If we were smart, then we were know-it-alls; if we were polite, then we were pussies; if we were educated, then we were pompous.
If we spoke candidly, we were assholes. If we were just in it for the pussy, we were dicks. And if I was a free spirit, I was psycho.
The music I listened to made me a punk. The clothes I wore made me a slacker. The job I couldn’t hold made me a freeloader.
What was with all the fucking labels?
But if I hid my intelligence, then I was the most brilliant of them all. It helped to avoid the blank stares, the judgment, and the assumptions. Because being smart didn’t make me a know-it-all, dressing in baggy jeans and concert tees didn’t make me a punk, and listening to ska didn’t mean I was a drug addict.
I was Jesse Anders: a complex guy with a simple life. The less you got in my way, the better off you were.
Maybe one day I’d figure it all out. The time would come when I would perfect myself, not letting all the heavy stuff weigh on my mind or contribute to my shitty attitude.
But that day wouldn’t be today.
When I woke the next morning, Eve had scribbled her number on a piece of paper and left it on my nightstand before she left. I rolled my eyes and tossed it in the trash.
At least she didn’t wake me for a goodbye kiss. Those always got awkward when I was shooing them out the door without responding to the request. A goodbye kiss elicited hope. And that was the last lesson I was going to teach anyone.
It wasn’t that I was a rotted soul. I could be quite soft when the situation called for it. Rare, indeed, but not something that required me stooping to any level. I was still a guy and had more pride than I knew what to do with, but I wasn’t always a dickhead. I had my moments.
I’d just returned from riding when I hopped in the shower. I scrubbed the dirt, sweat, and Eve from my skin along with the scent of her perfume. I should have at least scrubbed my dick before I’d left that morning, but my energy had spiked and I had to get out of the Madness.
Madness was what I called the flicker point; the switch that could be so easily swayed into the wrong direction. When my mind spiraled and I needed to find something solid and stable quick, I’d fall deep into the Whirl.
The Whirl was the pinnacle; the summit or peak when there was no turning back and I just had to ride it out. The episodes used to scare me, but I’d done the best I could to embrace the moments as they came hard and fast, and it was a hell of a ride.
Madness found me more often than I would’ve liked. The sensible part of me knew that I had to keep myself in check. But the Whirl had only recently picked up in its occurrences, hitting me three times in the past year. All the books said it got worse as we aged, and meds needed to be adjusted more often.
And the worst of them all was the Grim; it always followed shortly after the Whirl, and there wasn’t enough of a smooth-talker inside of me that could pacify that beast. The Grim could last for a week or months, and every day was worse than the one before.
Bree had seen the most of them. I was a puddle of goo around that girl. Something about her took me back to that innocence as a kid; it made her untouchable, pure, and made me a better man than I’d ever been in my life. My shrink once tried to pin the reason I loved Bree so much on the guilt of my sister’s death. But he put too much stock into that theory; I rarely thought about my sister at all.
A shower cooled me down. The open window in my room brought the cold morning air in with it, and goose bumps ignited over my body. I quickly pulled on a pair of briefs and threw a T-shirt over my damp torso, waiting for the warmth to come.
“Hey Jess,” a soft voice came from behind me.
I whipped around quickly, and my eyes tried to catch up with my heartbeat.
Bree.
Goddammit.
A timid mouse facing a hungry panther, she was tiny, frail, and didn’t stand a chance.
“Get the fuck out, Bree.”
“Will you please listen to me?” she pleaded, keeping her head down and taking a step forward.
“Stay away from me.” I shook my head and put on a pair of jeans. “What are you doing h—”
“I miss you,” she cut me off. “So much.”
I zipped up my fly and laughed. “Right. You missed me so much that sucking Jake’s cock was your best bet at getting me back.” I walked past her and down the hall. “The logic makes perfect sense. Probably thought if you swallowed, I’d put a ring on your finger,” I mumbled, walking to the kitchen.
I took the meds from the cupboard and put my mouth to the tap to wash them down.
“Please, let me say something,” she asked again. Her small frame drowned in my old Toots and the Maytals T-shirt, and I couldn’t help but remember when I gave it to her. Mornings like those were the best—some of the only memories I kept.
“You have three minutes,” I snapped. “Make them good.”
“I came here the other night looking for you. But you’re always gone, and your cell phone is always disconnected.”
“Easy solution: stop calling.”
She grinned, and my heart fell to my stomach. “You know I can’t do that, Jess. I’ve been trying for months to get ahold of you, and when I saw Jake at the bar, I asked him to bring me to you.” She shrugged, wiping her new blond hair back.
I liked her better brunette.
“When he said you were probably out with someone else, I knew right away what you were doing,” she added, stepping closer. “And I hated it.”
I turned my head to the side, trying to concentrate on anything besides the fact that she was inches from me. “How long are we going to do this? You’re twenty-one years old, I’m almost twenty-six—”
“As long as we have to, babe,” she whispered, her skinny fingers wrapping around my arms. “You and I will always be something. I know you can feel it. I feel it now. That kind of thing never goes away.”
I bit down, grinding my teeth, and my temper rose. Bitch just couldn’t let the past stay where it belonged. “It doesn’t matter, though, does it? We aren’t going to solve the world’s problems by debating politics all night, only to end up fucking out the resolution. Just because your fiancé is on the way to the presidency and doesn’t have time for his girlfriend’s kinky shit isn’t my problem.”
“He’s not running for president,” she laughed.
“Good. Because your scandalous past alone is enough for him take millions from the taxpayers in investigations. Keep your tongue in your mouth and leave the jerking off for your lonely, cold, morning showers, Bree. The minute you figure out you’re not wanted or needed here, the better off you’ll be.”
“I love that prick mouth of yours.” She bit her bottom lip. “I love your passion.” Leaning in, she grazed her mouth against mine.
I flinched away. “I don’t have that passion anymore, toots. There’s no solving any of it. And there certainly isn’t enough time in my life for an aristocratic liberal like yourself—not hiding under my bed, between my sheets, or making pillow talk. There’s some shit that was never meant to be.”
“I’ll keep coming back,” she said. “One of these days you’ll cave. You always do.”
“And I’ll keep listening to my gut.” I pulled her hands from my arms. “Don’t underestimate what my mind is capable of remembering. And quit using the way my mind works to your advantage. Consider yourself lucky that you spent as much time with me as you did.” I shook my head. “Walk away.”
***
“I need a drink,” I spat, sitting in Charlie’s booth after my shift that night.
She closed her notebook and took off her glasses.
“When did you get those?” I asked, pointing to the red-framed reading glasses on the table.
“I only need them when I read or write,” she said.
“You write?”
She shrugged. “Nothing exciting. Mostly journal entries.”
“Not eating tonight?” I asked, noticing the lack of dinner plate and a
lonely glass of water.
Before she could answer, Paulina brought me a beer, and I grabbed her wrist. I tipped the mug back and downed the drink in twenty seconds, then handed it back to her. “Another. Keep them coming.” I winked. “Please.”
Charlie crossed her arms over the table and chewed on the inside of her cheek, giving Paulina an apologetic smile. “Bad day?” she asked me.
“The worst.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Not at all. But maybe I should’ve. I scratched the back of my neck, trying to block out the thoughts, but they kept coming.
Then the dizziness started, and Charlie’s face became blurry, hazy.
Shit.
Too many thoughts at once flew past my eyes. I saw things, memories. Bree, Charlie, my father, Lily, barnyards and bullies, train stations, cars, weed, stained bed sheets and white pillowcases. Garbage trucks and suitcases, Zippos and tattoos, smoke, fire, water, cold breezes, and never being able to be warm enough.
Quicker than ever before, the Madness came, and I couldn’t seem to get a grip. Not even looking into Charlie’s eyes was working, when it always had before.
I wanted to tell her more about Bree, but I had no idea where to start. I’d had it all figured out when I spoke to Bree that afternoon; I was coherent and focused. I’d patted myself on the back for coming up with the words so efficiently. Sitting with Charlie only brought a visual of her walking up through the grass from the lake, bending to pick up her shirt, and walking with her head held high.
But for all the visions that came, it still hadn’t been long enough for Charlie to be uncomfortable that I hadn’t answered her question. They came so fast that only seconds had passed. I rubbed my eyes and cleared my throat to respond.
“No.”
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
“Why? Do I not look okay?”
Paulina flew by, dropping a beer in front of me.
Charlie glanced down at my green T-shirt and half-smiled. “No, it’s not that. I just…you seem off.”
She exposed me. She always had. Maybe that was the pull I had toward her. Or maybe I thought she knew more than she did. But I wanted to hear her say it. I needed to know if it was just my imagination.
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you see? What can you see when you look at me?”
She shook her head, not comprehending why I’d ask. “Rephrase the question,” she said with a small crease between her big blue eyes.
“What do you feel? How do you feel when you look at me?”
She flushed pink, a darker shade than I’d ever seen on her before. Tugging on her lip and looking down, she swallowed.
“Not that silly crush shit, Charlie. Yeah, I got it, you want me. I’m talking about the stuff that runs deeper. When you look at me, who do you see? What do you feel?”
“You think I have a crush on you?” she asked, almost appalled.
I narrowed my eyes and set my jaw. “That’s all you heard from those questions? Like it’s a big shocker that you’re jonesin’ for my cock. Let it go.” I raked a hand through my hair and exhaled my anger. “I’m talking about who you think I am! What kind of person do you see when you look at me,” I said with my voice louder than I intended.
She rolled her eyes, trying to make them dry. “Maybe we should have this conversation somewhere else,” she whispered.
My fist collided with the table, creating a boom that echoed through the room. “Now, dammit! Answer the fucking question!”
She slouched, trying to avoid the stares from the room. The vein in her neck pulsed and her hands began to shake. I sighed, acutely aware of what I’d done to her.
More stares.
More whispers.
More quiet laughter.
“Jesus, I’m sorry Red,” I whispered, reaching my hand across the table and offering an open palm. “I’m not crazy, I promise. It’s just been a bad day.”
“You make me dizzy when you’re like this,” she said softly, keeping her eyes to the wall. “That’s what I feel.”
She accepted my hand and I closed my eyes with relief. Not the relief that she took my offering, but from the speeding thoughts that disappeared with her soft touch. The Madness instantly dissipated, and I had to pause until my mind stopped spinning. The euphoric high faded, and my heart rate slowed to a manageable pace. Charlie’s soft pink skin came into focus, and I feared closing my eyes again, even if it was just to blink.
“Thank God for you, Charlie.” I thought I’d kept the words to myself, but by the look on her face I’d obviously said them aloud.
As far as I was concerned, she was the only person in the world that mattered. And that was the scariest thing about us.
I couldn’t tell her that I didn’t believe someone like her could exist. A goddamned superhero straight from the pages of the comic books I read as a kid, Charlie possessed a gift she didn’t know she had. And if she did, she refused to recognize it. That girl was far from ‘nothing,’ a mile away from ‘nobody.’
No matter who she was on the outside, there was a beauty inside of her that blasted any room she walked into. She was a magnet to everyone. But I couldn’t imagine what that felt like for her, to be the object of everyone’s desire yet never truly desired.
“I used to be overweight,” I said, running with my train of thought.
She tilted her head in confusion.
“Yep,” I added. “It was a long time ago. I think I was twelve, maybe thirteen. Before I started riding. Before I knew what to do with my…nervous energy. I had a tough couple of years. The first two foster homes I went to tried to bribe me with food. Thought they could erase what I’d seen by filling my stomach with calories. But nothing ever satisfied it.”
She pulled her hand away and I had to stop myself from grabbing it again. “Your first two foster homes?” she asked.
“Four altogether.” I nodded. “Sent away when I was ten.” I folded my fingers into my palms and pulled my hands back to my lap, thankful my knee hadn’t started bouncing yet. “But that was a long time ago. I don’t remember much about that time.”
“Your real parents sent you away?” she asked.
I nodded with a chuckle. “Yep. Can’t really blame them, though. As I’m sure you could imagine, I’m not the easiest person to live with.”
“I can’t imagine anyone sending their child away. Who does that? What kind of person is capable—”
“Don’t. You have no idea.”
Her throat bobbed with a swallow, and the compassion in her eyes killed me. It bordered on pity. “There’s nothing you could’ve done at the age of ten that should’ve made them—”
“Knock it off, Red. Don’t speak about things you aren’t educated on. It makes you sound like a moron. I gave them plenty of reasons to ditch me.”
“How!” she yelped. “How can you justify an action like that? You were their child. Their flesh and blood…”
I shook my head. “The specifics are pointless to rehash. Just take my word for it: there was no turning back after what I did.”
Her eyes, still narrowed in anger and grief, followed the lines of my tattooed arm. “There are very few things I could think of that would make me abandon—”
“Enough!” I yelled. “Maybe you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. Maybe you’re stronger than my parents were. But I’ll clue you in on something: this world isn’t filled with Charlie Johnsons. No one is like you.”
“Did you kill someone?” she asked abruptly, trying to pry it out of me.
I didn’t know how to answer that question. A part of me didn’t want to believe I had, and that at ten years old, no child could be capable of such a thing. But the way she asked it was accusatory, like again, she knew something I didn’t.
“Jesus,” she whispered after seeing my hesitation. “Did you, Jess?”
I looked away, my heartbeat picking up pace again. “Not on purpose.”
“Holy shit,” she mumbled.
“Who? How?”
“Stop asking me about this, Charlie. It’s in the past where it belongs. Just another bad choice on my part. Drop it.”
“Is this why you are what you are?” she asked innocently, but I heard the threat behind it.
“What am I?” My irritation rising, I spoke loudly. “Am I a monster? Is that what you see?”
Please don’t do this.
There were a lot of things, despite my desire for her to know, she had no business asking. Dragging Charlie through my past wasn’t something I had any intentions of allowing.
“You’re my friend. And these are things I should know about you,” she said.
I licked my lips, feeling the adrenaline spike through my veins. My knee bounced, my head shook, and my throat was dry. “Then maybe we shouldn’t be friends. If this is the shit you think you need to know, then I’ve got nothing to offer you. So just go back to your little world where you eat your ice cream at midnight and stroke your clit over the thought of a man who will never actually have a shot at getting you off.” My voice was shaky.
But I hoped to God she didn’t notice.
Her shoulders dropped and her mouth flew open. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Get used to it, sweetheart. The world is full of them.”
“Maybe, but you’re one of the worst I’ve ever met.”
“That’s a lie. I say what everyone is thinking but are too afraid of the consequences of saying it out loud,” I said.
“You know what I think? I think you thrive on being miserable. Maybe if you stopped ignoring all the shit from your past by drinking and smoking your life away, you might actually have a shot at being a relatively normal human being!” she cried.
I laughed, throwing my head back. When I returned my stare to hers, I added, “And maybe if you started forgetting a little about your past, you’d start living some semblance of a life. Get over it, Charlie. The world doesn’t owe you anything, and you aren’t entitled to shit.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” She rose from the seat and gathered her notebook, glasses, and purse. “I’m entitled to walking out of this restaurant and never speaking to you again. You can be a miserable piece of shit when you want to be.”
Progress (Progress #1) Page 15