“You don’t have a car?” he asks lightly.
“No.”
“So you walk every day?”
“Yes.”
His questions are causing me to feel oddly nervous. I’m not accustomed to people showing much interest in me, and I reach down for my backpack at my feet. In need of a distraction, I dig around the front pocket for my lip gloss, and I begin to reapply it.
“Is it just me, or are you this quiet with everyone?” Blake asks bluntly.
I look at him sheepishly and recap the lip gloss. “This is normal for me.”
His brown eyes connect with mine. “I’m thinking you’ve been hanging around the wrong people if they let you get away with one-word answers for everything.”
I look away, now a little uncertain. I’m typically confident, but Blake throws me off for some reason.
Blake soon pulls into Catherine’s driveway. He puts the car in park and turns to look at me, his eyes curiously watchful.
I reach down for my backpack, trying to avoid those eyes that seem so irresistible to me. “Thanks for the ride,” I murmur.
“You’re welcome.”
After climbing out into the rain, I lightly shut the Camaro’s door and make a dash for the front door. Blake politely waits until I am inside before backing out of the driveway.
Three
On Thursday, I work with Brittany. She seems nice enough, and she explains that she’s attending Ohio State and working at the store part-time. She’s one of those easy-going, bubbly types, and it’s a relief not to have to make polite chit-chat since she seems to enjoy doing all the talking. I nod when I’m supposed to as I let her chatter non-stop to me between customers, and I soon learn more than I want to about her boyfriend and her best friend.
As the evening wears on, I find myself thinking about my future. I am desperate to prove to myself that I will never turn into my mother. I need to be better than her, and I want to know what it feels like to be truly in control of my life. The only way I’m going to be able to accomplish that is by going to college and choosing my future path. I want to graduate with a degree, get a job, and maybe even buy a house.
When it’s time for my break, I slip off my apron with a sense of determination building within my gut. I don’t care if I have to work two jobs in order to attend college, I’ll do whatever is necessary to chase after the future that I’ve been dreaming of for so long. I’m going to find my way in this cruel world and carve out a little place for myself.
The bell jingles above me as I exit the store and step out onto the sidewalk. I could have sat in the backroom, but I need a break from all the peppy music that continuously plays over the intercom.
When I’d arrived for my shift, I’d noted a bench located between the candy store and the tattoo shop. It’d been empty earlier, and I’m hoping that I can snag it so that I can people-watch as I enjoy the fresh air.
I’m halfway to the bench when I notice that someone’s already claimed it. It’s the guy who had intervened yesterday at the tattoo shop, and I hesitate. He’s sitting with his legs sprawled out, and he’s smoking a cigarette. His short, dark brown hair is a little wild tonight, but it just makes him look even more attractive.
When he senses me standing there, slate gray eyes connect with mine. In natural light, I note that his eyes are dark gray with blue undertones. With his tanned skin and dark hair, they are very striking.
I debate what to do. I’m not really in the mood to go find another bench, and I know from my walk here that they are few and far between. I suppose I could always stop in at one of the numerous fast food restaurants in the area, but I don’t have any money. In the end, I decide that benches are typically made for more than one person.
I motion to the opposite end. “May I?”
He blows out a puff of smoke, giving me an appraising look as he waves me towards the empty side of the bench.
I sit down, relieved to be off my feet.
“Needed a break from all that music, eh?”
“Something like that.”
His eyes shift to the front window of the candy shop, and I follow his gaze to see a mother with two little kids entering the store. “You must have a lot of patience,” he comments. We watch as one of the children runs over to a jelly bean dispenser and several scatter onto the floor. His mother quickly rushes over to admonish him.
“I need the paycheck.” Feeling curious about where I’ve seen him before, I study the handsome lines of his face as he lifts the cigarette back to his lips. “I think I’ve seen you at school.”
He blows smoke in the opposite direction so that it doesn’t drift into my face. “Probably.”
I look towards the tattoo shop. “Don’t you have to be older to work there?”
“I’m apprenticing and doing grunt work. I’ve known the owner since I was a kid,” he replies.
“So you’re training so you can one day do tattoos?” I ask with interest.
“Yes.”
“That sounds interesting.”
He flicks aside the butt of his cigarette and rises to his feet. “Break’s over. Later.”
I watch him walk into the tattoo shop, and loud music filters out onto the sidewalk before the door closes. Then, no longer distracted by the cute guy from next door, I absently rub my tender elbow. I’d landed on it in gym class earlier in the day. Soccer is not a game that I enjoy, and I’m definitely not coordinated enough for it.
Blake infiltrates my mind, and today, I’d once again found myself wondering if he’d offer me a ride. He hadn’t, just like he hadn’t on Wednesday, either. I wish I could get him off my mind, because it’s obvious that he’d simply pitied me on Tuesday since it’d been raining.
Irritation rises within me. I hate it when people pity me, and I absolutely can’t stand being looked down upon simply because I can’t afford the things that others can. I’d had to deal with a lot of that back at my old school, and they’d acted as if the price of clothing and jewelry automatically made them better than everyone else. God, I hate those types.
I close my eyes. Someday, I am going to fit in.
When my break is over, I shrug off my melancholy mood and try to be as friendly as I can. I work the rest of my shift with a bright smile, and I pretend to be someone else. Eventually, my shift ends, and I wave at Brittany as she begins to lock up the store for the night.
I start down the sidewalk, dreading the long walk ahead when all I really want to do is go to bed. It’s hard being cheerful for hours on end, and I feel drained. My arms wrap around myself as I walk past stores and restaurants before reaching the first block of houses. I don’t mind walking past the storefront windows, but I’m a little more on edge walking past residences. Growing up with my mother and her numerous boyfriends had taught me to always be on guard.
My attention shifts to the rumbling sound of a motorcycle, and I look up as one pulls over to the curb beside me. I don’t recognize the man’s dark shadow, and I quickly begin speed walking away, my heart pounding faster in my chest. My right hand clutches my backpack strap on my shoulder, and I start cursing the fact that I’d lost my pepper spray somewhere between Illinois and Ohio—thank God I hadn’t needed it while I’d been hitchhiking.
The loud engine cuts off behind me.
Shit.
Running might be a good idea right about now.
“Hey, Candy Girl!”
Candy Girl? The voice sounds oddly familiar, and I pause, turning around. The bright headlight of the motorcycle is shining in my eyes, and I raise a hand against the glare as I squint at the guy. I watch him swing a leg over the motorcycle, and then he begins walking towards me. I tense, ready to beat a hasty retreat if he so much as twitches in a threatening manner.
He pauses in front of me, towering over me slightly. “I shared my bench with you today, remember?”
Now that he’s closer, I recognize him as the hottie from the tattoo shop. “Right. Did you need something? I mean…”
“You walk to and from work every night?” he asks, studying me.
“Maybe,” I hedge, not wanting to give away any personal information. Cute or not, he’s still a stranger.
“How far do you have to walk?”
Instead of answering, I am silent. I’d instinctively trusted Blake. This guy is different. He’s harder, edgier. I can sense something within him, something dark.
“I’ll give you a ride,” he offers.
My gut is warning me to tread carefully with this one, so I follow my instincts. “I don’t have all that far to go. I’ll be fine.”
His head cocks a little to the side. “I could have sworn I saw you on Thomas Street last night, and that’s still several blocks away.”
He’d seen me walking last night? Now I’m extremely uncomfortable, and I shift on my feet, ready to run.
“Glad you’re cautious, but a long walk like that isn’t ideal for someone as young and pretty as you are,” he says, noting my body is alert and ready to jump into action. He digs into his pocket and holds something out to me. “Here.”
He isn’t holding whatever it is in a threatening manner, and because I’m the curious type, I tentatively hold out my palm. He drops something into it. It looks like a switchblade, and I press the switch. A blade shoots out, glinting in the motorcycle’s headlight.
He’s just given me a knife, and my fear slowly ebbs as I peer up at him. If he was looking for trouble tonight, he wouldn’t have given me a weapon. “Why are you giving me this?”
“You feel safer with it?” he asks bluntly.
“It’s a nice blade,” I murmur, not bothering to answer his question. I test the blade with the tip of my nail.
“Shut that thing, and you can hold onto it as I give you a ride home.”
The last of my fear fades as my gaze shifts to the motorcycle. I’ve never been on one before, and I’ve always wanted to ride one. My eyes return to him, and his broad shoulders are blocking some of the light from the motorcycle, making it difficult for me to study his darkened features. “Do you carry this daily?” I ask, referring to the knife.
“Yeah.”
“But not at school?” I ask, thinking of the metal detectors.
“No.”
I can sense that he’s the type that’s always prepared for violence. There’s just something about him that suggests his past is probably as unpleasant as my own. I peer down at the blade in my hand, contemplating my options. He’d offered me a weapon instead of pointless reassurances, and that has me admiring his bold personality. I decide to trust him, and I close the blade and slip it into the back pocket of my jeans. I doubt I’ll need it or else he wouldn’t have offered it, but I’m also not stupid. He’s not getting it back until I am safely in front of my aunt’s house.
“I live on Decauter Street,” I tell him.
“Christ, that is a walk.”
We approach the motorcycle, and he climbs on, straddling it before motioning for me to sit behind him. I’m eager now that I am no longer frightened of him, and I promptly climb on and follow his directions—wrapping my arms around his waist, my hips cradling his fine ass. My hands rest on rigid, well-defined abs, and I can tell that he’s in prime physical condition. I’m definitely attracted to him, and as we speed down the street, I find myself enjoying every second of the ride.
Much too soon, he pulls into Catherine’s driveway and abruptly cuts the engine. A little reluctantly, I release him and climb off, feeling thrilled over the ride. After trying to tame my windblown hair, I reach into my pocket and pull out the switchblade. I hand it back to him. “Thanks.”
He’s still sitting on the motorcycle, and he accepts it, tucking it into his pocket. “You have a name?”
“Fallon.”
“Odd name, it suits you.” His eyes shift past me towards the house. “I think your mom’s mad.”
I follow his gaze. Catherine is standing in front of the living room window, her arms crossed over her chest. If I’d known that Catherine had the evening off, I would have had the hottie drop me off a block away. Catherine’s a nurse and works second shift. Thanks to her schedule, we don’t cross paths too often.
“She’s not my mom,” I mutter.
He studies me before nodding and starting the motorcycle.
Time to go face Catherine. I turn and walk towards the house as I hear the motorcycle back out of the driveway, and then roar off down the street.
The second I enter the house, Catherine blocks my path—her full cheeks red with anger, and her hazel eyes are spitting fire at me. She’s bigger than me, and even though she doesn’t look like the type to physically be aggressive, I still find myself alert to her every move. Right now, her arms are still folded over her ample chest, but her stance is definitely confrontational.
“That’s the last time you bring anyone here. If you’re going to whore yourself out, do it at their place, not mine,” she says bitingly.
I stare at her with shock and swallow back my anger. “I am not a whore,” I say quietly. If Catherine knows about my mom’s willingness to accept money for sex when she’s low on cash, that means my mom was doing it when she was younger, too.
“You think I don’t see it? It’s in your eyes, it’s in the way you move. You’re just like her,” she spats.
“I am not my mother,” I say calmly as I slip my backpack off my shoulder. I’m ready to drop into bed, and I’m not feeling up to a confrontation right now.
Unfortunately, Catherine’s not about to let the subject rest. “You ever have a real boyfriend?”
Instead of answering, I stare back at her silently as I struggle not to show how offended I am over this conversation. I need to tread carefully with her since this is her home, not mine.
She snorts. “You’re not even a virgin, are you? I’m betting you lost that a long time ago.”
“I am not my mother,” I repeat, refusing to discuss my sexual history with her. It’s none of her business, but this is the price I have to pay if I want a roof over my head. She’s insisting I act respectful towards her, but she feels she doesn’t owe me the same curtesy.
Catherine unfolds her arms and waves a hand, motioning towards my body. “Go look in the mirror. You look like her, act like her, I bet you screw like her, too,” she says bitterly, her hands now settling on her curvy hips.
It’s the bitterness in her tone that has me peering at her closely, and I can see a hint of jealousy in her gaze. I think I’m beginning to understand the situation better. My mom is beautiful, and Catherine is nice enough to look at, but she isn’t slim and curved in all the right places like her sister. Her features aren’t as defined or symmetrical, and her cheeks are full and round, causing her face to appear plumper than what it is. If she’d smile more, I think she’d be more attractive, especially if she’d let her dark hair fall around her face instead of always pulling it back into a severe ponytail.
I’m guessing Catherine had been jealous of my mom as they’d grown up, and I’m beginning to wonder just how unhealthy the sisters’ relationship was before my mom slept with Catherine’s fiancé. If Catherine’s this unpleasant to me, I can’t help but speculate how she’d treated my mom when they were younger. Maybe the disintegration of their relationship rests upon both their shoulders instead of just my mom’s.
Since Catherine seems to be even more irate than usual, I need to shut this conversation down before it becomes worse, and she kicks me out. “Goodnight, Catherine,” I say as politely as I can. I make a move to walk around her, but her hand shoots out and she grabs my wrist painfully, bringing me up short. I stand there—frozen—as I fight my natural instinct to introduce my fist to her face.
“Don’t you walk away from me in my own home,” she says sharply, her eyes daring me to retaliate.
Catherine’s never laid a hand on me before, and tonight’s argument has shown me I should never assume anything where she’s concerned. She has a dark side of her own, and I’m not about to test it—not wh
en I need her. Instead of yanking my wrist out of her grip, I stand still and meet her gaze without saying anything. I’m perfectly aware that she’s not punishing me, she’s punishing my mom. None of this really has anything to do with me, it all comes down to her and her sister.
She squeezes my wrist painfully, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Tell me you’re sorry.”
I swallow my pride. “I’m sorry, Catherine,” I repeat.
On the inside, I am furious that I have to bend to her will. My past has taught me to always stand up for myself no matter the consequences, because that’s all I really have—my pride. She’s determined to slowly chip away at it though, and I am struggling to keep her from succeeding.
She abruptly releases my wrist. “Keep your food in your room. I don’t want anything of yours in my kitchen.”
“But what if it needs refrigeration—”
“Buy a mini refrigerator or a cooler,” she interrupts. Then, she turns and walks away.
I stand there for a full minute before going to the kitchen to retrieve the small food items I’d bought the other day. When I am in the privacy of my room, I set them on the dresser and move to the bed. I sink down onto it, my mouth feeling dry.
I am not my mother.
Four
Most students look forward to the weekends; I’m actually dreading it. As I walk the halls at school on Friday, a heavy feeling has settled within my chest. I don’t work again until Monday, so it’s going to be a long and miserable weekend, especially if Catherine will be around.
Between classes, I stop by my locker, and I’m reaching for a text book when I sense someone approach me. No one has really gone out of their way to talk to me—except for a few guys. Oddly enough, I’ve turned down any offers to do anything with them. Catherine’s accusations have left a bitter taste in my mouth, and I find myself a bit hesitant to fall back into my old routine.
I’m more than a little shocked when I look up and find that it’s Blake. There’s a game tonight, and he’s dressed in his football jersey. I can’t help but admire how it seems to make his shoulders look even broader.
Shameless (Loving Fallon Book 1) Page 3