The Prick Next Door

by Rose Queen

  "You kept it?" I ask. "Why?"

  He scratches his beard. "Because you're my daughter. Because I remember your smile when you made it. I didn't approve of your interest in it, yet I didn't want to forget that smile. So I hid it. I should have given it back to you. It was only a toy at the time, but I didn't want you getting more and more attached. It's strange how I wanted to keep it from you but also remember you that way. Can you forgive me for that?"

  "Of course," I say quickly.

  This is the closest we've come to a meaningful conversation in two months. Who knows why he kept that little bow in spite of not wanting me to have it? Who knows how he was able to love a woman who never loved their children or him in the same way? Who knows why he kept his friendship with Mr. Gunner so close to his heart?

  Not all feelings or actions or intentions can be reduced to one solid explanation. Motivations aren't always that simple. Emotions are diverse.

  Cassius would say that's what makes the heart incredible. That's what makes us real. That's what makes us flawed. That's what makes us redeemable. That's what makes us, hopefully, still good people.

  Papa sighs. "You could have shot an arrow all this time, whenever you went out."

  That's not the point.

  "I don't want this—" I lift the bow, "—to be a temporary thing."

  "Am I a blind old fool, Annabelle?"

  "No," I promise. If my eyes weren't so raw from crying in the cabin, the vulnerability in his voice might have caused my tears to flow again.

  "I wanted you and Cassius to have a friendship. I wanted that in honor of his father. I wanted you to have some sort of connection to the outside world. I thought it was important. It's your right of passage. But I trusted you wouldn't...I didn't expect...I didn't expect just how far you would go. I never thought you'd risk such a thing as your place here. Was I wrong to think you were merely being stubborn and loyal to David by not participating? Or... besides the bow, have I ever held you back in some other way?"

  "No. Never."

  "Are you happy?"

  In that moment, I do the one thing I never thought I'd do when faced with that question: I hesitate. "I'm not unhappy," I finally manage. "With you and Elsie, I have enough."

  "Oh, my Annabelle." With effort, he shakes his head. "That's not enough for you. Not while you carry that bow."

  "That's not true! I can go hunting in the mornings. No one has to know. And I can still be here. I adore my family. You and Elsie. This is where I'm from. This is my home—"

  "Do you love him?"

  The backs of my eyes burn. I close them and see Cassius's face as I always see it. I feel every moment I spent with him and every word we shared. I feel the word always like it's a tangible thing. The same tangible thing that rocks me to sleep each night.

  Yes, I do. I love him. I love him desperately.

  And he loved me. He loves me. Doesn't he?

  Panic jolts through me. Does he still feel that way? Are three months enough time to forget?

  "Annabelle." Papa pushes out the words. "Go to him."

  My body splits in half. I step back, but my father is suddenly there, taking my shoulders, anchoring me to the floor. "I know what it's like to be stuck between the people I love."

  I think of my mother. And I peek over at Elsie, still trapped in the corner. Papa has spent years torn between his wife and his daughters. Then when she died, he remained between Elsie and me.

  "I know what it's like. I don't want that to happen to you," he says.

  "But it's a choice I can't undo. I don't know anything about—"

  "You’re a woman. Be with him. If you decide you want to stay in that world with him, we..."

  "We'll understand," Elsie finishes, stepping out of the shadow.

  "Annabelle," Papa says. "Go. And find out."

  Find out. Someone else once said that to me. Whichever choice I make—my family or Cassius—I will be giving up something for the rest of my life. It sounds impossible. But if there's always this feeling, this bond, maybe it will hurt just a little less.

  The bow is still tucked in my hand. I clutch it for strength.

  And on the following Friday, they drive me to a train stop on the outskirts of our community. Armed with the address from Cassius's package, I hug my father and Elsie goodbye. He tells me to take a cab from the train station. He tells me to be careful. He tells me to be good. He tells me to make sure Cassius looks out for me, and me him.

  In a delicate voice, he tells me, "We will miss you."

  I hop from the truck and start across the snow. It's an unseasonably warm day for winter. The landscape is plush and white and clear. It's midday, and there are so many hours ahead of me, and so much to see.

  The more steps I take, the faster I walk. I feel the way I did riding his motorcycle, my arms wrapped tightly around him, when our trips turned me into a bird like the one on his ring. And I smile.

  And that's when I start running.

  15

  The Prick Next Door

  I splash water on my face in the bathroom, then scrutinize my reflection in the mirror. Yup, I'm still there. Somehow.

  A guitar riff splinters through my apartment from the heart of the living room. Bailey wanted to bring ‘a few friends’ over, and I'd known what that meant, so I'd shrugged and told him it was fine. Whatever. A party is kind of overdue anyway. It's been a mellow two months.

  Twisting, I pull down the side of my jeans and check the status of the new tattoo inked on my hip. I run my thumb over the design and let the memories unfurl.

  Someone bangs on the door. "Come out, Prick."

  Dylan. I open the door and see him frowning. He's been doing that a lot—pretty much ever since he saw me get out of Cray's car the day we got back to the city. My aviators hid the redness of my eyes, but that was irrelevant. My brother has x-ray vision. What he saw behind the sunglasses had drained the relief from his face over having me back.

  He checks me up and down. "Good. You're in one piece."

  I smirk. "I was primping."

  We chuckle. Despite my moodiness, we're both better now that Mom is out of the picture.

  At first, we'd crammed into the one bedroom apartment above the café. But a month later, he bought a house with the money he'd been saving, and left me this place. We own the building, thanks to Dad, so I don't have to worry about rent. And I've been working at the café again. Things are sort of normal.

  "You're not going to hide in here and make me deal with your bitch all night, are you?" Dylan asks.

  I move past him and into the hall, asking over my shoulder, "Since when do I ever hide?"

  Dylan doesn't respond.

  The living room smells of jasmine perfume and beer breath. Graham and Sam are here, as well as some other people I don't know. Annie and Johanna are giving Bailey a show. They're grinding against one another to the music, swathed in tight denim and leopard print, while he reclines on the sofa and admires them.

  I wrinkle my nose. Did this really used to be my antidote to rage?

  The minute Annie and Johanna see me, their gyrations become more pronounced. Their breasts knock together as they stare right at me, but I don't take the bait.

  It does fuck all for me.

  Without looking away from them, Bailey reaches up and behind to grab my arm, stopping me from walking by. "Baby, you gotta watch this."

  I can recall a time about six months ago, not too long before I was sent to Mr. Chaste, when Annie and Johanna went at it in front of me. With less clothes.

  "I've seen it before," I remark.

  Groaning, Bailey's head flops against the sofa. He's desperate to break me out of my sexual funk. I haven't been with anyone since Annabelle. I don’t want anyone else.

  In the corner, I notice Glimmer flirting with Graham. She casts me a scorned look. I had to pry her hands off me pretty quickly after we saw each other again. She'd gotten the point, but she's still holding a grudge.

  Sam is busy chat
ting up his date. He looks so preoccupied that I take advantage. I steal his shot glass and down the contents, then hand it back to him with a wink.

  He laughs. "Having fun?"

  "No," I answer and then leave the couple alone. I climb through the window and park my ass on the fire escape. My nose ices up quickly from the polar temperature. The stars are the same ones over the Chaste farm tonight. Maybe she's at the kitchen window watching them. Maybe she's plucking a bow and arrow.

  "How romantic," Bailey chimes, climbing out and planting himself across from me. He pulls out a cigarette and lights up. Fire glints off the planes of his face.

  "If you're not interested in one of the girls, I'm still here," he suggests. "I dream about kissing you."

  "I know you do."

  He kicks my foot. "Smart ass."

  We stare at the empty street below. The wincing echo of a cricket strings through the air from an unknown location.

  Bailey taps the cigarette against his knee. "Cass—"

  "Shut up."

  "Fine, but at least..." He jerks his thumb toward the apartment. "At least think about one of them going down on you. What about Glimmer?"

  I glare. "Isn't there someone you can't forget? Someone you felt...that way...about?"

  His eyes darken. I've never seen him this serious before.

  He stares at me.

  He stares.

  At me.

  Me.

  Shit. I always thought he was just having fun making passes at me.

  I wince, feeling guilty and blind as hell. "Bails—"

  He waves me off, the orange butt of his cigarette slashing through the darkness. "Don't go there. It's weird. We didn't know each other when you were just a good little boy. It's weird if you suddenly turn all Sympathetic Cassius on me now."

  We met while I was getting the dandelion tattoo. He saw me in the parlor with my shirt off and hit on me before the drill stopped buzzing. I wonder when his attempts to kiss me had ceased being a product of his libido and began to mean more. I wonder what all my indifferent rejections did to him.

  I grimace at the iron bars marching across the fire escape. "How do you stand being my friend?"

  "You ever see that Nick Cage movie, Adaptation?"

  "No."

  "So there's this scene where one of the twins that Cage is playing talks about the unrequited love of his life. This dream girl who ridiculed him in school. And he explains that he was happy still loving her—"

  "Are you saying I've been purposefully treating you like crap?"

  "Fuck, Cass. No. Don't take it so literally. Let me finish." He takes another drag. "So Cage's character says it's fine to still love that wench because those feelings belonged to him alone. The ability to feel that way was his. No one could take it away or ruin it. There's this line Cage says at the end of his speech. You ready?"

  I wait, and Bailey quotes, "’We are what we love. Not what loves us.’" Then he pauses. "Don't get me wrong. It'd be a lot hotter if you felt the same, but I still get to love you anyway. The feeling is still mine. You know?"

  I don't know. I wouldn't be okay wanting someone who didn't want me back, but the theory seems to help my friend. That's good enough for me.

  He sighs. "Anyway, I know you miss that girl, Annabelle. But can you just start trying to be okay?"

  I gaze at his hopeful face. I utter my next words mainly because Annabelle would want me to say them. And because it will reassure Bailey. Not because I really think it's going to be that easy.

  "Yeah. I can try. But I'm doing it my way," I say, then nip my chin toward the party and the girls. "Not your way."

  He salutes me. "You're the boss. I'm the bitch."

  As I snigger, Dylan pops the top half of his body out the window. "Cassius—"

  "This is a Couples Only zone," Bailey declares, circling his finger around the fire escape.

  Dylan rubs his temples. His cheeks are red but not in a festive way. He seems anxious.

  My chest constricts as a bizarre off-season current of warmth rustles my clothes. The atmosphere suddenly feels different.

  I frown at him. "What's up?"

  "You have a visitor downstairs. The Girl on the Wall."

  I head down the steps. I turn the corner. Into the café. And stop.

  Her braid hangs over her left shoulder. She'd been gazing around the place in wonder, but when she hears me, her beautiful profile twists in my direction.

  We both step back. A helicopter chooses that moment to circle above the street and flash a beam through the closed blinds of the storefront. I rub my eyes, expecting her to disappear and take my heart with her again.

  I open my eyes. She's still there. My pulse launches into warp speed.

  "Annabelle..." I whisper. Her name tastes like salt and corn and fresh water.

  She swallows as though she can taste it, too.

  I smell the farm on her. The soil. The wheat field. It's beyond surreal. Her. Here.

  My fingers curl. I want to grab her.

  She points to the red-tiled wall where baskets are lined along shelves. The baskets are empty for the night, but mini chalkboards are propped in front of them, listing bread types and prices. "You should arrange the loaves in alphabetical order," she says. "And you're charging too much for the sourdough."

  "Annabelle, what are you—"

  "Do you offer half price for the older loaves? Because you should."

  What the fuck?

  "Is something wrong?" I ask. "Did something happen at home?"

  She gazes at me with those familiar gray eyes that I've come to adore. Her headdress and apron are nowhere to be found. She wears the green cotton dress I remember. The one that always brings out the flush in her cheeks.

  Her blush intensifies when I notice her overnight bag in the corner. I'm reeling. I'm delirious. I don't know what to expect. I don't know what to say. Or what part of her body I want to touch first.

  "What are you doing here?" I manage.

  She sucks in her lips and crushes them together. Commotion erupts from behind me. I wheel around to see Dylan and Sam herding my guests like cattle from the stairway, through the café, and toward the front door. Aside from the fire escape, this is the only way in and out of the building. As my brothers corral everyone to the exit, they both give me looks that say Annabelle and I can be alone now.

  People pass by me, bumping their fists against my shoulder and saying goodnight. They cast curious glances at Annabelle. Especially the girls. She stiffens at the parade of Spandex and low-rise jeans that slink by. The purple shadow beneath Annie's raised brow. The click of Johanna's heels. The competitive pout on Glimmer's face.

  And Annabelle. My Annabelle. She matches Glimmer's territorial glare with one of her own, jutting out her chin, turning slowly and following the girl's departure.

  Bailey is the last to emerge. He halts when he sees Annabelle. I detect a flash of pain hidden behind his features, but he swiftly covers it up with a genuine smile. He shocks her by seizing her hand and kissing her knuckles. "Welcome to the city," he says, then swings his arm toward me. "He's all yours."

  Pausing behind her, he points over her head and mouths to me, DO NOT let her go again, you Prick.

  He struts out of the café. The door closes. The bell attached to the handle gives a fragile little ring. Then it's quiet again.

  The possessive expression Annabelle aimed at Glimmer gives me hope. I step forward, but my smile dies when she nails me with her watery eyes. The confidence she mastered a second ago is gone. Her voice is feeble. "Who were those people?"

  "My brother. And Bailey. And the rest were guests."

  "Those girls, too?"

  "Bailey brought them over."

  "Have you been with them?"

  I cringe. I wish I could, but I can't undo the parts of my life that happened before I met her. "No, but—"

  Her chin quivers. I feel my eyes dilate to the size of dinner rolls. Dylan is right. I'm such a shithead. It's only
now that I realize she wasn't asking me if I'd slept with them before I met her. She was asking if I've slept with them recently, since I left the farm.

  She walks backward, holding up her hands. "I'm a stupid girl."

  "Annabelle, no—"

  "Clearly, I've interrupted something."

  "No!"

  She runs out of the building. I storm after her, shouting her name, but she's already made it to the end of the block. My arms pump hard, my feet slamming onto the sidewalk, the frigid temperature stinging my cheeks. My hand rips out and catches her by the elbow, jerking her to a standstill on the corner. We stumble for balance on the icy concrete. Tears smear her face as she grunts and tries to fight me off.

  I steady her arms. "Annabelle, that's not what I meant. I didn't think you were asking about now. I had something with those girls a long time ago, but nothing's happened since I got home. Nothing. I don’t want them. They’re nothing but regrets to me."

  Relief floods her face, but she still won't look my way. I can't stand it. "Hey, I told you not to break eye contact with me, remember?"

  Her head snaps up. "Ididn'twantyoutogo."

  "Huh?"

  "I didn't want you to go," she cries. "I didn't want you to leave, but you had to. You asked me to come with you, but I said no. And I chose my family. And I'm sorry."

  "It's okay. I love my brother. I get it."

  "I'm sorry I came here without letting you know, but we couldn't contact each other, and I got the bow, and it's incredible, and I almost hit my target..."

  She likes the bow I sent her. It took me all three months to save up for it. And she likes it.

  "...I got too used to sitting by the fire alone, but then David forgave me, and we're friends. And my father understands now..."

  I shake my head, wanting to stop her, but no words come out.

  "...and he reminded me I’m a woman now, and that I should take a chance to be with you. I came for you. I had to see you..."

  I never thought I'd see the day when Annabelle Chaste would refuse to shut up.

  "... and then I'll have to decide, and I came here..."