The Thirst Within

by Johi Jenkins

  Fiona interrupts my thoughts. “Hey, Tori? Can I come in?”

  “Sure,” I call.

  She doesn’t actually come in, just stays by the door. “Hey, so, did you finish your Biology lab?” That explains her interest. She never comes to my room. The lab report is due tomorrow, and she probably has a question. Unfortunately for her, I suck at it, and so does Kerin.

  “Kerin did. It was hard, so she got it from Lynn.”

  “Lynn? She’s not in our class,” Fiona says, but she’s a little impressed that we’re cheating.

  “Yeah, but she took it last year and still has all of her old reports.” Kerin’s changing the wording here or there. I hope.

  “Oh, man, y’all are sooo lucky. It’s really hard. Hey,” she says, noticing my phone. She even smiles. “What’s that?”

  “I finally got a phone,” I say, pretty damn proud at that moment that Thierry made me get the cool smartphone, and didn’t let me get the cheapo freebie one.

  Fiona’s also impressed with my phone purchase. “Right on, Tori,” and I swear it’s the first time she compliments me and it sounds sincere. “What’s your number? Here, why don’t you program mine…?”

  We exchange numbers. It’s the closest we’ve been since I came here, but it still feels like we’re neighbors, not friends. Especially when she ends our little chat abruptly.

  “Okay. See ya.” She leaves, since I’m no use to her.

  I’m feeling down again.

  My phone rings. Oh shit. It’s Thierry.

  “Hello?” I breathe into the phone.

  “Hey, Tori,” he says, and he sounds a little dejected.

  “Hey, Thierry. How did it go?”

  He sighs. “It’s okay. Corben’s just visiting. He says he’s sorry for acting weird.”

  “Oh. Thanks. It’s okay,” I say, but I don’t believe him for some reason.

  “I’m sorry, Tori. I shouldn’t have….”

  “What? Brought me to your apartment? You didn’t know he was going to come here.” He should’ve stayed in Chicago, I add in my mind.

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “Are you upset because we didn’t charge my phone? It’s working well, I assure you….”

  He makes an odd noise that sounds like it could be a half-hearted laugh. “No Tori, I just…. I can’t believe I’m about to say this. But I feel so bad. We… we shouldn’t hang out anymore.”

  Oh, no. “What do you mean? Like, ever?”

  “No,” he says quickly. “I meant like… like we did today.”

  “Oh.” Kissing. “I’m sorry you feel that way.”

  “No—I don’t feel that way, Tori. I have to, but it doesn’t mean I want to.”

  Crap. What the hell’s going on? “Does this have anything to do with your brother?”

  “Tori, it’s complicated…. I can’t just say ‘no,’ because yeah, it has to do with him, but that’s not all. And I can’t really explain. I’m sorry, this is weird.”

  The sharp pain of rejection spears my chest somewhere, and the bridge of my nose burns as I feel my eyes welling up with tears. I’m glad he can’t see me. However, he can hear me, so I don’t speak. I can’t.

  “Tori, I….” He pauses for a second. “I shouldn’t even say this. But I loved kissing you. I did. It was amazing. I just can’t feel that way.”

  Okay, now the tears are spilling over and I’m holding my breath, because if I inhale I’m going to start sobbing violently. He wants to be with me, but he can’t, and he won’t explain. I try to calm myself and take a slow, deliberate breath through my nose. I can do this.

  “Okay, Thierry, whatever you have to do,” I say, and thankfully my voice doesn’t give me away.

  “We can still be friends,” he says.

  “Sure,” I say. “We will.”

  “I’m so sorry, Tori.”

  “I believe you. So, okay, um, I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Good night, Tori,” he says.

  We hang up.

  I lie on the bed and cry my eyes out.

  Friends. Yeah right.

  ***

  When I finally sleep, I have troubled dreams. I keep having nightmares of rejection and death. Then in another one, I am blissfully happy because I met Corben. He’s as happy as I am… and he loves me. Oh my God, and how he loves me.

  I wake up with a start. My subconscious is fucking with me. I have possibly fallen in love with Thierry, and I’m only starting to feel the pangs of his rejection. His brother means nothing to me except for pain; he’s the cause of Thierry’s request to end our relationship—the kissing part at least. How am I ever going to live down that kiss? I don’t think I’ll be able to. I’ll probably just tell myself it didn’t happen. It’ll be hard to prove, over time, that I ever really did kiss a guy like Thierry.

  What the hell am I going to do?

  10. Don’t Even Go There, Man

  Next day is Monday. I plow through school with a headache, possibly due to whiplash from my emotions. In one day, I soared in Thierry’s affection, melted in his arms, and in less than an hour I came crashing down. It’s true what they say: the higher you are, the farther you fall. And I fell from somewhere close to heaven.

  I still tingle all over when I think about him kissing me. I’ve been doing that all day. At home, at school, on the bus to work, at now at work. But every damn time, I remember I’m not allowed to think about that part, since he can’t kiss me again—he wants to, but he can’t, I keep telling myself.

  “Tori?” My manager, Andrea, calls me back to the present. She’s holding a broom. “I need you on the floor tonight. Can you do that? I’ll ask someone else if you don’t want to.” On the floor is code for being on watch for dropped popcorn. But I actually like it, because there’s not a whole lot to do between movies, and I don’t have to talk to John anymore, who’s been weird since last Saturday when Thierry came by.

  “No, I got it. Hey, where’s Jason?” Jason’s the regular, unreliable broom guy.

  “Oh, man,” Andrea says, grimacing, like she’s sharing embarrassing information. “He’s at a funeral. There was a double murder or something over the weekend. It’s awful. Two guys are dead; they’re saying it was probably gang violence. But one of them was Jason’s buddy from high school.”

  “Crap. Nearby?”

  “No, down in Gretna. Well, they found the bodies in Gretna, each in their respective houses, dead on their bed. They say it’s the same MO. Weird, huh?”

  “That’s terrible, to lose a friend like that,” I say.

  “So yeah, I guess the cops took in all their other friends for questioning.”

  “When was it?” I ask.

  “They found them Sunday morning, and I think it happened Saturday night.”

  “Gang violence, huh?”

  “Appears to be.”

  She goes back to her office, and I start my rounds with the broom. All the while though, I keep thinking about the murders. Jason knew one of the guys, and they were in a gang. They were probably his age, which is early twenties. I wonder if they ever came here. I might have even met them….

  Something bothers me. When I get a chance, I pull out my phone from my pocket and google local news for two guys found dead in their homes.

  The story pops up and I find out their names, but there are no pictures. So I search for their names and specify images. For the first name there’s a promising online profile from a guy in New Orleans. He’s making gang signs with his hands. That’s probably one of the victims. Something about his stance looks familiar.

  When I search images of the second name, I almost gasp and drop my phone. It’s a big fat dude, and I recognize his face.

  Big Guy.

  Shit.

  I knew it. I’m ninety percent sure that the two dead guys are my would-be attackers from Saturday night.

  ***

  The rest of the week goes by, and there’s nothing to tell because Thierry isn’t around. I hate myself for fall
ing so hard for him, a guy that was so totally out of my league that just talking to him was sure to cause an imbalance in the universe. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s an earthquake in the next few weeks in some distant South American country.

  The only consolation I have is that at least I know Thierry didn’t want to alienate himself from me; that he liked kissing me. He’s avoiding me, I know he is, but at least the man can pick up the phone if I call him. I’m guessing it’s because he said that we’d still be friends. I miss seeing him, but at least I can hear his voice.

  Not that I’ve talked with him that much. I’ve only called him twice. The first time was on Monday to ask him if he’d heard of the double murders. He said he hadn’t, but he wasn’t surprised because it happened all the time in the higher crime areas. He didn’t bring up any subject, not his brother or college or movies or anything. But he did respond to my chitchat and chimed in in the appropriate intervals. We talked for a few minutes, I laughed at something funny he said, he made me feel like he still cared for me—which was obviously the real reason I called—and then we hung up.

  I’d like to think that I noticed a little sadness in his voice when we said goodbye, but that could just be my wishful heart, telling me he still likes me.

  The second time I called him was Friday and it was after four days of misery, hoping to hear from him—after all, I’d called on Monday. It was his turn to call. But he didn’t. I thought of excuses to call that wouldn’t make it sound like I was calling just because I wanted to hear his voice, which was exactly why I was calling him. But finally on Friday I couldn’t take it anymore and I called him. Before I did, I made a sort of pact with myself.

  You see, one of the reasons I allowed myself to call him was that I needed closure and I wanted to make sure it was over. So I told myself that if I called again and he didn’t sound excited to talk to me after four days, I’d take it as a sign that the brief little thing that we had was completely over.

  So I dialed. My excuse was crappy, of course—I said I called to tell him that I was going to work both days of the weekend, so we might not be able to hang out, like friends, like we should be able to. I thought it was brilliant, calling to say I won’t see him, which is a way of denying him, I guess, while also throwing in there my weekend schedule, since the previous weekend he had always seemed to pop up where I was. And the best benefit of all, I got to hear his voice again.

  He said that was a bummer, but we’d find time to hang out at some other time. After talking for a bit, we hung up.

  And then… that was it. I was convinced; it was really over. I haven’t seen him or heard from him, nor will I call him again.

  Sunday night is the one-week mark since our little date and subsequent breakup, so I give up.

  I sure as hell won’t call him again. Our time is over. Was it me? No, the only thing that changed here was the arrival of Corben. It pisses me off that the guy, who, yeah, is older than me, but is still younger than Thierry, supposedly, has so much influence on his older brother. I couldn’t influence Kerin to talk to Lynn, her best friend, all this week when they were fighting. And that was a noble cause. Yet Corben doesn’t even live in the same goddamn state as Thierry and I do, and he somehow managed to shatter the best experience of my life.

  I really wish I knew what the guy’s problem was. I can only think of a few things: he’s single and he’s jealous that his brother is dating someone; he already has a girl in mind for his brother, a girl who happens to be a rich model; or, he simply hates females. Whatever, Corben.

  Asshole.

  But I’ll be fine. I give up and accept my fate. Thierry was a dream to be with, and I wonder vaguely if in the future when I’m married with three fat little kids, will I even remember that kiss? I mean, I know I’ll remember. But will I convince myself that the memory I’ll have—that I’ll never be able to erase—was made up? I probably will. It’s just too farfetched to believe it was real. That, or I’ll convince myself that I’m remembering Thierry way hotter than he was. That there was no way he was that hot, and I’ve embellished over the years. That his arms around me hadn’t been as strong as I think.

  Ah. As I remember the feeling of his arms around me, my body yearns for them again with a sad desire. My poor heart can’t handle it.

  But I tell myself that I can’t spend my life pining after him. He’s weird and his brother is definitely weirder. Fuck the Colberts, I say.

  Then I realize something funny. The brother’s name is Corben Colbert? That’s just…. Weird name.

  In the end, letting go of Thierry is surprisingly easy. At least rationally. Deep-rooted lack of self-esteem tells me easily enough that I was never meant to be with him. It’s surprising because really, I should be curled up in my bed, still uncontrollably crying my eyes out, devastated that a guy I thought liked me suddenly stopped all communication. I should be eating ice cream. I should be depressed. I should be questioning his motives—actually, I really should be questioning his motives—and coming to the conclusion that he used me and only wanted to get in my pants, or lost a bet with his college friends. But no. I’m cool. Or so I think.

  I miss him, I do, but my brain takes over my heart, and convinces me that what’s happening is what was supposed to happen. That what did happen should have never happened in the first place.

  At least it gets easier at home after my third week with the Harrises, since June got tired of rounding everyone up for dinner and now just does casual dinner. She cooks or prepares an easy meal and whoever’s hungry comes by the kitchen and eats, and she doesn’t complain as long as we wash our dishes.

  Most of the times I eat alone, and sometimes I eat with Fiona, who agrees with the change. She says she’s happy her mother finally dropped the act. June eats first after she finishes cooking, and feeds Jack. I never eat with them so I hardly see Jack anymore. My uncle comes in from work after everyone’s done, and ends up eating alone. He disappears in his study. I tell ya, I like this arrangement.

  School’s not that bad, and I start enjoying work after I stop expecting Thierry to show up. John is my closest guy buddy at work. After days passed by without seeing Thierry, or me mentioning him, John became John again. Now he even tries to get closer to me during school as well. We sit side-by-side during seventh period, and he starts joining me at lunch. Of course Kerin notices.

  “Hey, so, you and John Schmidt?” She asks one day after another week of no Thierry goes by, and a few days after John joined us for lunch the first time. We’re in Health class and nobody’s doing anything, not even the teacher.

  “What? No, it’s not like that. We’re just friends, you know, since we work together?”

  “Right. What if he asked you out on a date, what would you say?”

  “I’ve actually never thought about that. Mmm… I’d probably say no.”

  “What if he asked you to have lunch with him and didn’t say it was a date?”

  “We already have lunch together all the time. I mean, during the weekend, at work, if we have lunch hour at the same time, we’ll walk to the food court together.”

  Kerin gasps. “Those are dates, Tori!”

  “No!” I say quickly, horrified. “I pay for my stuff and he pays for his. Trust me, those aren’t dates. At least, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, maybe he does. I think he’s interested in you, so if you don’t like him, make sure he knows.”

  “I guess. But how? If he doesn’t like me I’d sound pretty stupid if I told him, ‘So hey, John, you know I’m not interested in you, right?’ and he’ll say, ‘what are you talking about? I don’t like you. You’re not even hot, Tori.’”

  Kerin rolls her eyes. “No. All you have to do is hint that you like someone else, is all. That way he won’t get his hopes up.”

  “But I don’t like someone else,” I say immediately, even though I know what she means—pretend I like someone. But I really don’t like anyone. It’s all forgotten.

  “You do
n’t need to like someone,” she says exasperatedly. “You’re just saying that so that he loses hope.”

  “I know, I know. I’m just…. Okay. I’m just not sure if I want him to lose hope.”

  “What! But you said you don’t like him.”

  “No, actually, I didn’t. I just said I wouldn’t go out on a date with him. But I think he’s good-looking.”

  Kerin pauses for a second and looks up, probably envisioning John. “He is kinda cute. He could use better fashion sense, though,” she says. “So why wouldn’t you date him?”

  John is cute in a nerdy kind of way. He wears plaid shirts every day, and doesn’t bother to tame his hair. It’s dark brown, matching his eyes; a little long, but it’s slightly wavy and sort of grows out, not down. Or maybe he wears tons of product. I can’t tell.

  “I don’t know,” I tell Kerin automatically, but I actually do know. The reason I don’t date him is that for the longest time, everyone seemed a little ordinary… after Thierry. However, Thierry Colbert is no longer around, so I should set my sights on attainable goals. “Nothing wrong with him, though. It’s just… I think I don’t want to date. You know, go out to dinner. Bring a guy home. That sort of thing.”

  “Oh. Well, don’t bring a guy home. Don’t go out to dinner. You can still be boyfriend and girlfriend. Right? Do your parents let you? I mean your aunt and uncle.”

  I don’t correct her on the aunt part. “I actually don’t know. Fiona doesn’t have a boyfriend, so I’m not sure what the protocol is.”

  “Fiona’s had a ton of boyfriends, actually. I just don’t think anything’s ever been official.”

  “Well, she must have had a reason. And it could be her parents. So, no official boys for me, either.” It’s hard to imagine bringing home a boy.

  “Have you ever had a boyfriend?” Kerin asks.

  Shit. I hate that question.

  “No, not in Iowa.”