by Kendall Duke
I could stay a couple days. I could make her feel like she’d done a good deed—which she had, although I didn’t mind sleeping rough. But she looked at me like I was a person. She’d smiled at me for no reason other than I was there, and I was hurt and her job was simple and she was good at it. That was all. I could hang out. I could cook some food and make her laugh a couple times and make sure she didn’t feel ashamed of being sad, because everybody is, once in a while, and it’s alright to want to feel someone’s arms around you when reality hits.
I wished I could do more than that.
I wished I could give her what she really deserved, get rid of what really made her lonely—I wished I could make love to her, every inch of her, I wished I could touch her like I used to touch women and make her smile and feel adored, I wished I could break the hold loneliness had on her. But I didn’t deserve that. Didn’t even deserve to think about it, so I stopped.
I could fix that damn window, though. I could do that, and take a look at her water heater. Now that, I could do.
I stood up and got to work.
~~~
Trinity
I woke up to the smell of frying bacon. It was late; I could tell from the colors breezing through my window that it was at least five o’clock in the afternoon, and I’d been asleep a long time. Too long. The graveyard shift always messed me up for a couple of days. I hoped Linsey would figure out how to manage her patients a little better and wondered if we would be short now all of the time without Mina around. Assuming she was still on her way to Spain.
I sat up and wondered where that delicious smell was coming from before my memories intruded on the peace of the afternoon. When it all came back to me, I immediately collapsed on my back and threw the pillow over my face.
I’d invited a strange man to stay here, after crying in his arms like some kind of boogery moron. Wow. Hell of a way to celebrate the worst birthday in history, Trin, I told myself. Nice work. And to cap it all off, I was probably on the local PD’s shit list and the man in question was the survivor of not one but two knife fights—in one night! And per his own report, not a good guy. An armed robbery get-away driver who moonlighted on the meth-head fisticuff circuit.
Holy moly, Trin, I thought to myself, you are a grade-A moron. First class.
I tried not to beat myself up, usually. It was a bad habit from a long adolescence of being too anxious to talk to many people unless, of course, there was some kind of injustice that overwhelmed my nerves. This sometimes made me appear sanctimonious and judgmental to my peers, when they bothered to notice me at all, except, of course, for-- I stopped just in time. I wasn’t doing that to myself, on top of everything else. And I needed to just… Get up. Forgive myself and get out of bed and find out how much of my furniture the man in question sold on craigslist while I was passed out.
As I swung my legs over the side of the bed I remembered he was the one that pulled my shoes and socks off. He was the one that brought me water, and sat next to me, and told me I was a good person. I wasn’t allowed to beat myself up for wanting someone to be kind to me on the worst birthday of my life, and I wasn’t allowed to beat him up either. He’d done nothing to tell me he was anything less than a hero, really. No matter what other warnings he gave, or anybody else said about his past—he saved my life. He’d done what I asked, and gone to the police, even though he definitely knew it was just a set-up to hide their mistakes and send him back to jail. And he’d… He’d been so incredibly kind. I couldn’t remember the last time someone was that kind to me, that patient and compassionate.
Maybe my dad. That was it. And that meant it was at least two years ago.
I heaved myself off of the bed. I did not like the pity-party feeling that rested on my shoulders. So what if last night was terrible, and my judgment was also pretty terrible, and my hair looked terrible too? I had a sense of humor, and purpose, and somewhere, somebody was making some bacon. The world wasn’t all bad.
I changed into clean jeans and a t-shirt and went out into the hall, readying myself for anything. Even with my little pep talk, I brought my cell-phone and pre-dialed 911, just in case. When I looked around the living room, though, the only change I could detect was that someone tidied it up.
The house was cleaner—not that it was dirty before, but someone swept up the trail of debris Mina left in her wake and moved her stack of empty boxes away from the front door. Her bedroom door was open, and I could tell the bed had been stripped. The washing machine was humming away, and when I looked closer I could see that it was on ‘warm,’ which meant… The water heater was fixed? Did the property manager come by while I was asleep?
That guy was the worst. But at least it was working. Maybe I could even shower… After I saw Eric, and made sure he wasn’t running a fight club in my back yard.
I went into the kitchen and saw Eric at the sink, doing dishes. For some reason, the image was utterly absurd… And definitely arousing, as if I’d stumbled on one of those internet memes about how the best foreplay was housework, and a smiling male model with perfect abs was… Well, doing dishes. There was a stack of pancakes waiting for me and a bowl of scrambled eggs; the bacon looked just about done—a little crispy, the way I liked it—and there was fruit in a bowl on the counter. When I glanced past him, I saw a new pane of glass in the window. Fixed.
And everything was clean. Very clean.
I was either dreaming or I’d lost my mind and thought I was living in a joke from the Onion about perfect house husbands.
“Hi,” Eric said, and stopped what he was doing to go flip the bacon. “You like it like this? Or want it a littler darker?” Jesus, there were those abs, completing the picture. I shook my head as if I were going to wake myself up, caught him watching me, and tried to smile at him. In a normal, not crazy way.
“That’s fine,” I said, thinking it was better than fine. Maybe I’d woken up in some kind of fantasy I borrowed from a romance novel, because this wasn’t a joke, and I definitely didn’t feel like laughing—I felt like, well.... Eric’s shirt must’ve been in the wash. His sweat pants hung very low on his hips, revealing that he wasn’t wearing any underwear, and he was barefoot. There was a very faint sheen of sweat on his smooth, olive skin, as if he’d been working at something for a while—like maybe cleaning my entire house, fixing broken appliances and cooking a delicious meal, for example. And… He was gorgeous. He was absolutely, completely gorgeous. Now that we were out from under the fluorescents and he was moving around I could see the miles of flexing, taut muscle under his tattooed skin. I could point at them and name them, as if I were giving an anatomy lecture, they were so distinct and flawless. He didn’t look like a muscle-head though… Just naturally lean and built, tall and lovely and… I felt myself blushing as I imagined some of the other ways he could probably work up a sweat. Not that I would know, of course, but a girl can dream.
And then he turned around with a plate of bacon, and the view somehow got even better. He had the kind of face that belonged on television, or the movies--strong and handsome, those almond, honey-colored eyes watching everything and everyone from under lashes so thick they cast shadows on his cheek. His beard was growing in a bit and he only looked better for it, the five o’clock shadow emphasizing his high cheekbones and full lips. I could stare at that face all day, and more importantly, all night.
Maybe I would. Heck, if he wanted to move in at this point I’d consider it. He made a hell of a better room-mate than Mina and he’d been here for about eight hours.
“Hope you like breakfast food,” he said, his eyes flicking towards me. “I went and got some fruit. Don’t know what kind you usually eat.” He shrugged and sat down, then seemed to remember he was mostly naked. “My clothes are in the wash,” he told me, his eyes meeting mine now. “Hope that’s alright. They needed a rinse.”
I’ll bet. I would’ve thrown them away, what with the blood and holes and all that, but I didn’t want to wonder if he had any others. Some
thing told me that as much as I didn’t like a pity party, Eric Marchado was positively allergic to them. “Thank you for making breakfast,” I said. “I love pancakes. And bacon.”
“A woman with taste,” he said, his eyes flashing, but then he reached for an orange and focused on peeling it. “Breakfast food’s the only thing I can make,” he told me, then gave me his usual half-smile before glancing down at his plate again and taking a bite.
“It looks like you fixed the window,” I prompted, and he nodded. “And the water heater?” He nodded again, nonplussed. “You fixed it? Gary didn’t come by?”
“Is that his name?” Suddenly, the air around Eric simmered with tension. I abruptly remembered he’d just gotten out of prison.
“Um… The property manager?” I’d been calling him for two days. Of course he’d show up when I was snoring.
“I fixed it,” Eric said flatly. “And I told him if I saw him around here again I would fucking break him in half.”
Fantasy over. I put my fork down. My heart was racing in my chest. Eric’s hands were wrapped in white-knuckled fists on the counter, his food forgotten, but when the sound of my silverware clanged on the counter he seemed to remember where he was. He bit his lip and faced me.
“Gary came in the house while I was in the kitchen,” he said, his amber eyes still heated. “He didn’t call out—he just used the key, didn’t know I was here. I found him going in to your room.” His nostrils flared. “He had his phone out—he was taking pictures of you while you slept. I got the feeling it wasn’t the first time.”
My food turned to ash in my mouth. Mina always said that guy was a total creeper. She told me she thought he went through our trash. It was out of character for her to falsely accuse someone of something like that—Mina was so flighty she barely knew what day it was—that I should’ve known something must’ve been really wrong for her to notice. And it was totally in character for me to think the best of someone, only to be horribly disappointed.
“Listen,” Eric said, and I looked up sharply when his hand started to stray towards mine on the countertop, as if he wanted to touch me again. “I’m sorry if you liked the guy. Maybe you had a thing going on or something, but…” His face twisted, his eyebrows furrowing. “Nevermind. I can’t imagine you with a dude like that,” he said, his expression settling on defiant fury as he locked eyes with me, daring me to contradict him. “And if you were, you’re fucking welcome. I’ll beat his ass again. You can do better than that piece of shit.”
“Wow,” I said, leaning back, “what are you, part pit-bull?”
“I told you I’m not a nice guy,” he said, our eyes still fastened on one another. “Eventually you’re going to believe me.”
“I believe you right now,” I said, “but you can’t blame me if—” If every single thing he did gave me the opposite impression. I bit my lip and stared back at him.
I should be afraid of him. I should be, but I wasn’t. Not at all. And even though in that split second before he explained why he was so angry I was definitely frightened by his rage, I felt… Protected.
And I liked it.
“You don’t deserve this shit,” he said softly, but his eyes never left mine. “This thing, with the room-mate, and this guy… That shit last night. Your luck is as bad as mine. Maybe worse.”
“Thank you!” I threw my hands up, startling him, and he slid back in his chair a little and cocked an eyebrow. He was right; I was way too comfortable around him, and for absolutely no reason that I could explain. I was freer with Eric than I’d been—Nevermind. “I was feeling really crazy earlier about it all—it was just too much, right? It’s a lot.”
“It’s a lot,” he said, settling back into his plate of pancakes. “And then that motherfu…” He took a vicious bite out of the bacon, practically snarling, then his shoulders slumped. “And now you’re hanging out with an ex-con. Damn, girl. Did you knock a witch off her broom or something?”
“I am kinda cursed,” I said, but I was feeling oddly cheerful. I pulled my plate back towards me and took a bite of bacon. The sun was setting behind Eric’s shoulder, and as the light cascaded through the window, a halo encircled that shining head of black hair. Dark angel, indeed. “Tell me what you told Gary.”
“Enough,” Eric said, nonchalantly taking another bite of his food. “That’s what I told him.”
I couldn’t fight the smile that crept across my face. I hadn’t expected him to be such a smart-ass… Although, maybe I should’ve. “So helpful, Eric. What did you actually say to the guy? He could be calling my landlord right now.”
“He’s not calling anybody,” Eric said, dipping a piece of pancake in a puddle of syrup with studied indifference. “Be a little hard for him to talk yet, given that he’s missing a couple of teeth. And nobody sounds the same after their nose is broken, anyway.”
My fork stopped mid-way to my mouth. “What?”
“Hmm?” He raised his eyebrows as he gave me a blank look, then ate some more pancake.
“What did you say?”
“That’s what I’m telling you,” he shrugged. “I didn’t say much at all.”
“Eric…” I put my head in my hands and sighed deeply. “I don’t… I don’t have enough money to move out, if he—”
“If he calls your landlord and says someone caught him in your apartment, taking pictures of you?” Eric shook his head definitively. “Guy like that, he doesn’t need any extra attention. If we called the police right now and sent them over there, they’d probably catch him burning polaroids out back and smashing his hard drive with a hammer.”
I pushed my plate away for a second time, and he stopped eating and watched me for a second. “I met guys like him in prison, Trinity. That’s all I’m saying. You get a sense about people, after a while.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have told you all of that—maybe any of it. I’m sorry.”
“This all happened while I was asleep?”
“I pushed him out the front door so we wouldn’t wake you up.”
“And the neighbors didn’t say anything?”
“I’m pretty sure I heard somebody clap,” Eric said, once again languidly dipping his pancake in syrup, and I couldn’t help it when a small laugh crept out of me. Gary was not well-liked, this was true. And if even Mina knew something was wrong with him… I was so oblivious.
That thought wiped the smile right off of my face, which was kind of good because I felt guilty for laughing anyway, but also kind of bad, because--
“Hey,” Eric’s soft voice caught me off guard, and when I looked up he was watching me again. “Don’t do that to yourself. You’re not supposed to know what creeps like him are like—you’re never supposed to meet people like him, or Rico, or me. So stop that.”
“Stop apologizing. Stop doing this, stop doing that.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re bossy, you know that?”
“You didn’t? I’ve been in three fights in eight hours—won ‘em all, too.” He raised his eyebrow, and this time there was a cocky little glint in his eye.
“All in a day’s work, huh?” I couldn’t believe I was talking to him like this. Or that he was talking to me. It was almost like we were… Flirting. “Is that your normal shift?”
“Nah,” he said, and there was definitely a dimple buried somewhere in his left cheek. “Normally, I hit the gym and then the laundry and then back to the gym and then I fight in the showers. Normally.”
“Ah,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Just like Law and Order.”
“Normally,” he said, shrugging and giving me one more quick, devious look before returning to his breakfast, that scrupulously cultivated blankness back in place.
“Who is Rico?” I was suddenly suspicious, remembering his words, but he pursed his lips like he smelled something bad and took another bite.
“Rico is the punk from the ER.”
“Rico?” My father’s mother tongue floated through my head. “Um… No. Edward Too—”
�
�Don’t ask me,” Eric said, shrugging. “His name makes about as much sense as anything else that’s happened in the last twenty four hours: it doesn’t.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes, but then my curiosity got the better of me. I didn’t know where this was coming from; I made jokes, I quietly disappeared—I deflected. I did not engage, certainly not with stupidly handsome five star bad-boys. “Seriously, though… You were locked up for two years?”
“It’s boring,” he said immediately, in a way that let me know he didn’t really want to talk about it. “That’s what’s different from all the bullshit on Law and Order, or whatever. People fight, and fall in love, and eat the worst food you can imagine; they spend all day in the gym, the TV room, and working. I was in the laundry,” he explained, “and the real truth, the painful truth, is that prison is boring as hell. I felt like I was stuck in some kind of extremely fucked up prep school.”
“Because it’s so regimented?”
He nodded. “And just dudes. Dudes fucking everywhere.”
“Yeah,” I said, making my voice go all dreamy. His eyes snapped over to mine. “Sounds terrible.”
“Girl, you don’t even—”
“I’m just messing with you!” I covered my smile with my hand this time; he scowled at me, a welcome change from the usual purposeful nonchalance, and I grinned. “Don’t make it so easy.”
Another flicker of a smile as he returned to his plate. “I didn’t know you had jokes, is all. Or a temper,” he continued, studying his food. “Wrong on both accounts, way you took down those cops.”
“I didn’t know you could talk, so I’d say we’re even.” That time he did smile.
“I’m glad we’re even,” he said softly, taking another bite of his food, and then the smile was gone.
“We’ll never be even,” I said, watching him, “until I punch your stalker in the nose.” That did it; he even coughed out a little laugh. “And drop your would-be kidnapper like I’m sacking a quarterback. What would you say my odds are?”