by Heidi Lowe
"W–what are you doing? And how the hell did you get undressed so fast?"
She laughed, stepped past me, dipped a toe in the water. "Practice." Then she dived in, making a big splash.
Something caught my eye on the back of her neck. I'd been trying to avoid checking her butt out, and had averted my gaze to a much more neutral place on her body. They couldn't have gone unnoticed. Four long, thick, deep scratches, like claw marks from a bear. Though her hair hid the tops of the scars from sight, they were long enough that they reached her shoulder blades.
"Are you just going to stand there and watch? Get in."
"I'm not getting in there with you." So tempting, especially in that heat. But swimming around half-naked with a girl I'd just met somehow didn't seem like the done thing.
"Suit yourself. But if you don't, you'll have to walk back home. Totally up to you."
"You're blackmailing me now?" I said, outraged. "We're in the middle of nowhere and you expect me to find my own way back?"
She flicked water at me, then chuckled to herself upon seeing my killer glare.
"Loosen up a little. What are you, twenty-four going on seventy?"
Loosen up? I'll show her how loose I can be, I thought to myself, stripping off my clothes furiously. She thinks I can't have fun. She has no idea.
"That's my girl." She whooped loudly, her voice echoing. "Now it's getting good."
"I'm not your girl," was my meager response. And I didn't follow it up, didn't tell the whole truth, that I was someone else's girl. I thought about what my adoring girlfriend would have thought of me slipping into the lake with another woman, and it shames me to say it, but that encouraged me more. I was so sick of my life revolving around Jean. I wanted to do something out of character, something she wouldn't see coming. This presented the perfect opportunity.
The deeper I stepped into the water, the more I shivered. It's always cold the first time you get in, no matter how hot the day is.
"So it's Lissa, huh? Don't really get many Lissas around here. Unusual."
"It's no more unusual than Dallas."
She splashed a little water in my face, and I splashed her right back.
"Well, I like Liz better. I think I'll call you that."
"You don't get to decide."
"I can do what I want," she said with a daring smile. Her wet hair was matted to her forehead and cheeks. The eyeliner must have been waterproof, because it wasn't smudged at all.
"And I won't answer you. Simple."
She only smiled her wickedly sexy smile, that single dimple popping up briefly. I fought back the urge to ask her about the scars on her neck, thinking it rude. Maybe it had been a traumatic experience for her.
"You're not from around here, are you?"
"Indiana, actually. Moved out here a few weeks ago. What about you?"
"Here and there." Vague. "You move here alone?"
"No..." Now it was my turn to be vague.
"Ahh," she said knowingly. "So there's someone. A girlfriend, right? My gaydar doesn't lie."
I had to laugh. Many had been wrong about me before, erroneously pegging me for straight or bi. But this girl had known instantly, hence the outrageous flirting at the club.
"There's someone, but it's complicated."
"How complicated? Are you going to tell her that you're out here with me, wearing nothing but your underwear?"
"I might."
She floated closer, wearing the same roguish grin, making me shiver a little from the look in her eye.
"And are you going to tell her about the kiss?"
I frowned. "What k–"
Her lips were on mine before the word escaped.
Several seconds passed before I realized that, not only were her lips still locked on mine, but that I'd somehow allowed her tongue entrance. The kiss was so fervent, so aggressive, as I would have expected from someone with her attitude.
"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded, once I'd finally torn myself away. But the protest was really for show. The kiss was great. Wholly unexpected and sinful, but great all the same. Possibly because of the immorality of it. One kiss wouldn't have been so bad, but the setting coupled with our lack of clothing... I would have had a lot of explaining to do if Jean showed up then. Good thing it was still daytime.
Dallas cackled. "You're a riot...Liz." She swam off, and I didn't know what else to do but swim after her.
I'd already decided to keep schtum about my naughty little excursion with my new rebel friend if Petr ever inquired. But as the bike rolled to a stop at the curb, right outside my workplace, and I saw a pissed off looking Petr, I knew that ship had sailed.
He shook his head when my helmet came off and he saw that it was me.
"Really, Lissa?" His eyes were judging me. And when Dallas removed her helmet, she received the same look. "You couldn't have called to say you'd already left work? Couldn't have told me you were out gallivanting with strangers?"
Dallas laughed. "I thought you said you had a girlfriend, Liz, not...whatever he is."
Through his indignation, Petr always managed to look more camp than ever. Given the context, and Dallas's comment, it only amplified the comedic factor. I struggled to hold in my laugh.
"She does. And if you think you're dangerous, with your cheap imitation Harley, and your fake leather jacket–"
"All right, everyone calm down." The claws were out. I hadn't seen Pete this vexed since forever. Besides, I wanted to shut him up before he announced to the whole street that I was dating a vampire.
Dallas only laughed. "See you around, Liz," she said, put her helmet back on and rode off into the sunset like an outlaw from an 80's movie.
"You want to tell me what that was about?" Petr demanded.
"Don't start, all right. I went for a ride with her, that's it. Okay, so we swam around a bit–"
"Please tell me that's not a euphemism."
"No! Of course not. What do you think I am?"
He didn't look convinced, or impressed.
We set off home in silence. An awkward, tension-filled silence. I knew that he could go on like that for hours if I didn't clear the air.
"What are you so mad about? That I forgot to tell you I got off early, or that I was with her?"
"I'm not mad. But I think your girlfriend will be."
When I looked at him, I could see that he was genuinely concerned.
"I did nothing wrong." Well, apart from kiss another woman. That's considered pretty bad to most people. I knew that if I told him about it, we would have fought. "Why is it that when I was with Hilarie and pursuing Jean, you didn't have a problem with it?"
"Because, Lissa, you never loved Hilarie. And she never really loved you. Besides, Jean isn't a bitch. But this girl..."
"You've always been on my back to date women my own age," I sulked.
"Then put your girlfriend out of her misery and end the relationship. Doesn't she deserve that?"
"I don't want to!" I stopped in the middle of the street, the words coming out more aggressive and much louder than I wanted. "Why can't you see that it's not as simple as that? You of all people should know. I mean, you were there picking up the pieces when I found out about my mother."
"That's right. And I was also there when you realized you couldn't live without Jean, and decided to move to another state with her. It seems like the only person who doesn't remember that, Lissa, is you."
"Maybe I'm not that person anymore."
"Maybe you're just trying hard not to be." He shook his head again, the look he gave me pitying and sympathetic. "I hope you know what you're doing."
That made two of us.
TEN
The firm, distinct tap-tapping on my bedroom door, at this time in the morning, could only have been one person.
"Lissa, honey, are you awake?" Sandra didn't wait for my answer before she let herself in. "Oh, you're dressed already." She laid the breakfast tray on my bedside table as I whizzed around the r
oom looking for my other earring. They'd been a gift from Hilarie one Christmas. Most of the things she'd bought me had been left with her, but not these. Diamonds were, after all, a girl's best friend. And forever, even though our relationship hadn't been.
"Where are you off to so early?" she inquired, watching me with intrigue. Although she was a lovely person, and likely would have been nosy even without the paycheck, I knew Sandra acted as Jean's daytime eyes. A spy who went back to her with the details of my day. I suppose I couldn't blame her – couldn't blame either of them – for doing it. It must have killed Jean not knowing what I got up to when she slept.
Unfortunately, she wasn't about to find this out secondhand, or before time. At least not until there was anything concrete to share.
"Erm, there's a sale on at this clothes store in town. We wanted to get there early." Inside, I scolded myself for starting the sentence with the supremely suspicious "erm". Only those about to tell a big, fat lie do that.
"Really? Which store?"
"Erm, I forgot the name. Apparel something or other." Jesus, I did it again!
She nodded and smiled, with the look of someone who didn't believe a word I'd said. Or perhaps that was imaginary, and my guilt had made me wary.
"Okay, well eat up before you leave. You want to keep your strength up. We know how aggressive people can be when there's a sale."
I was so relieved when she left. Had she stayed and questioned me further, I likely would have blurted out the truth about where I was really going. And that would have caused all manner of problems when Jean woke up.
"Well, that's not a good sign," Petr said, nudging me and pointing to the burned car parked outside the apartment building.
It was actually one bad sign on a long list of bad signs, that should have set off alarm bells. The first major one had come when we'd seen two hooded youths running past us with a flat screen TV and a games console in their hands, wires trailing behind them, threatening to trip them up.
"It might not be what it looks like," I'd said, trying to stay positive. "Maybe, I don't know, maybe they're just taking them to repair them." He'd side-eyed me long and hard after that remark.
The area itself wasn't bad; that is, it could have been far worse. Fifteen minutes away from the center of town by cab, it had that sort of deprived look of a post-communist city. From the names of the shops, and some of the snatches of foreign conversation we'd passed as we tried to locate the street, I gathered there was a large immigrant population. Something Lox Ridge had been lacking, and something I'd always found annoying about it.
"I've been meaning to pick up a new language," I said, with an exaggerated smile.
He made a face. "You'll probably pick up a lot more than that here. Ebola, cholera..."
"Don't be so negative." I hit him on the arm, but laughed anyway.
"I don't think I'd be safe with you living here, Lissa. I mean, I get that you want your own place, but this isn't the way to go about it."
There was a man waiting for us outside one of the buildings. I just assumed, judging from his suit, that he was the agent in charge of the viewing.
"Lissa, is it?" he said as we approached. We shook hands. "Hi. David. I'll be showing you around the property today."
We followed him inside, made smalltalk while we rode the elevator. All the while I could feel Petr's disapproval. The building was in good shape inside. A little low on light, but nothing serious. No graffiti, no smells of marijuana or anything else associated with inner city slum buildings. I held out hope for the rest of the place, the apartments in particular.
"It's right here. Apartment 11," the agent said. He turned the key in the lock, but the door didn't come open immediately. After a couple of heaves, pushing his whole weight against it, it flew open. A cloud of dust escaped, and sent us all into a coughing fit.
"We'll get that jam fixed," he said with a nervous laugh. "Sorry about the dust. It's been unoccupied for a while."
"Why?" Petr took the words right out of my mouth.
"Oh, you know, it doesn't suit everyone's tastes."
As soon as we stepped in, I could see why. The whole apartment was about the size of my room at Jean's. A tiny, depressing, unfurnished space with newspaper covering the windows, and about three different layers of drab wallpaper, all peeling. If you weren't contemplating suicide before you got here, you sure would have been after seeing the place.
"New kitchen units will be installed. And someone will come in and clean before you move in, of course," the agent explained. "But it'll probably need modernizing."
"Well that's the understatement of the century," Petr whispered to me drily.
I slapped him for being right. I could probably fit a small double bed, a small two-seater couch, and a little chest for my clothes – nothing else.
"There's a laundry room in the basement. Garbage day is fortnightly. Do you guys want a minute to think about it?"
"That would be great, thanks."
He left us and waited outside while we looked around.
"You don't need a minute to think about this, Lissa. Are you crazy? You're not staying here," Petr squealed.
I checked out the bathroom. A walk-in shower with a broken door. The toilet, however, surprisingly, looked brand new. What was the story there? I'd actually been expecting the bathroom to be the thing of nightmares, but it just needed cleaning.
"It's...okay. I actually kinda like it. It just needs some love. I have plenty of that to give," I said, beaming from ear to ear at the prospect of renting my very own place.
"Not this much love."
"Come on, where are your artistic eyes. Can't you see the potential? Who knows, I might even design the walls and ceiling, do a Michelangelo."
"Please! This is not the Sistine Chapel, it's a crummy little studio in a dodgy neighborhood."
My mind had already been made up. It was in my price range, I could bike to work. This would be my new project: getting it up to liveable standard.
"I'll take it," I announced when the agent returned. His joy contrasted well with Petr's mortified expression.
"Great. We'll need three months' rent in advance, and a security deposit."
"It's a good thing, Pete."
We were having a coffee at the train station, waiting for his train back to Lox Ridge. This was the third time I'd tried to convince him that I'd made the right decision in signing the lease.
"Yeah, for the landlord, that he actually managed to get someone stupid enough to rent that pit."
Leave it to Petr to tell it like it is. Not one to sugarcoat anything, I'd long learned to not be offended by his candor. I sipped my latte and said nothing.
"When are you going to tell her?"
"I don't know. When I go to collect the keys in a week."
"So you're leaving it till the last minute? Very brave of you, Lissa."
"I wish I didn't have to tell her at all," I said, and slouched despondently. How do you tell your girlfriend that you no longer want to live with her, though you still haven't decided whether or not you want to be with her? It occurred to me then that maybe I was going about everything the wrong way.
"I think she'd notice that you were suddenly not sleeping in the house anymore," he said. "Does this mean that's it for you guys?"
"No, it just means I'm moving out. I think we need the space. Need to be apart to reassess what we mean to each other."
He sighed tiredly. "Maybe you're right. What do I know? But if this is about bitchy biker babe–"
"It's not," I jumped in adamantly. "I have to stand on my own two feet, Pete. You know I'm right about that at least."
We had just enough time to finish our coffees before I had to leave him and rush off to work. My ribs were still aching when I reached, from his bone-crushing farewell hug.
ELEVEN
I couldn't stay focused.
Instead of jumping for joy, screaming at the top of my lungs that I was the new tenant of number 11, my happin
ess was overshadowed by my worry. We were just starting to get back to a good place, and now I was running away. That was how Jean would see it, I just knew it.
And then a little part of me wondered if this move was yet another attempt at hurting her, at testing her love. Sometimes I feared I would never stop. Like an adopted kid trying to test the love of their adoptive parents. These were the things I needed to work on away from her; this was why the move was so important.
"You've been scrubbing that same spot for ten minutes, Lissa. I reckon it's clean now." Raymond's voice pulled me from my daydream.
I was on my hands and knees in one of the cat cages, cleaning patches of dried vomit. One of the worst parts of my job by a long stretch, especially as the little devils would watch me with a look akin to glee sparkling in their green eyes.
"Oh, yeah, right." I got up, took off my gloves, and let myself out, closing it securely behind me so the cats couldn't escape.
"You've been distracted since your shift started. You all right?"
"Yeah. Just thinking."
"About what?"
"You know, stuff."
He knew not to push. Problem was, I really could have done with someone to talk to. Someone who wasn't too close to me, who didn't know me well, who wouldn't judge. But if I told him what was on my mind, I would have to tell him everything. That meant coming clean about Jean, and what she was, and what she'd done.
"Hey, have you heard anything from the family who took Knight?" I said instead.
"No, but that's not unusual. They did say they would send a photo at Christmas. He'll be fine."
The door opened, and Raymond and I looked up in unison. It was the leather biker suit I noticed before her face. And my jaw dropped right around the same time the roaring and howling commenced from behind the cages.
It was as though the apocalypse of the animal kingdom had come, and every beast in the building was protesting.
"I don't know what's wrong with them," Raymond said, rushing from cage to cage, trying to see what had set the animals off.