Last Girl

by K. S. Thomas

  “You looked like you had plans to go out tonight when I walked in,” I point out after he puts the movie in and comes back toward the bed.

  “Was supposed to catch a game with the guys but Tony ditched us last minute for some chick.” His face is completely void of all emotion as he says this. I know he’s lying. He’s the one who ditched everyone.

  “Must be some girl for him to just stand you guys up like that last minute.”

  He hops onto the mattress, purposely bouncing me around as he does it, and grins. “She is.”

  I can’t help but stare at him while he spreads out all of the sugary crap he brought with him. He’s really quite beautiful. It’s annoying. And it makes me ache. Because as precious as these moments are between us, they’re fleeting. It won’t be long and he’ll have some new girl of the month and he’ll be romancing her and I’ll be left watching my movie and gorging myself on junk food without him. Something I need to remember right now. I can’t forget. Can’t get lost in this false sense of being loved by him. It’s not real. It’s just obligation. And I can’t forget that. Ever.

  I’m still trying to shake my brain free of romanticized Penn thoughts when he hands me a fork and the bag of marshmallows.

  “You roast and I’ll stack.” He lights the wick on the small tin canister we use to make s’mores indoors and sets it on a plate in the middle of my bed.

  I drop the marshmallows into my lap, fork half in the bag. “You don’t see how that might be a bit of a fire hazard? Having a flame in the middle of the bed, surrounded by my comforter and pillows and shit?”

  “Trix, you have a firefighter sitting in the bed with you. It doesn’t get any less fire hazardous than that.” He reaches for the remote and the TV screen flickers to life. The DVD is already running which I like because I hate watching previews. Penn likes ‘em and he never lets me skip to the main menu. Tonight I won’t have to worry about that. We’re already there.

  “I know we’re both aware of the many holes in your logic, so I’ll bypass making my argument since the movie is starting and I don’t want to miss the beginning explaining to you that having an off duty fireman in my bed minus a hose or a fire extinguisher is in no way effective fire prevention.” Even though I kinda just did.

  “You have the movie memorized from beginning to end. Shit, I have the movie memorized from beginning to end. Please, feel free to attempt and prove your point. I’ll be happy to squash it and then recite the opening scene for you.”

  I make a face. “I’ll pass thanks.” Then, to keep the conversation from continuing, I toss the graham crackers and chocolate toward him while I get to work on the marshmallows. Sometimes, I don’t mind not being able to hear him. Like right now. His lips are still moving. He’s not looking at me though, and his mouth is barely opening, so I know he’s just muttering things to himself about how infuriating I am sometimes or how he’ll show me how non-fire hazardous his little bon fire in the center of my mattress is.

  Twenty minutes into the film and we’ve properly overstuffed ourselves on gooey sweets. We’re lying stretched out on the bed, our heads, unable to even hold themselves up anymore, are propped up on my pillows. I’m leaning slightly into his forehead with my own, but it’s the only part of our bodies touching. I try not to think about how this makes me feel. I already know I’m not completely content. I just don’t know if it’s because I wish we were touching more or less. It’s probably more. Which is why I’m not thinking about it.

  “You ever think running back to his car to get a necklace is maybe the dumbest reason ever to nearly get killed by your psycho boyfriend?”

  I can’t believe he just knocked my movie.

  “It’s not like she knew he was hiding in the backseat.”

  “Well, where did she think he was the whole time she was hiding out in the hotel room waiting for her sister to show up? Obviously his car was still in the parking lot. If he wasn’t in the room with her, it would stand to reason that he’s still somewhere on the premises.”

  “I think you’re overthinking this movie, Penn. And you’re kinda ruining it for me.” I kick him in the side of his leg, but it’s more for show than to inflict pain.

  “This coming from the woman who overanalyzes every little thing. Remind me again how many times we discussed the meaning behind that text you got after your last date.”

  I pull myself into a more upright position. “He said, ‘I had fun hanging out with you last night!’”

  Penn chuckles. Sometimes I feel compelled to place my hand on his chest, just to see if I can feel the rumble of it on my skin. I imagine it to be deep. Warm.

  “Exactly. How could you possibly misinterpret that?”

  “Hanging out? Really? Hanging out is what you and I do! It’s not what I want some guy to call something I considered a date.”

  His lips straighten out and he tries to hide his amusement. “It was a date, Trix. Trust me. If it hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have bothered texting you at all. And, if you had ever answered him, he would have asked you out again.”

  I slouch back down into the mattress. I’d really rather be watching my movie right now.

  “Whatever. I didn’t like him anyway. He kept writing out everything anyone said to me all night. Had a little notepad and everything.” I know it was meant to be sweet but it came across as condescending. I mean, what did he think I did every day of my life before he came along? Sit in my cone of silence completely cut off from the rest of the world?

  “You know, you can’t be pleased. The guy before him pissed you off because he constantly forgot to make sure you were facing each other when he talked to you, then you find a guy who makes an effort to communicate with you as efficiently as possible, and that still doesn’t suit you.”

  I shrug. “What’s your point?”

  He laughs, and it’s so sudden I think he’s as surprised as I am. “I don’t actually know. Just saw an opportunity to highlight one of your flaws and jumped on it, I guess.”

  “You’re an asshole.” I grab one of the throw pillows that has migrated down to my feet and swat him across the face with it. “Now, can I please watch my movie in peace?”

  He stuffs the pillow behind his head. “Just as soon as you stop talking.”

  Crazy. Stupid crazy. That’s what he makes me.

  Penn

  Fuck me, that was close. I was on a roll there for a minute. A stupid, random train of thought that was leading me straight to the one place I’m not supposed to go. Her. And me.

  I watch out of the corner of my eye to make sure she’s completely focused on her movie again. Last thing I need is her wandering mind recounting the last conversation. She’ll start to wonder. Find inconsistencies. Have questions. Like, why do I care if she’s never satisfied with the men she dates? And I don’t. Because I know why. And deep down, I think she does too.

  But now would have been a really bad time to accidentally blurt out that I’m the reason she’s always looking for excuses not to like a guy. Because I’m the only man who’s ever going to be right for her. The only one who gets her. Who can communicate with her on every level and half the time doesn’t need to spell it out or sign it for her to comprehend it. Problem is, she doesn’t want me to be that guy any more than I want it to be me.

  She nudges me with her elbow to get my attention and when I turn toward her she’s pointing at the pair of paws clawing at the comforter on my side of the bed.

  “Gilbert.” I keep forgetting we have a cat now. Good thing Trix is back. She doesn’t forget things like cats. And feeding them.

  I lean over the side of the bed and scoop her onto my lap. Briefly. Then I see the longing look in Trix’s eyes and hand the cat over. Her whole face lights up as I place the bundle of purring fur onto her chest.

  “Thank you.”

  I just smile back at her and then try to turn my focus back onto the film I’ve had memorized since I was nineteen and figured out it was easier to pop in a DVD than deal wit
h drunk Trix.

  I fail though. Miserably. And it’s her fault because her damn arm keeps brushing up against mine every time she strokes the cat. I’ve got chills running up and down my spine and turning to look at her is out of the question because all I’ll be able to see are those eyes. And that mouth. And the things I wish I could do to it. But she won’t let me. Not anymore. That’s her one rule. I’ve had my mouth on every last inch of her skin a million times over, but she’s never let me kiss her lips again after the first time we crossed that line eight years ago.

  I wonder if she ever thinks about those moments. The times my lips crushed hers, our tongues moving together much like the rest of our bodies in a wild, desperate hunger. Not for each other. For peace. An escape. That’s all it was back then. That’s all she’ll ever let it be. Or so I continue to convince myself.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been rummaging through blurs of my past with her, but when I look up again, the credits are scrolling on the screen and automatically, I reach for the remote between us to turn it off. Trix apparently has the same thought at the exact same time, because her hand is in my palm, separating me from the remote.

  I should let go. I intend to let go. Then, she does something I never see coming. She turns her palm toward mine, releasing the remote and taking my hand instead. She doesn’t look at me. Just leans her head against my shoulder as her fingers intertwine with mine, erasing any doubts I might have that she’s doing something other than what she’s actually doing. Which is holding my hand. We don’t hold hands. It’s right up there with kissing on the lips. It implies feelings. Intimacy. Both of which would complicate things.

  When I finally get myself to glance down at her, she’s sound asleep. And so is Gilbert. The only idiot still awake and letting his mind spin in circles over something that clearly means nothing to everyone else, is me.

  I groan out loud. I’m tempted to scream. But even if she didn’t hear it, she would feel me do it and it would likely startle her just as badly. So I don’t. I just lie here. Her head resting on my shoulder, her hand in mine and the entire length of her body pressed against me. It’s the sweetest, most painful torture I’ve ever experienced and it’s breaking me. Bit by bit, my determination crumbles while the night passes in slow motion, until daylight begins to rise up over the windowsill and I know there’s no turning back anymore.

  Without letting go of her hand, I lift myself up onto my side, letting her head gently roll over onto her pillow as I do so.

  “Trix.” I say her name out of habit. I like saying it. I also like sliding my fingertip up and down the bridge of her nose which is far more effective in waking her up than saying her name is.

  When her eyes open, I bring our hands, still twined, up into her line of vision before I break the hold. “We need to talk.”

  She nods. I’d expected her to look worried. Or nervous. But she’s neither. She’s not even curious. I’m not sure if this pisses me off or sets me at ease, either way, I can’t stop here. Only she starts talking before I can say anything at all.

  “I had fun hanging out with you last night.” She smirks.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  She laughs. “See? Not as easy to interpret when you’re on the receiving end of that statement.”

  “It would have been if you hadn’t fallen asleep holding my hand! What the fuck kinda move was that?” I’m pissed. I’m definitely pissed. Mostly because I’m freaking the fuck out right now.

  She shrugs. “Just wanted to see what it would be like.”

  “And?” I’m literally out of rational thoughts right now.

  “And...now I know.” She leans in to kiss my cheek, then scrambles out of bed. “I call dibs on the shower.” Then she takes off out of the room and down the hall while I stare after her until I hear the bathroom door shut and the water start.

  This did not go the way I thought it would. And I’m not yet sure whether that’s a good or bad thing.

  Slowly but surely I drag myself out of her bed, which I’ve decided is a lot more comfortable than my own, and go to my room where I hide out until I hear her finish her shower and leave the bathroom.

  I stand here with my ear to the door like a moron for nearly five minutes just to be sure she’s not lingering in the hall for no reason whatsoever, then I make a run for the bathroom myself.

  With the door locked for probably the first time ever, I step into the shower and hope that the heat of the water melts my brain just so I no longer have to mentally regurgitate last night or the conversation that followed this morning.

  When I’m still hearing the sentence ‘Just wanted to see what it would be like.’ whispered on replay in my mind twenty minutes later, I give up and turn off the water. It’s losing its melting abilities by now anyway, if it ever even had any to begin with.

  I’ve got one foot out of the shower when I see it.

  Nice ass.

  If it wasn’t so clearly her handwriting in the fogged up mirror I’d swear it was an old message I left for her at some point. Only it’s not. Last time I wrote something on that mirror was yesterday. And it was about the damn tripe she hates. Not her ass.

  “She’s fucking with me.” I yank the towel from the hook. “On purpose.” I glare at her words now fading in the steam. “And she’s fucking enjoying it!” I reach up, hesitate, and then, with a determined swipe, make the mindfuck on the mirror disappear.

  Chapter Nine

  Trix

  I can feel myself grinning like an idiot. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Scratch that. I know what it is. I wish I didn’t. No. Not true either. Fuck, this is confusing.

  I bend down to lift Gilbert up and carry her into the kitchen where her food bowl is. Instead of feeding her though, I wind up standing there, patting her head absentmindedly for God only knows how long while I recount every little twisted detail that led me to this very moment. This giddy, stupid moment.

  And it is stupid. Because it’s Penn. And me. And feelings. Those three...they just don’t mix. Until now.

  I’m still standing here, staring dreamily into the vast nothingness of our empty kitchen when my state of idiotic bliss is interrupted by the sight of Penn stepping right into my line of vision.

  “I don’t think she’s enjoying that as much as you are.” He nods at Gilbert who I now realize is desperately trying to escape my grip to reach her food bowl just a few feet below her.

  I lower her to the ground and stand upright again before I respond. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to say that very thing to you.”

  He smirks. “Never.” Then he moves toward the coffee maker and gets it started before he turns back, same annoying smirk still plastered on his face. “You ought to know better than anyone that I never leave anyone unsatisfied.”

  I want to scowl. I want to. I just can’t. “You’re gross.”

  “You started.” His eyes linger on my face a moment longer. “What’s with you this morning? You don’t smile before ten a.m. Why are you smiling?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m still on a sugar high from all the sweets you fed me last night.”

  He nods, but judging by his expression he’s clearly not buying it. “I’ve seen you eat a log of raw cookie dough for breakfast and not be this happy. Try again.”

  “Fine. It’s not the sugar.” I move past him toward the coffee maker and pour myself a cup. I’m turned half toward him, half focused on the creamer I’m pouring into my mug when he presses on.

  “So?”

  But I’m not in the mood to answer. Not when this is so obviously getting to him. I never get to make him squirm and I’m not about to cave before I have to. Plus, I don’t really have an answer yet. Not one I’m prepared to put into words. For him.

  I reach into the bread box and untangle the plastic bag of bagels. It’s not until I have a bagel in one hand and a coffee in the other that I turn back toward Penn.

  “Sorry,” I mouth, motioning
for my incapacitated hands before I hurry out of the kitchen before he can do anything to stop me.

  When I reach the table in the foyer, I shove the bagel into my mouth so I can grab my keys and purse on my way toward the door. It’s high time I head to work. I’m just hoping Nat gets there early. I could really use someone to bounce some thoughts off of. Normally that person is Penn, but then normally those thoughts aren’t about him which makes talking about them to him about a gazillion times easier.

  As soon as I pull into the parking lot I realize I need to ask Nat what car she drives. Next I realize coming right out and asking her this first thing this morning on my very second day of knowing her will probably come across a bit stalkerish, so asking is out. I’ll actually have to be a bit stalkerish and follow her at lunch today. Yeah. That’ll be better.

  Melissa is already getting settled at the front desk when I walk in. She glances up at me briefly and waves before returning her attention to whatever it is she feels the need to do an hour before we start seeing patients. I feel compelled to ask her, when Cam comes out from the back and stops at the desk to chat with her and it all becomes blatantly obvious. Well, to me. To Cam I’m thinking not so much. He really does seem frighteningly oblivious to her infatuation with him.

  I smile at him as I walk past and he returns the gesture. Just as I’m reaching for the door handle, he tugs at my shirt and I turn around to find Melissa furiously scribbling away at a note I’m guessing is intended for me. As soon as she’s done, she hands it to Cam who in turn hands it to me.

  I scan the note three times before I can decipher her swirly, girly handwriting. She wants to know where I put the last of the patient files yesterday. I look up and point over at the filing cabinets lining the wall behind her.