by Sara Hubbard
Damien has no shampoo or conditioner, just body wash—Axe—and I use it to clean my body and my hair. When I’m done, I smell like men’s deodorant, but it’s a considerable improvement from the stench of blood and sweat that surrounded me so thickly I swear it was visible.
Damien is a lot bigger than me. I’m average height for a girl, but Damien has to be pushing six three, maybe even six four. I’m drowning in his T-shirt and jogging pants. If they didn’t have a draw string waist I’d have no hope of keeping them up, and I have to roll up the bottoms or risk tripping on them.
A shiver overcomes my entire body, even within the steam still lingering from my hot shower. I rub my arms before opening the door and walking to the living room. Damien sits in the exact same spot he claimed before I left him.
“Better?” he asks.
“Much. Again, thank you…”
He offers a small shrug.
He pushes off the windowsill and approaches me. The light coming in through the windows is enough for me to make out his expression. Solemn. Thoughtful. Intent.
“Did Carrie leave?” I ask, refusing to meet his eyes.
“A few hours ago. She has to work in the morning.”
He stops a foot short of me, too deep in my personal space for me to feel comfortable. I clear my throat, and as I avert my eyes I get an eyeful of his firm, defined abs.
“Take a seat,” he says, his voice but a whisper.
“Um…what?”
He reaches up to touch my forehead and I lean back, away from him. He waits for permission before trying again and though I don’t know why he’s about to touch me, this time I let him. He moves slowly, his fingers brushing against my temple. Right where he skims I feel a throbbing and burning ache. It was bleeding earlier and though it smarts, I don’t shy away now. I close my eyes.
“Let me clean this for you. You might need a few Steri-strips.”
“Huh?”
“Your wound.”
“Oh…right.”
There’s a recliner to my left and I reach down to feel for it before lowering myself, my eyes inches from his taut body. The smell of him is divine, like the Axe in the bathroom but stamped with his own personal scent…earthy…like cedar and cigars. It’s...comforting...safe... It kind of reminds me of being young again and living in Poland. Of staying out late in the woods and playing with friends. If I close my eyes, it’s like I can smell the trees and the burning woodstoves in the distance.
When I’m sitting with my hands crossed on my lap, he kicks over the ottoman until it lands in front of me. He cocks his leg over mine and sits, straddling my closed legs with his, then he grips my waist and pulls me to the edge of my seat.
I swallow a hard lump in my throat and lose my breath. The way he looks at me…like nothing else in the room exists. I know he’s focused on my cut, but for a moment I let myself believe that he’s focused on me—on the girl inside, beneath the pretty face and hair. I wonder if he can see me—the real me—that no one else has ever wanted to take the time to find.
He reaches for the medical bag on the end table, and his chest brushes against my arms. Chills overwhelm me and a tingling sensation radiates through my body. He stops and turns to me, as if he felt me shiver, and when he’s sitting up straight again, he holds my gaze before opening his kit. He pulls out some gauze and soaks it with a solution. With the gentlest touch, he dabs my cut and as he pulls the gauze away, I see spots of crimson. I thought the cut had stopped bleeding, but apparently not.
“You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“It’s nothing.” He takes another piece of gauze and does the same thing. I flinch as the solution stings my tender flesh.
“No…not this.” I point to my head. “I mean…looking after Mickey and letting us basically crash here…even after Carrie left. That’s more than I can ask of a friend, let alone a stranger.”
“I know you, Beth,” he says. “I know you better than you think.”
“Because of Mona?”
He nods. “She had a lot to say about you over the years.”
“I still don’t buy this pen pal thing.”
“I’m not asking you to.”
“So are you helping me for Mona? Or for Carrie?”
He sighs, and as he removes some thin white strips from plastic packaging, a flash of sadness crosses his face. “Both.” He pauses a beat. “Carrie told me Mona was murdered. I…don’t even know what to say about that.”
“I can’t believe she’s gone. I don’t think it’s really sunk in yet, because I feel like when I go back to her place she’ll still be there, waiting in the background for when I need her. Or waiting to shout out a snarky comment just because she can.”
“Yeah. I’d like to say it gets easier, but…”
“That’s comforting,” I deadpan.
He frowns. “I just mean you’ll get used to it and it won’t consume you after a while, but it’ll always be there, like a hole dug out in your chest that you just can’t quite fill no matter how hard you try.”
“Did you lose someone?”
“I’ve lost a lot of someones. Brothers. Not by blood, though…”
“The men you worked with? In the Marines?”
He clears his throat and nods before pressing some of the cut strips over my cut. “You expect some people might die when you deploy, but it doesn’t make it any easier when it happens…or when it happens in front of you.” His hand lingers at my brow before his rough thumb strokes my skin.
“Are you real?”
“Real?”
“You just…you’re easy to talk to…and you seem…” Sincere. Honest. Different. It is an act? Is he playing with me?
With raised eyebrows, he sits patiently, waiting for me to finish and I just can’t. He makes me feel vulnerable and I can’t afford that. Every word I say puts me in danger of getting too close and he needs to stay at an arm’s length. I don’t want to feel foolish or let my guard down. As long as I stay in control, I can maintain the upper hand and I need that. No matter how different he seems. “Never mind…you just seem different, is all. I don’t know how to handle you.”
“Handle me?” he says with a chuckle. “Why would you handle me at all?”
“Nothing. It was stupid. Just forget it.”
“It’s forgotten.”
I open my mouth and snap it shut. That was easy. Too easy.
With our eyes locked he says, “How did it happen?”
“How did what happen?” I’m caught off guard and I don’t even know what we’re talking about anymore.
“Mona. How did she die?”
His hands are on mine now and I can’t say when he put them there. He has me completely unwound, just with his warm, soft tone. I shy away, pulling from his touch, no matter how nice it feels.
“I don’t want to talk about it. Besides, the cops wouldn’t tell me anything, only that whoever shot her is dead.”
“But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”
“Why would you say that?” I ask.
“Because your uncle is in the next room with a bullet to the gut.”
“Yeah…well.”
“So I think if there’s more to share, you might want to let me in. I took a risk letting you in last night. You owe me that much.”
“I don’t owe you anything and if you want us gone, I can make that happen.” I try to stand and he doesn’t resist. The ottoman slides back a foot, rolling across the faux wood flooring.
He waves to the door leading to the staircase. “Then, please, by all means.”
I glare at him. He knows very well I can’t take off with Mickey like he is. I hate that I need him and I hate it even more that he knows it. Smug bastard. Here I am again, needing someone. Depending on someone and there’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it. I wish I could take it out on him—beat him senseless with my fists and scream in his face. Anything to get rid of my building frustration.
But I know it woul
d be misplaced. He doesn’t deserve my anger. If only he weren’t being so fucking nice to me. Be a dick! I can handle dicks. I know how to treat them, but he…he has me spinning.
Of course, I don’t tell him that.
“Whatever,” is the stupid response I come up with instead as I sit my ass back down. “I don’t know why Carrie thought it was such a good idea to come here.”
He frowns. “She didn’t think it was a good idea. You told her ‘no hospital’, remember? Or did you conveniently forget that?”
“You’re a fucking asshole,” I say, folding my arms across my chest and turning away.
“An asshole who saved your uncle’s life.” He groans in frustration, making me turn to glare at him.
“And do you realize how much you swear?” he adds. “I mean, I’m a Marine, but you and your aunt could put my unit to shame.”
I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. Getting pissed off and lashing out isn’t going to do either of us any good and as much as I hate to admit it, I really need him right now and he really doesn’t need me. That’s the crux of this situation and it’s one I have a hard time swallowing. I could just hear my aunt if she were here right now. “Eat crow and like it, kid. If that’s what you gotta do to save your ass, then that’s what you gotta do.” But crow tastes like fucking shit.
I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. “The problem I have with all of this is that neither of them has mentioned you before.”
“I’ve been away a long time. And I would wager that you don’t know as much about your friend as you think you do.”
“Does a person ever really know anybody?” This fact has only been made clearer with my aunt’s death. I feel like I didn’t know her at all.
“I thought Carrie was exaggerating when she said you have trust issues.”
I point to the bedroom Mickey lays in. “I think I have good reason.”
“Fair enough,” he agrees.
“Just tell me who you are. I want to understand, because you appear out of nowhere…and you’re pen pals with my aunt?” I laugh, “I mean, what the fuck? Mona has a pen pal?” I quiet for a minute. “Then all of a sudden you’re the guy my best friend turns to when I have an emergency. Why haven’t I ever heard of you?”
“You’re welcome,” he says, grinning.
“Bastard,” I mumble as I move to my feet. I wait for him to move his leg out of the way so I can walk away.
I glare at him and he takes the hint, rising to tower over me. I spin on my heel and stomp away. As I reach the hallway, he starts talking and I slow to listen, touching the wall as if I need to be held up.
“I met your aunt just before my eighteenth birthday, right before my mother married husband number four. Daddy-to-be and I didn’t get along so well and one night your aunt broke up a fight between us. I was much smaller then…maybe half the size I am now. Not short, but thin. He all but knocked me unconscious and she stopped it.”
“So…that’s it? You became friends?” I sigh, looking over my shoulder. “I didn’t even know Mona had friends.” I turn and start walking back to him, but I maintain my distance.
He smirks. “I came to her pub one night to thank her for saving my ass and she handed me a wad of cash, told me to get out of town, and get away from this place. She said Sterling has a way of destroying everything good in your life. And the way she said it…I could see real sadness in her eyes. I couldn’t stop myself from really listening to what she had to say. I didn’t want to leave on her dime, but then…your aunt was persistent.”
“You don’t say?”
“So I took the money and I left.”
“And then what?”
“Wow, you’re very much like your aunt, you know that? You like to control conversations.”
“Only when people avoid my questions,” I say.
“Back to your issues with trust, are we?”
“So you’re not going to answer?”
He scratches at his neck and then settles back down on the ottoman like he might be there for a while. “All right. I’ll let you have your way this one time.” He flashes me a wink and I glare at him. “I joined the military. It was my way to stay away from my stepfather and his influence.”
“He’s a bad guy?”
Damien nods, his face grim.
“Then what?”
He grins, shaking his head at me. “Soon after I signed up, I did a tour in Afghanistan and when I had the money, I sent Mona a letter, along with the money she’d given me. She…uh…” His smile touches his whole face, even leaves small lines along the corners of his eyes. It’s as endearing as fuck and a little distracting. “She sent it back with a Polaroid of her giving me the finger. Then she said I could keep writing her if I wanted to, but not to expect her to write back because she had better things to do with her time.” He gives me a small smile but it doesn’t touch his eyes and I get he can’t fully enjoy the memory, not when he knows he’ll never have any more with her.
“That sounds like my aunt,” I say quietly.
“One of the best laughs I had on that tour. So I kept writing. And for a while she didn’t send anything back. Not until I stopped writing on my second tour. I…uh…got myself injured and was kind of out of commission for a while. She wrote that first time to makes sure I was okay.”
“She actually asked?”
“Not in so many words. But, yeah. After that, she always wrote back. For the last six years.”
“How could I not know that?”
He shrugs. “I think she’s the type of person that only tells people what she wants to tell them.”
“I feel like I didn’t even know her, like I only got a piece of her. I mean, how is it that I’m discovering a whole different side of the woman I thought I knew the best?”
“I feel like that too. I’m sure everyone who knew her did. That was her way, I guess. She gave pieces of her to the people who needed it. Always holding back…for what, I never could figure out. Maybe, like you, she was afraid of showing her hand. Giving away too much and leaving herself vulnerable.”
I chew on that for a moment, running a finger across my bottom lip. I worry he sees through the same façade I put up, and for the exact same reasons she did. Both of us hurt by people we cared for and unwilling to trust others completely. But, more importantly, his insight hurts me. Makes me feel a pang of jealousy. How could I have lived with her for years and not known about Damien? About someone who obviously meant a great deal to her? Did I rank on her list of people she couldn’t trust? How foolish I’d been to think I might have been the only one she could have been completely open with. She was that person for me.
“What about Carrie?” I say, before swallowing hard. “Another pen pal?” Part of me wants confirmation that he’s not into her, though I don’t know why. The furthest thing from my mind right now should be a man. There’s no way I can see myself through everything going on if I get hung up on someone.
“Our fathers are brothers.”
“She’s your cousin?” I shake my head and count to ten. “Is everyone keeping shit from me?”
“You’re angry she didn’t tell you she has a cousin? Did you expect her to offer up her family tree when you decided to become besties?”
Besties? He says it like we’re two kids on a playground.
I jump as his warm hand reaches for mine. He’s back in my personal space, making me uncomfortable all over again. “I lied to you,” he says.
“Of course you did,” I say, angrily. “But about what in particular?”
“I asked your aunt to introduce us.”
“What?”
“She talked about you so much when I was away I couldn’t help but feel like I knew you too. When I came back to town, she helped me find this apartment and when I dropped her off at the pub last week, you were just getting there. It was raining…your hair was wet against your face and neck. She told me to stop staring and I didn’t even know that I was.” He pauses, takes a step eve
n closer so I can feel his breath on my face. “I asked her to introduce me to you and she laughed. She told me I couldn’t handle you.”
He wanted me? Wants me? So he was playing a game with me in the pub. Is he playing with me now? This is just further confirmation that he can’t be trusted, and it stings. I expected it, and yet I hoped he might actually be the person to prove me wrong. “One man,” Mona said. “One man to prove me wrong.” But not this guy. His soft voice and his intense stare and kindness…it’s an act. Of course it is.
He inches closer, his head tilting down so his lips are close enough to brush against mine.
“Is this what you want?” I ask, moving my lips across his. I can play just as well as he can.
He smiles as I try to pull back, but he grabs a hold of me and spins me around so my back is against the wall. I struggle against him, grunting as I try to break free from his grasp. He’s too strong, his thick muscles stretched taut as he grips my wrists. I want to hit him for restraining me and for lying and for making me consider he might be trustworthy. It seems the more fight I give him the stronger he becomes and after a strangled scream I give up. My whole body relaxes and my arms go limp. He releases me but stays in my space.
“Feel better?”
“No!” I snap.
“Not everyone is out to hurt you, Beth.”
“You lied to me. Why?”
“Because I didn’t think a girl like you would look twice at a guy like me.”
“Why would you even care?”
He closes his eyes and sighs, pushing away from the wall. He looks like he wants to say something, but instead of speaking his head tips forward, as if in surrender.
I repeat my question. “Why? Because of the way I look?” I say, frowning.
“Maybe. Or maybe because I see something inside of you that…feels familiar to me.”
“I’m not the girl for you,” I tell him. “I’m not sure I’m the girl for anyone.”
He lifts his head and I see pain behind his eyes that makes me swallow hard. It’s like he’s looking right through me. And I’m afraid of what he’ll see. Of showing him too much. I try to look away but his fingers catch my chin and his lips crash into mine, taking my breath away.