From Yesterday

by Miriam Epstein

  When I get back to my unit, I pause in the hall before going back inside. Brady is downstairs. I don't want to be alone. I could just...

  No.

  I don't need to be a poor little distressed girl and throw myself at someone who had the self-control to back off when he knew he'd had too much to drink. I'd be playing with fire, and in my heightened emotional state, I would either say too much or sleep with him and ruin our friendship.

  I go inside.

  My cell phone has almost no battery left, so I connect it to the wall charger and pick up the land line. I hit the asterisk key, then six and seven before dialing an all to familiar number. It rings three times before a heavily accented male voice comes on the line. "Yah."

  I try not to breathe.

  "Hello? Someone is there? Hello?"

  I hang up and stare at the phone. It is painful to hear my father's voice and not beg him for forgiveness. Or scream at him to beg for mine, because I am still waiting for an apology from both my parents. But we are not there yet, not one of us. Too much Russian pride.

  The question I really have to ask myself is why I should feel the least bit of comfort from hearing the voice of a man who condemned me rot in that hospital room? Why do I call the people that I have worked so very hard to keep from finding out where I am for so long? I have done this to hear my mother's voice before, too. I don't know how these things work, but I'm sure if they really wanted to, my parents could trace the calls even though I blocked them. Technology is far too advanced for me to believe otherwise.

  Yet, they haven't tried. I'm sure they know who is on the other line.

  I could be totally off, though. Even with all the financial resources my parents have, maybe tracing a call like that is only available to the police or something. Still, they could absolutely have hired someone to look for me. It's not like I haven't left little clues here and there, whether I meant to or not.

  The truth is, as tough as I pretend to be, I don't think I'll ever be able to completely forget about what it's like to feel safe and secure in my parent's arms. It's a childish impulse, but there have been days where all I wanted was to cry to my mother and ask her to take my pain away.

  Not that she would ever be able to. Especially not with all the hurt my sister and I have caused her in the last few years.

  I push this futile conversation I'm having with myself out of my head What matters right now is figuring out why someone is sneaking into my home, in a building with security that the secret service would approve of, and leaving me little "gifts" that I suspect are meant to scare the hell out of me, which is a success so far, because the next thing I do is to go grab my gun and make sure it is loaded. I keep it with me in the bathroom as I shower, setting it down where I can see it from the tub. After I've put on a t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, I set it on the nightstand next to me, making sure to aim the gun towards the balcony and not at the wall where an unsuspecting neighbor might be sleeping in case of accidental discharge.

  The gun is the only reason I am able to sleep at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Between the stressful evening I had and the shallow sleep, it's no surprising that I look terrible this morning. And of course the first person that I'll see when I get to class is Brady. Rather, the only person that I'll care about seeing, anyway.

  I spend a little extra time getting ready, especially on the makeup since I can use concealer to look less strung out. I even shave my legs and put a cute little sun dress on, and it isn't even black. This shade of lilac makes my hazel eyes appear just a little bit brighter and my gloss makes my lips look a bit fuller. I'm good to go.

  The weather has been cooling off considerably for late September. I didn't expect that until early November, but I can't say that I mind. It's nice enough, and I plenty of time so I walk to campus. By the time I get there, my mood has improved and I think I'll be able to avoid scrutiny from a certain overly perceptive friend.

  As I turns out, I'm wrong.

  "Man, I feel like I got run over."

  These are Brady's first words to me when he stumbles into class a few minutes after me.

  "I guess you shouldn't have had that last glass of scotch, huh?"

  He looks at me with half-slit eyes. "You look like you drank a bit too much yourself. No, actually, I take that back. You look as great as always, but you put effort into it. Suspicious effort."

  "Shut up."

  Okay, not a great comeback by far, but class begins and he can't say anything back during the lecture. And it is a long lecture. Dr. Reyes is one of those professors that teaches with great enjoyment, but he goes off on tangents and spends 20 minutes on one section. And even though this is my major, it's not always very interesting material.

  After class, I wait for Brady instead of darting off as quickly as I can. He wouldn't have been able to catch up with me today; I've seen molasses move faster than Brady with a hangover.

  "Need me to carry your books for you, Lush?" I quip.

  He gives me the fakest laugh I have ever heard, then immediately scowls at me. "You're funny. And no thank you. I would love it if you would teach my Spinning class for me later, though."

  I wince in sympathy. "Oh, wow. That's going to really suck for you."

  He nods. "Yes, it is. I'm just lucky I have several hours to sleep it off before then. And a really good friend who is going to take the class and lend me moral support."

  He swats my butt.

  "Yes, so long as you leave my butt alone."

  "Okay, but it's a really nice-"

  "Brady."

  He holds his hands up in surrender. "Sorry. No ass slapping. See you at five?"

  "I'll be there."

  He turns to the parking lot, then pauses and flips around back to me. "Is your arm okay? Have you been taking the anti-biotic?"

  "Yes," I say. "Why?"

  "Don't take this the wrong way because you look beautiful, you always do, but you also look stressed. And a little bit upset. I thought maybe your arm was bothering you."

  I wave my hand. "No, I just didn't sleep enough. I'm good. Get some rest."

  We go our separate ways.

  Why is it getting so hard to lie to him? I had a moment there where I desperately wanted to tell him everything about me, about my sister, about the strange things that have been happening lately. It's selfish, though. It would be nothing more than an unburdening for me; for him it would serve no purpose other than admitting to him that he made a huge mistake befriending me. These past few weeks are evidence that trouble follows me, no matter how far I try to run.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  "That was impressive, Brady. You barely looked hungover at all during the whole class."

  Brady passes me a water bottle as the rest of the students file out of the little cycling classroom. Dehydrated from the intense exercise, I drink the whole thing down in one shot. Brady looks impressed.

  "Wow. You're thirsty. That was an entire liter of water."

  "Yes, thanks. It was nice and cold."

  I wink at him and then pick up my bag. I get to the door before I notice he's not following me. Turning around, I catch him staring at me in the mirror. "Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there and stare at my ass?"

  Brady's mouth opens for a second; I obviously caught him off guard. Finally, he shrugs and starts to walk. "Sorry, Paige. I'm usually better at that."

  "Better at what?"

  "Better at not getting caught staring at your ass."

  I toss the empty water bottle at him, but he catches it. "Obviously some of your reflexes are still intact."

  "I'm not completely useless. You still up for getting some work done? We can work on he project at my place. I'll order pizza."

  I think about it for a moment. The right thing to do for Brady would be to cut this friendship off now, while I can still manage to save some hurt feelings. I'm a danger to him; I firmly believe that.

  But I can't. I would miss him too mu
ch. How selfish am I?

  Very, as it turns out. "Yes, that's perfect. I'll just run home and shower first. You're on the twenty-second floor, right?"

  He nods. "Yes, unit 2205. I'll leave the door unlocked for you. Just come in when you're ready."

  I wave to him and go to the women's locker room. There are very few students in the gym today; not one other girl in the locker room. It is eerily quiet.

  I get my things as quickly as I can. Just as I'm about to go, a locker door slams shut in one of the other rows.

  Strange. No one was in here, and I didn't hear anyone else come in. I start to peek around the corner to see if anyone is there when another locker door is slammed. Startled, I drop my keys and the sound echoes loudly throughout the room.

  I don't believe I am alone in here after all. It would be wise for me to get out of here as quickly as I can. I get my keys from the floor and run out of the locker room with lightening speed, but not before I hear one more locker door slammed.

  When I get to my car, I thank my running late earlier for forcing me to drive back to campus this afternoon. I want to be as far from here as possible right now. I drive fast enough to make it home in less than two minutes. I don't even care if I get stopped by campus police; a ticket would be preferable over whatever, or whomever, was back at that gym.

  After parking my car in the garage, I enter the lobby of the building and I am comforted by the familiar sight of two security guards at the front desk, and all the other measures in place to keep unwanted visitors out of here.

  That's when I remember that whoever this is has already been inside my apartment.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I take a shower quickly, dress in a skirt made of terry-cloth material and a tank top, and haul ass down to Brady's place. Being alone in my apartment sounds less and less appealing. Guns are not allowed on campus even with a concealed weapons permit, so I have had it locked up at home all day and I leave it there. I don't know if Brady would be bothered by having a gun in his house and I am not in the mood to get on the subject of why I have one. He still doesn't know that the gun he saw that day was mine.

  I knock lightly on Brady's door before opening it, just in case. After all, you never know when you are going to walk into someone's home and see them standing by the refrigerator, drinking a glass of water and wearing nothing but a towel.

  His skin is dry, but his hair hangs down in damp waves. Muscle defines every inch of his body. And I can see it all, well, most of it. The slightly wet towel tied around his waist is clingy and the outline of his perfectly shaped behind is mesmerizing. The towel ends at mid thigh, and as Brady slowly turns in my direction, I discover that things are being outlined that leave little to the imagination. I should be the one drinking water because my mouth is suddenly dry.

  "I'm sorry!"

  I blurt out the apology, but I can't seem to make myself turn away. So now I've walked in on him, been caught staring, and continue to embarrass myself.

  Brady laughs. "What are you sorry for, Paige? I told you to just come in. If I minded you seeing me in a towel, I probably wouldn't be in the kitchen wearing only that."

  "So, you did that on purpose?"

  He grins. "Maybe. Maybe not. Let's say it wasn't a conscious decision, but you know how those pesky subconscious decisions can arise."

  "Your subconscious wanted me to see you half naked? Uh, sure."

  "Maybe I just wanted to see your reaction. Which was priceless, by the way. I'll go get dressed. Make yourself comfortable."

  I take in the room while I wait for him. This is a one bedroom unit, other than that the layout is nearly identical to mine. His furniture is a set I recognize from an Ikea catalog; dark wood with very clean lines. A futon is the only seating in the living room, and it faces the wall which is dominated by a massive flat screen television. Underneath the TV is a low to the ground entertainment unit with stereo equipment and a video game console.

  I sit at the breakfast bar and take out my binder with my notes for our project. I've done all of my part of the research; if Brady has completed his then all we have to do is type everything up and create some kind of visual presentation.

  "Would you like something to drink?"

  I nearly jump off of the barstool. I didn't hear him return.

  "Uh, just some water, please."

  "Why are you so nervous, Paige?"

  He winks, the bastard. He knows why I'm on edge, or at least he knows what his part in my anxiety is. All of the other stuff isn't his fault at all. I give him the finger. He cracks up.

  "Wow, that is not a gesture I'd ever guess you would make. I like it."

  "What do you mean? Why wouldn't I make a rude gesture?"

  Brady looks sheepish now. "Because you're just... kind of perfect."

  I don't say anything, not right away. Silence hangs in the air, not in an awkward way, but with a modicum of emotion that touches me and energizes him.

  I break the spell. "I'm as far from perfect as I possibly could be, Brady, and I'm sorry because inevitably you will see why."

  "I don't believe you. You just don't see yourself for who you really are. Most people don't."

  I purse my lips and turn my head to the side to avoid the intensity with which he focuses on me. He doesn't let me escape, though. He reaches for me and tips my face back towards him and leans in. All the way in.

  We stare at one another for a microsecond before I feel his lips on my own. They linger lightly at first, and then a simple touch becomes a kiss as he presses forward with intensity. Our mouths dance together as we each test the waters; a gentle bite, a tiny slip of tongue, each one of us seeking to match the rhythm of the other. His hand snakes up the back of my neck until it is in my hair, bringing me even closer to him. I'm between his thighs, nearly falling off the edge of the barstool. The kiss becomes open-mouthed and we taste one another; I take hold of his t-shirt with both hands and breathe him in through my nose. His scent is warm and masculine and I'm drugged by it. I want to be.

  Until I don't anymore.

  Reality is a harsh slap in the face when I come to my senses and remember who I am. I let go of his shirt, place my hands on his upper arms, and push him away from me until I have space to stand up. He looks up, still blissfully unaware of what I'm about to do.

  "You're amazing," he tells me.

  I shake my head and back away. "I'm wrong, all wrong. I'll ruin you. Please, I can't."

  And then I'm running out the door; always running away from any possibility of a good thing because if there is one thing that I am certain of, it is that any happiness I may have comes with an expiration date.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I know something is off the moment I walk through my door. There is a heaviness in the air that I didn't feel before I left, but I did feel it every time some fucked up little gift has been left for me in the past few weeks. Now I wish I'd taken the Glock with me when I went downstairs.

  I take a deep breath and go further into the apartment, hoping I can get to my gun if someone is still here. I don't think there is, though; I feel as though I'm alone.

  The vase, the Swarovski crystal vase that I loved enough to bring with me, it is no longer on the end table by the love seat. Instead, it is now a jigsaw puzzle that I will never be able to solve. Millions of little pieces lay scattered throughout the living and dining rooms, and there is some dark substance coating much of it. I get closer, careful not to step on any shards that will cut through my thin ballet flats.

  My hand flies to my mouth and I suppress the urge to vomit. The dark stuff? It is blood. Wet, sticky blood.

  I'm kneeling on the floor next to this mess of a life that belongs to me, frozen in place, when the front door flies open.

  "Are you kidding me, Paige? Really? You're so damn infuriating. I thought we were finally over this up and down bullshit!"

  Brady is yelling, but it is the most comforting sound I could possibly hope to hear in this moment. And t
hen I see him in my peripheral vision.

  "What the... is that your blood? Paige, are you okay?"

  He rushes over to me, grabs me by the arms, and lifts me up to check me over.

  "It's not mine."

  "Whose is it then? What is going on?"

  Now he is practically shaking me.

  "It's time for you to start talking, Paige. Is someone bothering you? Should I call the police."

  Mentioning the cops snaps me back to reality and I look up at him; fear is prevalent in all my features. "No! No police. You can't."

  Brady lets go of me and crosses his arms over his chest. "Fine, but tell me why."

  I nod. "Okay. But I can't be in this room. Please, let's go into my spare bedroom."

  I don't wait for him, nor do I look back to see if he's even moved from the spot he was standing in. I just go into the office and open the top drawer of my desk. This is where I'm keeping the lock box with my gun.

  I sit down in my desk chair, take the gun out, and place it on the desk in plain view of Brady, who has just come in the room.

  He walks around the desk to where I'm sitting and leans against it. "So, that gun was yours."

  "Yes."

  "A lot of strange things have been going on with you lately, Paige, but I think I'm starting to put two and two together. Will you please tell me the whole story?"

  "I can only tell you what I know, which isn't a whole lot. I don't know the reason why someone is doing this stuff to me, but I also cannot lie about it any longer. And I have been keeping things from you."

  Brady shrugs. "I know, Paige. I've been trying to be as patient as possible, but I'm really worried about you. I can't just keep my mouth shut any longer."

  "I didn't want to involve you in this messed up life of mine. I tried to keep you from it, but after a while I didn't want to push you away anymore."