"Not at the time, but I'm starting to." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. It's vibrations are audible even under the table in his pocket. Just the sight of the screen lighting up seems to make him even more stressed. "Oh, Jesus." He says, sounding defeated.
"Now she's calling?"
He nods sadly. "Kev, what does this chick do for a living? Can I have a job where I can just send stalker texts all day to some guy and still collect my check at the end of the week. Not that you're 'some guy', but you know what I mean." He's starting to understand what I mean. Of all the vices Kevin has, a pretty face has to be the most powerful of them all. Come to think of it, vices isn't the right way to say it - Kevin's never been a gambler, or a drinker, or had any other destructive habits. Maybe the better way to say it is that he's a man of many appetites, and he's never met a slim waist and a pretty set of eyes he could resist. It doesn't help that he's as good looking as he is - girls have always flocked to him, and he always has options in that department. Of course, that doesn't always mean that he chooses his girls wisely, and I can see that realization all over his face as he picks up his phone with shaky hands to check his twenty eighth text from good ol' Margot.
"Funny enough she's a receptionist at a law firm. The universe is a funny place sometimes, isn't it?"
"Tell me about it." I say. I have to admit it is a really odd coincidence that this chick works the phones at the same business that Kevin's in - that his entire family has been for years. MORE ON KEVIN
"Enough of my own drama, you've heard - no, witnessed - enough of that. Back to what you were telling me before my girlfriend decided to test the limits of her data plan right in front of you."
I really didn't feel like rehashing it again in even more detail. I've not a complainer, I've never been one, but I feel like I've hit a sting of shit luck that's getting old. "It's not just those assholes," I confess, "I mean, sure, an encounter like that is bound to hang a cloud over anyone's morning, but asshole customers and waitressing kind of go hand in hand - I can deal with that."
"Well what else, then?" He asks.
"No, I'm not going there," I tell him, "I hate whining about my life, it's unattractive."
"Oh, well if that's what your worried about it's far too late of a concern," he jokes sarcastically, "just go ahead and tell me, then. If you're going to be ugly at least be ugly and unburdened." Kevin's sarcasm can really rub some people the wrong way - I've witnessed it first hand -but his brand of humor actually makes me feel better. He's like an older brother to me, only instead of beating me up and wrestling with me he uses his wit. I smile.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," I joke back, "ugly and repressed is a fucked up combo, I can at least fix fifty percent of that." I'm smiling ear to ear, but I still don't want to say what's been bother me; what's been on my mind for a while now, because no matter how many rehearsed times I've had this convo with Kevin, my reasons for sulking always sound petty in my mind. I'm scared the real thing won't sound any better.
"What is it?" He asks again. He probably sees the expression on my face change when I realize I actually have to tell him. Oh well, here goes nothing.
"It's Mia," I blurt out a little harshly. Shit, that isn't the way I want to start.
"What about her, is she okay?"
"No, no, she's fine, it's not literally her, it's more . . . about her. Sort of. Not really. I mean, it's about her but it's really about me, you know?" God I sound like a babbling idiot. Could I be less clear right now?
"I actually have no idea, no. Can you say that all again, but make sense this time?"
"I'm sorry," I say, deflated, "I'm actually trying to make sense. What I mean to say is that, ever since the wedding, I've been feeling like total shit. Actually, worse that that - of total shit is the ground floor, I'm somewhere in the boiler room right about now."
"Shit, D., how come?" Kevin never curses. Like never-ever. It actually catches my attention and snaps me out of my own thoughts for a minute. He has to be worried about me.
"You said a bad word, Kev. Grandma would be upset with you."
"Seriously, what's up? Why don't you feel good?", he says, not even entertain my sarcasm. Here goes. . .
"I don't know, it's just that ever since Mia and Wesley got married - before that, even- I've felt like I'm nowhere near having what they have. I mean, I know that I wasn't exactly dating good guys before Mia and Wesley got together, but at least Mia was down in the trenches with me. Now I'm alone." I sound pathetic, and I wish I hadn't gone down this road to begin with, but I didn't want to lie to Kevin, even by omission. "Sounds terrible, doesn't it?"
"Terrible?" He asks, "No, I get it. And I understand where you're coming from. Mia was your partner in crime for a few years, and even though you're happy for her, you want the same type of thing in your life. Sounds perfectly normal to me, actually, i understand." I smile. I can't even help it, his words just make me feel better because I was feeling guilty about saying them. No matter how I spun it, I always feel like I'm being unfair to Mia, that me feeling anything negative about her finding happiness is me being a crappy friend, so I'm glad Kevin understands where I'm coming from.
"How do you know how to say just the right things? Do you practice?"
"I do, yes," he jokes, "but I've had less time lately to practice my friend-comforting skills, what, with me spending most of my free time returning text messages- or being on the phone explaining why I didn't return text messages."
"Kev, you gotta get rid of this girl, she's crazy - which can work sometimes depending on the type of crazy- but this type is just gonna stress you out and make you hate her."
"I know you're right, but. . ." He stops short and I know what he's not saying to me.
"She's so pretty, right?" I say, finishing his sentence for him. "You're such a man."
"Last I checked, yes."
"Piece of sage wisdom from someone who's dealt with her share of bad relationships?"
"Okay?" He asks hesitantly.
"If you keep letting your dick make all of your major decisions, you're in for a rough road. Take it or leave it, but it's true." This girl must have some weird hold on him because For most guys, being with the hottest chick in the room is a luxury they experience maybe once or twice in their life - maybe never - that time when they walk into a room and all the guys break their neck to see their girlfriend. Kevin always had that, even back in school, which makes me wonder why he's putting himself through all the drama this psycho seems to bring.
"I'll relay your advice to my dick later on, but I have to warn you, he doesn't listen to advice often."
"I understand," I joke, "I appreciate you relaying the message at all."
"Sorry you had such a shit morning - larger issues aside, that's a bad way to start a day. Are you doing home after this?"
"Yup. Coffee, home, Netflix, then back to the Lion's den."
"That sucks."
"Right again. But I need the money, and I couldn't work with that girl today, just wasn't happening. Hopefully service will be better tonight." It's true, I don't want to have days like I had today at work, but it wasn't my fault.
"At lease your problem is solvable, what the hell am I going to do," Kevin asks as his phone continues to vibrate.
"We both know the answer to that."
Kevin's never been good at legit breakups, or legit relationships for that matter. He's the casual dater, not the serial monogamist, and I'm really getting the impression that he doesn't know how to break up with this girl. "I should just find someone else, you mean?"
"Yeah," I answer, "but you need to tell Margot 3 things first. First, she's crazy, and she should do something about that. I guess that counts as two, so tell her 4 things. Third, you don't wanna be with her anymore because of point 1, and finally, give her a list of therapists who specialize in rehabilitation psycho stalkers. Then find someone new."
"Uhh," he says frustrated, "that's a lot of work. And who am I going to find, a
nyway? I hate this process."
"What about her?" I say, pointing behind Kevin. In pointing at the girl working the espresso machine - she's got beads of sweat on her forehead from moving around so much, and she's wearing a stained black apron, but even so it's plain to see that she's gorgeous.
"Who, the sweaty coffee girl?" Kevin asks mockingly. "Hot."
"Typical man, Jesus Kevin."
"What?"
"You think women wake up beautiful? You've seen Margot first thing in the morning, right?"
"Actually I try to get to the office early so I don't have to," he says with a smile on his face, "but it's not because of how she looks, I just don't wanna talk to her."
"Well that's a different issue, but trust me she doesn't wake up looking the way she looks when you guys go out." When I finish I'm kind of indignant - guys could be so dumb when it came to stuff like this. Not only did they demand beauty, but they were willfully ignorant of where it came from.
"Still, her?" He says, pointing in coffee-girl's direction.
"Don't, point, it's rude," I say like a mom reprimanding a kid, "I'd expect better of a proper gentleman. And yes, her."
"You're crazy, not my type." He says.
I decide to give up for the time being. "I've been told that more than once," I say, "and you're wrong, but no time for that now, let's get out of here."
"Fine. You want an iced coffee for the road?" He jokes, knowing my hatred for any drinking that starts with 'iced'.
"Funny." We father the trash from our muffins and coffee and start to walk out. Kevin's in front of me, and despite his protest I see him checking out the barista as we pass the espresso machine. "I saw that." I tell him.
"Don't know what you're talking about."
"Right," I say as I stop at the counter. Kevin turns and once he sees me there he stops too. He shoots me his sincerest "what the fuck?" look, but I pay him no mind. "Excuse me." She looks up from pouring shots into large cups and she really is gorgeous; even more so up close. "My friend, Kevin, over there was saying how well made his drink was. He's too shy to say anything but I thought I'd tell you anyhow."
"Oh wow, thanks," she says looking at me, the turning her gaze to Kevin, who looks about as mortified as I've ever seen him. "I mean, thanks to your friend. Tell him for me."
"You got it." I say, walking to catch up to Kevin. I grab his arm at the door and turn around to the counter one more time. "I didn't get your name, I yell, "I'm Dacia, and you know this is Kevin."
"Cordelia," she says. "I'm Cordelia."
"Nice to meet you, isn't it Kevin?" Before I can even finish Kevin offers and awkward smile of confirmation and pulls me out the door.
"What the hell?" He says.
"Just making friends," I say sarcastically, "crazy, remember."
"I've gotta go, I've got texts to return."
"Enjoy that" I say as he heads towards his car. "Let me know how it all goes."
Kevin drives away looking dejected - I'm in a better mood than I was when I first got here, but now I feel bad. He looks unhappy, and I never want my friends to be unhappy. I'm sure I'll be hearing about his evening with crazy Margot later on. Until then, I have to get ready for work.
I drive home even though I’m only a few blocks away; I should really start walking more, I could use the exercise. But today I’m feeling lazy, so I drive back to my place to get ready for another fun-filled night of crabby customers and lousy tips. After I get a good spot on my street I step out to walk inside. As soon as a step out I hear a voice from close by, but when I turn around I don’t see anyone. Weird. I’m probably just hallucinating from the fatigue of my crazy morning; either that or I have some rare mental disorder induced by too much caffeine. Not sure which; too tired to worry about it now.
Chapter 4
Okay, maybe I was more freaked out than seemed before. I'm freaked the hell out, but I know I must have been seeing things. There's no way that was him. It's been way too long, and I've had moments like this before, moments where I get spooked or reminded of what he did. I even dream about him sometimes; the man with that scar on his face; the scar that I face him when he tried to. . .uhh, enough of remembering, it's getting to me. Maybe that's what I'm doing here.
I'm sitting in the parking lot staring at the depressing sign that reads "Animal Shelter", wondering whether I came here because I'm lonely, or because I'm scared. If I'm being honest it's probably a little of both, but I don't feel like analyzing my motives right now, I feel like reducing a dog from this terrible place. I try to block the bad thoughts out and force myself out of the car and inside the shelter. I can hear the barking before I'm even inside, and once I get through the door it's practically deafening. I hate these kind of places, but I've always loved dogs, and something in my crazy, impulsive brain told me to come here, so here I am.
The guy at the counter offers to walk me around, and I tell him okay even though part of me wants to leave. I haven't been to a place like this since I was little, but it was a totally different situation. When I was 10 We had a dog that I found on the street - a little brown and white mutt that used to wait outside my place every day. He was the cutest thing, and when I got home from school he always ran up to me and jumped up to lick my face. I was shocked when my mom let me take him inside, and he basically became my pet. I fed him, took him out, even gave him baths once and a while. But One day he peed all over the carpet while I was at school, and my mom drove him to the pound without telling me.
Fuck this place is sad - it's like a doggie prison. The guy walking me around is about 20 years old, and looks like he couldn't care less about this job. I guess it's like being a salesman at a store where no one ever buys anything, because as he's giving me his soulless, rehearsed speech on which dogs are which, all I can think of is how most of these beauties will never make it out of here. It's depressing, but hopefully I can save at least one of them.
The guy takes me up and down the narrow little concrete lane that has dog runs on either side of it. The barking is literally defeating, and I can hardly hear what he's saying, but I don't really need his words. I've always been impulsive, sometimes to a fault, but it's also one of my best qualities, and I know that if I see the right one for me that I'll just know. We go up and down a few different isles, all filled mostly with pit bulls, running back and forth and barking. I've only been here about ten minutes but I already want to run to my car and cry, but I feel like I have to at least give each of them a chance. At the end of our walk I still haven't found the right pup for me, and now I'm sad, plus I have no dog. This really isn't my day.
I thank my apathetic doggie death row tour guide and start to walk back to my car, dejected. The shelter can pulls up as I'm walking out, and all I can think of is those old Looney Toons episodes with a big van labeled "Dog Catcher" on the side. A guy jumps out of the passenger seat and opens the back of the van, and I can hear the whimpering and barking as he does. Jesus, how many unwanted dogs are there around here, anyways?
For some reason I just stand there, frozen, watching the guys take the dogs out of the back. You'd think I'd had enough of all the doggie sadness, but something keeps my feet in place and my eyes fixed. It's not that I want to see more dogs being dragged into that terrible place, but something in my head or my heart tells me to keep looking, and I trust that voice inside of me like no other. That's when I see her. The driver opens up a crate on his side of the car, and out steps the most beautiful black Rottweiler I've ever seen. She's a big girl, black all over with some light brown in her paws, and she has the most gentle energy. What monster would give her up? The driver walks her by me, and she looks up at me with big black eyes. "Excuse me, miss." The man says to me as they pass by. I let them pass and then follow them back inside, where my tour guide looks surprised to see me back.
"Did you forget something, Ma'am?" He asks with more emotion than he had when he was showing me the animals.
"First, I know I'm only going to know you for about ano
ther fifteen to twenty minutes, but please don't ever call me Ma'am again," I tell him sternly, "and, more importantly, I want her."
The guy looks at my rottie and then back at me like I'm nuts. I mean, I am nuts, but that's besides the point. He can't even hold back the judgment on his face; I'd think they'd want people to adopt the dogs. "Ma...I mean, miss,"
"Dacia," I interrupt, "my name is Dacia."
"Well, Dacia, you know that's a Rottweiler, right?" The condescension in his voice is pissing me off, and I quickly realize that he doesn't understand dogs or women very well.
"Wait, that wasn't a dinosaur?" My sarcasm is off the charts - old habit when people are rude to me. If there's one thing I can't stand it's being spoken down to. I'm many things, but stupid isn't one of them.
He stares at me with a blank look on his face, too dumb to even get my sarcasm, he just continues without missing a beat. "Miss...Dacia," he stumbles, "that's a powerful breed of dog, and that one is coming from an abusive home."
"Well, then, that makes two of us," I say, my patience with him totally vanished, "so can I have the paperwork, then?" He can see in my eyes that I'm serious, and he gives up his attempts to discourage me from adopting...oh shit, she needs a name, doesn't she? What should I call her? I turn around for a second and look over at her as she's standing by the kennels. "Jordan," I yell as she turns her head sideways to look at me, "wanna come home with me?" I think she does. Even my crappy place is better than this hellhole.
<> <> <>
"Don't look at me like that." She doesn't listen, she is my dog. "Seriously, Jordan, what do you want? Is it your name? Do you want another one?" But she doesn't answer, she just keeps her weird, head tilt-thing going. It's freaking me out a little. "What do you want, I have to go to work." Nothing. I realize that I'm the crazy one because I'm standing in my kitchen talking to my newly adopted Rottweiler, and every now and then I actually expect and answer.
I'm also a terrible owner because I need to leave her alone on her first night in a new place, but I didn't want to wait, who knows what would have happened if I had left her in that shelter. Who am I kidding; I know exactly what would have happened. I don't wanna think about that. But I still feel bad, she doesn't know me or my place yet, and I'm going to leave her here alone. I don't really have a choice, though, I have to work. Maybe I'll leave the TV on for her so she isn't afraid. Or maybe that'll scare her even more. Jesus, I'm a terrible owner and She's only been my dog for two hours!
Impressions of Me (Impressions Series Book 2) Page 4