like Nat. And Penn’s an ass. Not to mention, on some warped level, he’s my ass. But it’s probably knowing this warped level of my mind exists and the desire to eradicate it, especially after last night, that makes me want to prove to Nat and myself, how little I care about him and who he dates.

  Judging by her quirky little grin though, I’m pressing the issue for naught.

  “Nah, dude. I don’t do dick.” She lifts her left brow and watches me until it sinks in.

  “Oh.” Then it does. “Well, never mind then.” I don’t know why, but for some reason I like Nat even more now. Maybe because she’s the first female friend I’ve ever had who I could rule out without a doubt as never having slept with Penn. It’s oddly relieving and probably speaks volumes for the feelings I keep shoved deep down in the darkest holes of my soul where they are never to see the light of day. And in the interest of keeping them there, I jump straight to doctor pretty face and sexy ass.

  “So, that covers you, Melissa and Grandpa Cam. What’s the doctor’s story?”

  “Blake?” Nat flashes me a wicked grin. “Got a thing for the pretty boys, huh?”

  “I wouldn’t call it a thing...yet.” I laugh, but I can feel the heat searing across my face.

  Nat leans back in her chair, smirking with her hands in her lap and I know she’s torturing me on purpose. Finally she starts to sign again. “He’s divorced. Married his high school sweetheart right after graduation. She stuck it out through college and med-school and then crapped out on him when he was an intern. Couldn’t hack it with the crazy hours and, what she deemed, shitty pay. Cheated on him with his best friend and that was that. Blake hasn’t really been serious about anyone since.”

  That was way more info than I was expecting. “How long have you known him?”

  “Since I was fifteen. His cheating ex-wife is my older sister.” No shit.

  “I take it you and your sister are close?” I drop my mouth into a lopsided grin to convey my sarcasm.

  “About as close as oil and water can get.” She laughs. “Seriously, though. Blake’s a good guy.” She glances toward the door and then back at me. “And I saw the way he was looking at you. He likes you, too. But, this is his practice. You work for him. Breaking rules, crossing lines...it’s not his thing. Even if he’d like it to be.”

  I swear a million butterflies just shot from a cannon in the pit of my stomach and are fluttering their way through my entire body. I even feel a little lightheaded. Is that normal? I can’t remember. It’s been ages since a guy made me feel this way. Penn is right. I do tend to place my attraction on men I can never get close to. I should probably address that at some point, but not now. Because this man is my boss and clearly not within my reach. And I am definitely very much attracted to him. And problematic or not, I’m enjoying the distraction these feelings bring.

  Penn’s truck is in the driveway when I get home. I wasn’t sure if it would be. He’s working in the a.m. and some days that means he leaves early to meet up with some girl for dinner just so he can justify the sleepover. With Scary Mary out of the picture, he’s bound to be on the prowl right now. Certainly seemed like it when he took the time to hit on every one of my female co-workers. Which reminds me, I’m undecided as of yet whether or not I should bother telling him Nat’s a lesbian. For my own selfish reasons, I think I may sit on that one for a while and see what happens.

  I ring the doorbell as I’m walking in to let him know I’m home. He’s standing in the hall between the living room and formal dining area before I even have my shoes off.

  “So, how was your first day of work?” He looks like he’s in the middle of getting ready for a night out. His hair is wet from showering and
he’s clean shaven. Apparently I interrupted him while getting dressed, because thus far he’s only managed to put on a pair of dark blue, perfectly worn and weathered, jeans.

  “You just saw me five hours ago. You already know all about my new job. You’ve even met all my co-workers.”

  He wiggles his eye brows and grins. “That’s right. Doctor Panty-Dropper. How were things after I left? You two make plans to get married and have a ton of nerdy babies yet?”

  I glare at him, desperately wishing I didn’t always have to choose between hurling an object at his head and keeping my hands free to send a verbal insult his way.

  He smirks. “You want to throw something at me right now, don’t you?!”

  “I always want to throw something at you.” I shake my head and start walking past him toward my room. He snags my elbow as I walk by.

  “Seriously, though. Work was good? You like it? Everyone was nice to you?” A look of concern washes over his face and then dries up in a hurry. It won’t even be worth pointing it out anymore.

  “If you’re asking me if I need you to shove anyone into the mud, the answer is no. I like everyone at the office. I think Nat and I may even become friends.”

  He nods, satisfied. “Good.” Then he turns and disappears in his room before I can say anything else. Not that I had anything planned. Well, I do suddenly have a surge of desire to discuss the weather, or sports or, shit, just about anything if it will keep him standing here. I don’t know why I get like this. Needy. It’s not like I’m always completely co-dependent. It comes in spurts. And usually when I don’t even see it coming. Like now.

  But there it is. Hitting me hard. It takes everything I’ve got to force myself to turn away from his door and keep walking toward my own. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion the entire way, and my brain seems to escape my own head while I watch myself from somewhere near the ceiling, evaluating my own annoying breakdown. I was happy a minute ago. Really happy. What the hell happened to change that?

  One minute I’m standing there, telling Penn all about my new job and how awesome it is, even reveling in the exciting prospect of working side by side with a sexy doctor day in and day out, and then, Penn turns away from me and I lose my shit completely.

  By the time I drag myself into my room and let my purse slide over my shoulder down to the ground, I’m concluding two things. I was far more anxious about facing today than I ever thought possible and now that it’s over and done with those feelings have finally surfaced with nowhere to go, and the thought that maybe someday Penn won’t be inside of this house to greet me and ask me about my scary first day terrifies the crap out of me. Oh, three things. It’s quite likely I’m experiencing a psychotic break of some sort. That’s really the only legitimate excuse I can conjure up at this point for the outer body experience and the desire I have to run into Penn’s room and throw myself around his ankles like a two year old having a tantrum while I beg him to swear he’ll never leave me.

  Of course he’ll never leave me. He’s Penn. I’m stuck with him for life. That’s the deal.

  Penn

  I can hear her feet shuffle across the floor on her way down the hall to her room. It sounds odd, lackluster compared to the upbeat Trix I was just being entertained by, so I return to the open doorway and glance out. She’s moving strangely, as if her body is made out of lead, like every move is causing her physical pain. Only it can’t be physical. I would have noticed if she was hurt the second she walked into the house. So it has to be mental. And I only know one mental condition that can weigh you down as heavily as this is coming down on Trix. Guilt.

  Survivor’s guilt. That’s what my shrink called it. The one I was seeing every other week for nearly six months three years ago. The chief had witnessed me do one too many reckless things and the results hadn’t been pretty. Suspension or therapy. My choice. And not working wasn’t an option.

  So, I’d dragged my ass to Doctor Messenger’s office every other Tuesday. For an entire hour I’d sit there, rambling on about whatever popped into my head, just to satisfy my boss. After two months, she’d called me out on my bullshit and told me not to bother coming again unless I wanted to talk about the real reason I was being ordered to see her. I skipped three sessions before I went back. And when I did, it was for Trix.

  The five year anniversary of Bo’s death had been right around the corner and she was a total mess. Nothing I was doing was helping. Nothing. She was on the verge of flunking out of school, wasting all of her hard work, and I couldn’t sit by and watch her do it.

  I spent that hour in Doctor Messenger’s office talking about Bo and the night of the accident. I didn’t even have a chance to tell her any of what happened in the years since. She’d just nodded, like she understood. And she had.

  Survivor’s guilt. The reason Trix lost it back then after being awarded an amazing internship right before the anniversary of his death. The same reason she refused to build a career based on success or ambition. Why she doesn’t date or risk falling in love and possibly getting married and having children one day. She can’t allow herself to have the life Bo never even had a shot at. Because she failed him. We both did.

  We could have saved him. Could have prevented him winding up out there, alone, broken, getting soaked to the bone and dying in the dark of night. Something so simple like forgetting your phone in the car shouldn’t have the power to change lives. To end them. But it does.

  Survivor’s Guilt. It’s a bitch. A nagging, unwavering, coldhearted bitch guaranteed to rear her ugly head the second you feel even an ounce of happiness. And today Trix dared to feel it. And now she’s going to suffer the consequences. Willingly.

  Unless I stop her.

  I watch her disappear into her room before I head back into mine. I dig around my bedding in search of my phone. I know it’s on the bed somewhere because I just tossed it that way when I heard the doorbell. Finally I find it and hit call. Tony’s always right there in my outgoing log. It’d be weird if I didn’t know my text messages were all from women. Mostly, Trix, but she still counts.

  “Speak.” Tony’s a dick. Trix would know that if she ever had a conversation with him. Maybe then she’d stop calling him Hot Tony.

  “I think I’m going to bail on the game tonight.” Dick or not, these days, he’s still my best friend.

  “What the hell for? Not that damn red head!” I can hear metal on metal clinking in the background. He must be finishing up some work on one of his bikes.

  “Fuck no, not her. Trix still isn’t doing so hot. I don’t want to leave her alone while she’s like this.”

  There’s a loud clank and a thud. “Shit. Alright, I’ll let the boys know you won’t make it.” He grunts and I’m assuming he’s getting up off of the ground.

  “Thanks, man. Sorry it’s so last minute. I know those tickets weren’t easy to come by.”

  “No worries. Just take care of your girl.”

  I want to tell him she’s not my girl, but he hangs up before I can. Probably for that very reason. Doesn’t matter. She is my girl. She’s just not my girl. And Tony’s never going to see the difference anyway.

  With tonight’s plans canceled, I hurry out of my pants and switch into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Then I head to the kitchen to collect everything I need for bedtime s’mores and cookie dough cookie sandwiches before I make a beeline for the living room where I pick up the final ingredient required to get through this night – her favorite movie.

  When I get to her room, I stand outside listening for a minute. I always feel guilty when I do. Not because of the invasion of privacy, although that would probably be the more rational reason and a good one at that, but because I feel like I have an unfair advantage by being able to stand outside of her room and hear what’s going on inside. A closed door to Trix is just that. A closed door. She’s completely separated from whatever lies on the other side of it.

  Of course, right now it’s not all that different for me since
there isn’t so much as a peep coming from the other side of her door. I pull my phone out of my pocket while juggling everything in my other hand and arm. I have the text prewritten because I use it so damn much so all I have to do is hit send and she’ll get it.

  I’m coming in.

  Presumptuous I guess, but I’ve found that Trix and I make more headway when I give her less opportunities to say no to me.

  I wait until I hear the vibration of her phone on the other side of the door. Then the sound of her shifting on her mattress to check it. Close enough.

  I swing the door open and find her sprawled out on the bed, still in her work clothes and looking utterly pathetic.

  “You look horrible.”

  She frowns. “How do you get so many women to sleep with you?”

  I shrug and do my best to sign one handed. “I shower. And unlike you, I know how to match my socks.”

  She glances down the bed at her feet. As per her usual style, she’s got on one hot pink sock with bright yellow daisies while the other is a solid purple.

  Her nose crinkles. “You probably don’t talk as much either. You’re a lot prettier when you’re not attempting to communicate. I don’t think you know the difference between conversing politely and whipping insults about.”

  Too lazy to gesture one handedly any further, I lean toward her with my load of sugar and entertainment, then nod toward the door and start to head out of the room again.

  The sound of her voice cuts through the silence.

  “Don’t even think about it, mister.”

  I’ve still got my back to the bed when she attacks me from behind, flinging her arms around my neck and squeezing me to her as tightly as she can.

  I turn to look over my shoulder and press my lips to the side of her head. “I know,” I whisper into her hair. “I love you, too.”

  Chapter Eight

  Trix

  I can feel the warmth of his breath roll over my skin and I know he said something. He does that sometimes. Utters words against my shoulder or into my hair, where he knows I’ll never be able to decipher what he said. I know it’s not an insult. He happily shares those with me on the regular. Which means it’s something serious. Something honest. Intimate. A secret he should probably keep to himself but can’t deny his mouth the satisfaction of saying. It scares me a little. So I never ask. Because I have those secrets too.