These Things About Us

by Laura Beege

  On Saturday night when people were tumbling out of the bar one by one, I clasped Sierra’s hand and hauled her off to the ladies’ room. We pressed past a drunk girl with a tramp stamp and I locked the door behind us, shutting out the bawling and the music.

  “Wow, please tell me you just like being dramatic and are not asking me to hide a body for you.” Sierra smoothed her black braids back and bore her stare into my skull.

  Keeping my eyes on the door handle, because I simply couldn’t look at her with what I was about to admit, I recounted Tuesday night’s events for her from being overwhelmed by Trace’s friends to the abrupt ending of the almost kiss, then I added “And now I can’t get it out of my head. It’s not only his smell, but how his hands made my whole body rise to attention and how close his lips were and it’s like I’m possessed by this idea of kissing him and, well, doing more, but I don’t know why, because I really don’t like him that way. It’s just…”

  “Sexual attraction, Darling, nothing wrong with that,” she said after being patient about my rambling for minutes. “People are animals. We fuck around.”

  “No. No, Sierra, I don’t want to be like that anymore. I fooled around for years. The next person I sleep with is supposed to mean something to me.” I wanted to curl into a ball and forget all about how close Trace’s lips had come to mine.

  “So don’t sleep with Trace. Just fantasize about him. Every taken woman that comes in here does, for god’s sake. That’s what you do when you’re in a relationship with a mediocre man. You look at the hot ones and give them the starring role in your fantasies.” She didn’t understand that I didn’t even want to think about him that way. I didn’t want to have some subconscious drive to sleep with any hot man because that drive could overwhelm me sooner or later and when it did, I’d be back to square one. It was a threat that needed to be eliminated.

  “I just need to get him out of my head somehow.”

  “My first suggestion would be to sleep with him and get it over with but then again you don’t want that and you probably want to keep your job.”

  “You’re not helping,” I moaned and buried my head in my hands. “Don’t you have some secret remedy for me?” I knew it was pointless to ask for a cure but what I got was almost as good: An encouraging smile from Sierra and her hands rubbing up and down my arms. I got someone who really cared about me.

  “Listen, we can work this out. Maybe I can work as much with Trace as I can and you get all the shifts I work with Alex and Wesley, yes?” She cupped my face and tilted my head up. “We just have to do it gradually, secretly. This kind of drama is why most girls leave this place. Luckily, you have the immeasurable benefit of me liking you more than Anya. That little shit still owes me money.” I guessed Anya was one of the former waitresses, one of those who had acted on their hot fantasies.

  “Thank you, Sierra. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

  “Aw, come here, you tiny thing!” Sierra wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me so close, my face ended up smashed into the crook of her neck. I had one of her braids in my mouth, but I wasn’t going to complain. I folded my arms around her waist.

  Even if I found my mother, I wouldn’t find better friends than these. Or a better place to be. Well, maybe better than the stinky toilet, but The Dirty Dungeon and Wes and Sierra and Alex had grown on me. Even Trace, as much as he confused me and pushed my buttons.

  “Everything good now?” Sierra leaned back and inspected my face. “Still upset?”

  “Yes and no,” I said, relief washing over me. I had a friend who would help me handle this. “You can go back. I just need one more minute.”

  “Okay.” Sierra patted my cheek before leaving the ladies room.

  I splashed my face with cold water and spent at least five minutes trying to get the smeared mascara off without spreading it all over my face because I only had paper towels and cheap soap. I tightened my hair into a bun on top of my head and gave my reflection a big, toothy smile. I’d wear that smile until I got to my bedroom where I could drown in my misery until Sierra and I figured out how to switch shifts without drawing attention.

  I twisted the door handle and stepped into the small hallway that lead to the bathrooms. The yellow light hardly brightened the narrow space, but it was still enough to recognize who was standing in front of you. From his unkept black hair to the paint-splashed pants, he looked like he always did. Maybe a bit more exhausted but that could very well have been the light.

  “Hi there,” I smiled and stepped aside to let Reese get to the men’s room. His lips cracked apart and revealed those nicotine-yellow teeth of his.

  “Tony, right?” He said and pressed himself against the other wall as if he was about to get past me, but he stopped right across from me, leaving only a few inches between us. He should take another step and then another and just get into the bathroom, but his eyes were fixed on me and he made no move towards the men’s room.

  “Yes,” I replied, my smile slowly falling. I didn’t like this closeness. I didn’t like the smell of cold smoke in his breath. And I didn’t like the way he looked at me. I’d seen that look before. I used to see it as a compliment. Yay, someone thought I was desirable. Now, it made my skin itch. I didn’t like people looking at me like I was a piece of meat, much less so men who were old enough to be my father.

  I tried to sidestep but Reese’s arm shot out and put a barrier between me and the door to the pub. “Do you remember who I am?”

  Of course I remembered, but I wasn’t sure if it would be better to tell him the truth and give him the feeling that he was special enough to make a lasting impression or if lying and possibly angering him would get me out of here faster. I took a deep breath, counted to four, just like I was taught if I had to calm my nerves, and exhaled. I had to chill. After all, as far as I knew, he was just up in my personal space and trying to keep me for a short chat.

  I settled for half the truth: “You’re the Bulmers pear guy. And you give nice tips. Thanks for that.” Putting on a polite smile was harder than it should be. No matter how much I told myself that this was just small talk with a slightly drunk guy, my pulse still hammered in my ears and my legs tensed, ready to run.

  “I know a way you can thank me,” he slurred and put his other arm out, too, caging me between him and the wall. This was not small talk.

  I swallowed, “How about having your next Bulmers on me? I can get you one right now.”

  “Don’t be mean,” he said and laid his hand on my shoulder. My eyes skidded to his big, meaty fingers. I had no idea how I was being mean by offering him free drinks, but I had a very clear picture of how this could end.

  I cleared my voice and with the most authority I could work into my voice, I said, “Please back off, I am not interested in you, Reese.”

  “So you do remember my name. See, I knew you liked me.” He leaned in closer and his other hand fell down to my hips. My breath trembled through my lungs as the heat of his body started to hit me.

  “Back. Off.” I gritted my teeth. “I am going to say this very clearly: I do not want you to touch me.”

  “You like this, don’t you?” he chuckled.

  His hand slipped in under the hem of my shirt. I let his fingertips barely touch my skin, when I flicked my hand out. One quick lash at the eyes and he cried out. One of his hands flew right to his face, the other still grabbed my hip. I couldn’t get enough swing in this tiny hallway, so I had to rely on the very basics. I shot my arms up over his head, slung them around his neck and while he was still in shock over being slapped in the eyes, I crashed his head down into my knee. His bone cracked against my leg. Red sputtered all over the floor and all over my jeans.

  “I told you to back the fuck off!” I yelled over his gurgled cries as he sank to the floor.

  An arm tightened around my mid and I spun around. Trace ducked, but the side of my hand still cut through his hair. “Okay, Ninja, out of here. Come on.” This time, I le
t him wrap an arm around my waist and pull me out of the hallway. I glanced back at Reese and his shirt that was now more red than white. Trace dragged me away, through the mostly empty pub and into the dark office. He flipped the lights on and pushed me into his father’s chair. “Don’t move. I can’t keep my eyes on you and take care of the scum out there. So stay here.”

  Before I could argue he had backed out of the door and left me.

  I was too stunned to move. Mitch would be proud of me. He had trained me for years and even after more than a year without any practice whatsoever I could still beat a men bloody and break his nose. Mitch had always told me that my speed beat strength. But I hadn’t thought that reacting quickly could really get me out of a dire situation. That’s why I used to carry a Taser with me at all times.

  It couldn’t have been more than a minute that I sat in the office chair when Trace came back in, rubbing a dish towel over his bloody hands and kicking the door close behind him. I didn’t have to look closer to know that that wasn’t his blood. His eyes fell on me, still glued to the chair. He tossed the dishtowel aside and kneeled down in front of me. This way he was only a bit shorter than I was.

  He looked me up and down and when he seemed to have inspected every square inch of my body twice, he finally looked me in the eyes and I could have melted. The concern in them was more than I could take. I didn’t deserve someone to look at me like that after I just broke someone’s nose. “Did he hurt you?” he asked in the gentlest voice I’d ever heard him use.

  I shook my head.

  The adrenaline was wearing off. My limbs were heavy and my mind replayed that picture of Reese’s nose gushing blood. I had done that. I had seriously hurt this guy.

  “Kitty, did he hurt you?”

  I shook my head again. “No.”

  “Fuck. Talk to me.” He reached out and cradled my face, tipping it down to make me look at him. He held me and brushed a thumb over my cheek and I knew I was safe with him. It didn’t matter that he had hit Wesley or that he was so irrational it hurt, right here, right now, he was the safest spot. “Did he touch you?”

  The realization of what I’d done put me in a daze and I blinked and raked my brain for the right words. “He tried,” I mumbled and folded my fingers around Trace’s wrist. I had to hold his hands in place to keep me from falling into my hole. “Didn’t you see? I stopped him.”

  “Something’s wrong with you. What is it? What am I missing?” He searched my face for the answer to his question. His despair was as real as every emotion I’d seen him go through on stage. Nothing was holding him back now.

  I’d told him already. It was four days ago, but I had told him what I was afraid of. How didn’t he see what was so obvious for me? Every second there in the hallway screamed at me that I couldn’t outrun my past. “I’m still me,” I whispered and fought the tears down. “I could have cried for help. I could have pushed him or slapped him. But I still know the strikes and the turns and the kicks and I used them like there was nothing wrong with hurting another person like that. It’s in my DNA, I guess. I haven’t changed one bit.”

  “If this is… He would have hurt you, you were right to hit him. If he ever shows his ass here again, I am going to break every bone in his body and I won’t feel sorry. Don’t you start with that.”

  “But I don’t want to be someone who hurts people,” I croaked.

  “No, you’re going to hurt every fuckward who thinks he can touch you. Understood? You don’t have to be a fucking victim to be a better person.” The intent in his voice stirred something inside me. This wasn’t just about Alex blaming him if something happened to me. Could it be that Trace had somehow started caring about me? More importantly: Did he really not care that I had turned into a violent freak a few minutes ago?

  Before I could produce a reply, the door to the office swung open again and Wes came inside. Trace went rigid and his hands were about to fall off my face, but I clasped his arms so tightly he couldn’t remove them without fighting me off. It made his hands stay in place on my cheeks.

  “Man, I thought you were going to kill that guy.” Against my expectation, his eyes landed on Trace, not me.

  “I was close,” Trace answered without any pity in his voice. The blood hadn’t been on his hands because he’d dragged Reese out of the pub. He had been just as bad as me or maybe worse.

  “How are you?” This time, Wes’s eyes found me, and only then he took in how Trace and I were holding onto each other. His nose twitched. “Should we go upstairs?”

  Trace tried pulling off again, but I still hung onto him. Some part of me knew that I was being pathetic but he’d been the one to keep me safe for weeks now. If there was a life raft in this room to keep me from drowning, it was him. “I want to stay with Trace,” I mumbled.

  Wes clicked his tongue and then left without further ado. After Wes was gone, Trace stood up and twisted his hands in my grip to hold my arms instead of my face and pull me out of the chair. “We’re going upstairs anyway. You should get into bed.”

  “I’m not tired,” I said but only two steps towards the door I realized that I was utterly exhausted. Not only were my limbs heavy, but my feet ached with each step and my eyelids were close to dropping shut while I was still walking.

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  He was right behind me on the steps with his hands on my back, and I was glad to have them there because I wasn’t far from dropping down and falling asleep on spot. The last two flights of stairs we managed mostly thanks to him pushing me upstairs.

  He put me into my room and sat me down on my bed where I struggled out of my jeans and then fought my way into the blanket. Trace asked something but my mind was already cloudy and light and I just turned down whatever he was offering.

  Twelve

  I awoke with Trace’s smell tingling my nose and a happy smile spread faster on my lips than last night’s memories could pop back into my mind. But then they did. Reese in the narrow hallway, coming closer and laying his hands on me. I wasn’t as distraught by what he tried to do as I was by what I had done. I had yet to meet the girl with moderate looks that had not yet been the target of unwanted sexual attention. I wasn’t new to that sort of experience. The other thing held more power over me. Me turning him into a punching bag.

  I sighed and turned to grab my phone off my nightstand but froze mid-turn. Trace was half-lying on my bed, half-sitting in my chair. His arms were folded under his head and his earrings glistened in the early sun. He also made the funniest squeaky noise when he exhaled. Most importantly though: he was sound asleep next to me and I didn’t wear pants.

  I slid out from under the covers and tiptoed over to the closest thing I could find, which was a pair of black leggings. I jumped into them, checked if Trace was still sleeping, then turned to my suitcase to put on a shirt that would cover how tight the leggings were over my butt.

  “An angel?”

  I froze. Even if the owner of that raspy, just-woken-up voice was possibly the safest person to be around, I hadn’t wanted him to see that. He knew I had a past, but only because I’d told him. I didn’t mean to unwrap more of it for him like this.

  “Did you design it yourself?” he asked, either oblivious to my stiffness or insensible to it.

  “No, a former friend of mine did,” I said forced my muscles to relax. I couldn’t make him unsee the tattoo. There was no use in denying him any more questions. Maybe if he knew more about who I used to be, he’d understand why I freaked out at the prospect of relapsing. “I can’t draw, but I told her what I wanted and she did a great job.”

  “Why an angel?” Trace rubbed his fingers into his eyes and peeled the sleep out. How he could be so invested in a topic when he’d just woken up was beyond me.

  “It’s not an angel. It’s Lilith. Adam’s first wife who was so independent, dominant and rebellious that God killed her children to punish her. She kind of turned into a winged demon and did a lot of bad stuff to take
revenge. I used to think she’s a good role model.” I shrugged and headed back to the bed to grab my phone and check the time. 7.20 am. We had barely slept five hours.

  “It looked like an angel to me,” Trace grinned.

  “You didn’t get a close enough look.” His eyebrows shot up and he leaned back in his seat with his hands behind his head like he was about to get his very own show. “And you’re not going to get one either,” I grinned and tossed one of my pillows his way.

  He caught the pillow and threw it back on the mattress. “I’m fine sleeping here another night and watching you change.”

  “Pervert.” A knot tightened in my stomach at the word and reminded me why Trace was here in the first place.

  “What the fuck did I say? Why are you frowning like that?”

  “You didn’t say anything. I just almost forgot last night.”

  “Let me help you.” His hand slid over the crumpled blankets and reached for mine, and I let him take it. “Just tell me how. I’ll do it.”

  My fingers looked tiny in his hands, almost childlike. Pictures of all the uncontrolled, x-rated thoughts and dreams I’d had of him flashed through my memory and half a dozen supplied me with dirty answers on how he could help me. I pulled my hand out of his and let my curls fall into my face to hide the blood boiling under my skin. “It’s okay. I mean, I’m still a good person, right? I don’t drink, I don’t sleep around, I show up for work on time, I try to be nice to people. I’m… Mostly doing okay.” Trace said nothing. He didn’t even move but since I wouldn’t look up again for fear my cheeks were still flaming red I just continued talking. “You didn’t have to stay with me, you know?” Although I was glad he had been here all night. No wonder I had slept peacefully with my own security guy right next to me.