by Allie Gail
“Oh, you know Daddy. He insisted I come stay with them until the hurricane blows over. So what's going on there? Never mind, what am I asking you for – lemme talk to Mellybean.”
“Fine. Behave yourself, Pita. Tell Mom and Hank I said hi.”
“Behave your own self, Butthead!”
I’m trying not to double over laughing as Shane hands me the phone with an innocent smile. He looks as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
The first thing I want to know is, “Why’d he call you a pita?”
“Oh, he thinks he’s clever. Pita stands for Pain-In-The-Ass.”
“Ahh...” I stifle a giggle behind two fingers. “I see. Charming.”
“I know, right? I think he gets more irritating with age. He’s like a dried-up booger that gets stuck up in your nose.”
“Alrighty then! Could’ve done without that mental image, thanks just the same.”
“Yeah, yeah. So talk to me. What’s going on? How long has Turd Ferguson been there?”
Does she have an encyclopedia of crude nicknames she refers to or what? “Not sure I’m acquainted with anyone by the name of Turd Ferguson.”
“Did you really go to school together?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, we did happen to graduate the same year.”
“I never knew that! And I was at that graduation, too. My dad made me go. I’d say I might have seen you there but honestly, I think I slept through most of it. I just remember it being really boring. That’s cool though! I can’t believe this whole time you knew him. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I didn’t know who your brother was. It’s not like you ever told me his name.”
“I didn’t? Are you sure? Well, my bad…so anyway, when did he get there?”
“A few days ago.”
“A few days ago? No way! And he's been staying there with you all this time?”
“Um. Kind of.”
“And you haven't killed him yet? I know a guy with a wood chipper if hiding the body is a problem. Just say the word.”
“Let me guess. Soapy?”
“Nah, I was just kidding. A wood chipper would be too messy. But really – is there, like, something going on between you two? Why's he been hanging around there? Are you dating or whatever? Oh. My. GOD!” Her voice leaps two octaves in a single squeal. “What if you got married? How kickass would that be? Oh! Oh! If you do get married, can I be your maid of honor? Say yes, because I would throw you a bachelorette party like you wouldn’t believe! We could go to Vegas, you know, like in that movie…”
I look desperately to Shane for help, but all I get from him is a broad grin.
“What was that?” I say loudly. “Whose maid is getting married in Vegas? You're starting to break up.” Yeah, I know it’s low, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Really? I can hear you just fine.”
“What? Are you still there? Hello?”
“Wait, lemme switch rooms. Can you hear me now?”
“Sorry, you're cutting out. Must be the weather or something. I'll have to call you back later. Bye!” Pressing end, I drop the phone on the ottoman with a grimace. “Don't you dare laugh.”
What does he do? He laughs. “You see now why I call her a pain in the ass? The girl doesn’t know when to stop.”
“That’s for sure. She doesn’t mean anything by it, though. She’s just…enthusiastic.” That really is the perfect word to describe her. She’s like a happy ball of sunshine bouncing off the walls. I’ve never seen her when she didn’t have a smile on her face. Before I met Leah, I always thought kids were the only ones with that much energy and optimism. I think that’s why I like her so much. She’s a walking anti-depressant.
“Enthusiastic, my ass! The mouth of the south is what she is. According to Hank, she said her first word at eleven months and hasn’t stopped talking since.”
“Mouth of the south…that’s funny, Brad used to call her that.”
“Brad? You mean the newspaper editor?”
“Yeah. Why, you know him?”
“No, but I’ve heard her mention him. I get the feeling she’s sweet on the guy.”
“She is,” I confide. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“That’s what I figured. He treat her right?”
“He pretty much treats her like he treats everyone else. Actually, I don’t think he even realizes how she feels about him. He’s one of those guys that’s super smart, but a little clueless when it comes to women.”
“I got news for you, cupcake. We’re all clueless when it comes to women.” Pulling himself up gracefully, he yawns while arching in a feline stretch. “Mmm…I don’t know about you, but I’m about to starve to death. If I don’t get something to eat soon I’m gonna start chewing on the dice.”
“Those game pieces are a choking hazard. It says so right on the box. I am not about to row you to the emergency room today, so you might want to reconsider. Would you be willing to settle for some peanut butter and jelly?”
“I guess I can make do with that. Tell you what. If you’ll make the sandwiches, I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I think I can handle that.”
Five minutes later we’re back on the floor in the living room, munching PB&J’s by candlelight. Shane has spread a blanket on the floor and lit a couple of Yankee candles, which I find surprisingly romantic coming from a guy who used to burp the alphabet. We’re also surrounded by various bags of chips, a jar of salsa, two Hostess cherry pies and an assortment of Hershey’s miniatures. It’s a veritable junk food picnic. I guess he doesn’t worry much about calories.
There’s even ice in our water, since he was smart enough to stack a bunch of water bottles in the freezer after we got back from the grocery store.
“How long do you think it’ll take them to get the power back on?” I ask, stirring the salsa with a tortilla chip. It crumbles and I wind up having to fish the broken pieces out with my fingers.
Shane watches in amusement. “I can’t really answer that. Depends on the extent of the damage and how widespread it is. They’ll have to take the repairs in order of urgency. If I had to guess, though, I’d say once the storm passes it won’t take them more than a day. The electric company’s pretty good about staying on top of things.”
“Did Leah say she was staying at your parents’ house?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Do they live in Crestview?”
“Yep. They have a place near Bear Creek.”
I lick the salsa off my fingers before wiping them with a napkin. “Maybe we shouldn’t have told her you were here. She’s going to get the wrong idea.”
“Is she now?” He tries to hide a smirk behind his water bottle as he lifts it to drink. “And what idea would that be?”
“You know!”
“Wouldn’t she be correct in her assumption?”
“Uh…” I don’t know how to answer that. Is he referring to the hooking-up part or the here-comes-the-bride part? “Depends.”
“On what?”
“On what we’re talking about here!”
“You brought it up. I assumed you knew what we were talking about.”
“Well, now you’re just confusing me.”
“I am not the one confusing you.” Re-capping the bottle, he drops it on the blanket beside him and leans in a little. His eyes lock on mine in a way that’s both provocative and unsettling. “As I see it, it’s the other way around. So let me ask you a question. What happens after I leave here?”
“What…happens?” It’s hard to think rationally when he’s looking at me like that.
“I can’t imagine that after I go back to Tennessee, you’re going to be able to just pick up where you left off and pretend I was never here. Pretend that you and I aren’t fucking amazing together. I’m not buying your act. Sweetheart, anyone can look at you and tell you’re not the just-sex type.” His voice drops to a soft, coaxing purr. “So what happens? You do
n’t honestly expect to forget all about me, do you?”
I waver, even while accepting that I can’t keep doing this. I can’t look into those warm, compassionate eyes and lie again, can’t keep trying to convince him that I was only using him. That I am heartless enough to push him out of my mind, to go forward without ever looking back. That he means nothing to me.
Because all of that – it would just be a pack of lies.
And he deserves to know the truth.
Staring at the floor, I whisper, “No.”
“Then tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“Tell me what you’re afraid of. Tell me who hurt you.”
“What makes you think someone hurt me?”
“I don’t think it. I know it.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. You are. You think this is about something as simple as a broken heart?” Looking up at him, I shake my head with a dry laugh. “You don’t know how far off you are. Don’t feel sorry for me, Shane. I wasn’t the one who got hurt. Maybe you should save your pity for the ones who died because of me.”
Ponce de Leon Hall – Flagler College
End of April
Shuffling into my dorm room, I push the door shut behind me and lean against it with a weary sigh. It’s not even eleven o’clock yet but it feels like I’ve been up all night. Between work and school I’ve been pushing myself to the limit and it’s all starting to catch up with me.
I was already tired before we went out to celebrate the completion of semester finals. Now I’m not just tired, I’m full-on exhausted, and all I want to do is flop into bed and sleep for about twelve hours.
I flip the light switch, but nothing happens.
Great. Just great.
Sighing again, I fumble my way to the reading lamp beside my bed and snap it on while kicking off my sneakers. Unbuttoning my jeans, I wiggle out of them and kick them aside. I am just getting ready to pull my jersey up over my head when from somewhere behind me I hear a low murmur.
“Where have you been?”
I freeze like a deer in headlights at the sound of his quietly ominous voice. It is a voice I am beginning to know all too well. The menacing undertones never fail to twist my stomach into knots.
Turning slowly to face him, I take a step back as Luka Martelli emerges from the darkest corner of the room I share with Shelby. I always wanted a private room, but right now I am desperately wishing I wasn’t alone. The curfew isn't in effect tonight so Shelby opted to linger at the sports bar with her boyfriend. She probably won’t be back for hours, if at all.
He is watching me with a deadpan expression. As I warily look back at him, I can’t help but notice how dull his eyes are. In spite of the striking blue irises, they always look so strangely empty. Empty and detached. He is impossible to read. Whatever emotions he may harbor, they never surface on his face.
“You aren’t supposed to be in this building,” I remind him. “Don’t you remember what Dean Hammond said? If you’re reported to the Behavioral Intervention Team one more time, you’re looking at permanent expulsion. You could lose your scholarship, Luka. Is that what you want?”
His response is clipped. “What I want is a little consideration. I do not appreciate being taken for granted. What I also want is for you to answer my question. Where. Have. You. Been?”
“It’s none of your damn business where I’ve been!” I tell him irritably. “What are you doing in my room? How’d you get in here?”
“I texted you six times tonight. Six. Times. Do you not possess the common courtesy to find ten paltry seconds out of your oh-so-busy schedule to reply?”
“In case I forgot to mention it, I blocked your number. So obviously I never saw your messages. Not that it would have mattered.”
“Yes, I thought you blocked me. Now tell me, why would you go and do such a childish thing?”
“Are you serious? Luka, why the fuck do you think?” My God, there is just no getting through to this guy! His perpetual stalking has been getting progressively worse, even with the stern warning he received from the staff at the counseling center. I’ve tried to be patient with him, tried to be nice about it, but it’s like he just doesn’t have the ability to comprehend any of it.
The timbre of his voice never changes. He speaks to me mildly, as if he’s addressing a stubborn child. “Please don’t curse. I’ve told you before, that kind of language is for bar whores and ignorant cretins.”
“Yeah? Well, fuck fuck fuckity doo-da!”
Smiling patiently, he takes a few steps in my direction as I press my back against the wall. “I see what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to pick a fight, aren’t you? Come on, angel. Let’s not fight. Not now. Not when we have some time off before the summer term.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing with your time off, but I’m heading home tomorrow,” I inform him. “Just so you know.”
He shakes his head in perplexed denial. It unnerves me that he seems to be growing more and more flustered. “Heading home? What are you talking about? You never told me you were thinking about leaving. You can’t leave! I made plans for us. I was…I was going to take you to Daytona. I made reservations and everything. We were going to–”
“We weren’t going to do anything, Luka. I’m not going anywhere with you. How can you even think that I would? We’ve been through this before.” As many times as I’ve pleaded with him to leave me alone, it amazes me that he would assume I’d agree to this.
He draws closer, and I tense as he lifts one arm to place his hand on the wall beside my head. “Melanie, angel,” he warns me softly. “I’ve been very patient with you. But I must say, these mind games are becoming rather tiresome. Have you been drinking?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. What difference does it make?”
“You have. I can smell it on you. I must say, I’m very disappointed in your behavior tonight. Tell you what, though. I’m willing to overlook your petulance because I know it’s just the alcohol talking. But in the morning after you’ve slept it off, I would like for you to go ahead and pack. I’m taking you away for a few days and I’d like to leave tomorrow afternoon.”
Anger, frustration and sympathy all collide within me, and at the moment I’m so tired I have no idea which emotion to give precedence to. As tempting as it may be to jam my knee into his happy zone right now, I can’t summon the will to hurt him. He’s just so pitiful. It would be like kicking a stray mutt that doesn’t know any better.
And so, as usual, I do the best I can to get my point across while trying to spare his feelings.
“Luka.” Lowering my voice, I search his eyes for any sign of cognizance. “We’ve had this conversation before. Remember? You know that I would like very much to be your friend, but that’s as far as it goes. That’s as far as it will ever go. I’m sorry. But I already told you, right now I’m just not interested in–”
“Do you really think this hard-to-get act of yours is going to get you anywhere?”
Startled, I blink at him speechlessly. Is that honestly what he believes? That I’ve just been playing hard to get?
Not for the first time, I get the unsettling feeling that there is something really wrong with this guy. Something that goes way beyond mere stubbornness.
He leans in so close I can smell the expensive designer cologne on his collar. And even though it isn't unpleasant, the scent prickles my skin with revulsion nonetheless.
His breath is hot against my cheek. “I can appreciate the fact that you aren’t willing to stoop to the same level as those disgusting, promiscuous friends of yours. Virtue is an admirable quality. But I think it’s time for the games to stop. Really, it’s all so unnecessary. Avoiding me? Ignoring me? Reporting me? Did you think that was a nice thing to do, Melanie? Did you not stop to think how hurtful that might be?”
“I reported you because you wouldn’t stop harassing me!”
“Harassing yo
u?” He furrows his brow, puzzled. “I don’t understand. Didn’t you like the gifts I sent you?”
“Like them! Wasn’t the fact that I sent them back a clear enough indication? Jesus, Luka, whatever gave you the idea that lingerie and stilettos from Agent Provocateur are appropriate things to send to someone you barely know!”
“Were they the wrong size?”
I rub my forehead, shaking my head at his inconceivable obtuseness. “Good God. Are you…I don’t…I can’t even…”
“You really shouldn’t drink, my love. Alcohol lowers your cognition and interferes with communication between nerve cells. That probably explains why you’re having trouble expressing yourself clearly.”
“Trust me. You really don’t want me expressing myself right now, Luka.”
“You’re right. We can talk on our way to Daytona tomorrow.”
I swear to Christ, my head is so close to exploding right now it isn’t even funny. “Let me ask you a question. What do you hear when I talk? Is it monkey screeches or radio static or what? Can you not understand the words coming out of my mouth?”
He smiles as his gaze drops to my lips. “I’ve dreamed about the things you could do with that mouth.”
“Oh yeah? Well, keep dreaming, pal. Because the only thing this mouth is going to be doing is calling campus security if you aren’t out of here in about two seconds!”
Finally – a threat that seems to be getting through to him. With a startled look, he tilts his head slowly to one side. “Why would you do that?”
“Why do you think!”
“I don't understand why you keep doing these things. Surely you must know how much it aggravates me when you act this way.”
“Doing what things? All I want is for you to back off and stop stalking me all over the place! I don't think that's too much to ask!”
The blue eyes narrow menacingly. “I’ve told you before how beautiful you are,” he murmurs, his voice hollow. “And you are. So very beautiful. But tell me, Melanie. Do you think this attribute gives you license to treat others any way that you like?”