Compassion

by Neal, Xavier

  “Why my trashcan?”

  Her genuine tone battles the uneasiness swiftly. “Don't feel flattered. I dig in everyone's trashcan.”

  “Right,” she sighs. There's a brief moment of quiet chews before she states, “But you came back to mine. Two nights in a row.”

  In no mood to tell her it's because she's beautiful and the only person in this entire world to show me something other than disgust, I simply shrug. “You have the freshest trash.”

  “That I believe,” she mumbles more to herself than me. “What about the note? And the flower?”

  Caught once more with my back against a wall, I stuff another bite in my mouth and shrug.

  Jaye nods slowly in return and has a small nibble.

  Guilt swirls around my head while I watch her try to enjoy her meal.

  The meal she made. The meal she paid for. The meal she is willing to share with me. Damn. She just wanted to talk. That's not really that high of a price for free room and food.

  As soon as I swallow, I ask, “So uh...this ex fiancé of yours? What’d he do?”

  Her face lifts up. “What do mean?”

  “To become an ex. I can't imagine he woke up one morning with a woman like you and decided there was something better. Did he uh...get caught in a moment of weakness and cheat? Why'd you dump him?”

  A smirk momentarily crosses her face. It's so short had I blinked, I would've missed it.

  “Why'd you smile?”

  “I like that you assumed I dumped him.”

  “He'd have to be the world's biggest fucking moron to dump you,” I uncontrollably reply.

  What the fuck is that? Why did I say that? When did I turn into someone who couldn't hold their fucking tongue?

  “Sorry,” my voice drops in volume. “For the...language.”

  “It's fine,” she assures. “It doesn't bother me.”

  Reaching for my water bottle, I push again. “So, why'd you leave him?”

  “I didn't. He died.”

  Oh that thing in my mouth? Yeah that's my own fucking foot. Doesn't taste awful, but it is the reason I don't make conversation much. Hell this is probably the longest consistent conversation I've had with anyone in months. Definitely the longest with a woman in years. Hookers don't typically talk. They just ask if you're in or out. When you're not they keep moving. Not what I would consider an actual conversation. No. No hookers for me. Not even when they were willing to toss out a freebie.

  “I'm sorry.”

  “You didn't know,” she answers calmly.

  “Recently?”

  “Three years ago this past December.”

  My appetite to know what happened is suddenly bigger than the one in my stomach. “What happened?”

  Jaye's fork twirls back and forth, but she remains quiet.

  “Never mind.” I pick mine back up. “It's not my business. Forget I asked.”

  “He was driving home on a night like this one,” her voice begins slowly. “Like always Chris thought he knew better than everyone else. He figured he could make it home before the sleet got too bad. Didn't think he would need to slow down. Thought his Porsche , like him, was invincible.”

  Told you he drove a fucking Porsche.

  “He lost control on an icy road. Crashed. I was coming home later than usual from work and when I got here, my father who was on duty that night and his partner were waiting for me. Everyone in this cop world knew who Chris was. He donated large portions any time they had any kind of fundraiser, not to mention he was dating a cop’s daughter...Anyway, the officers on the scene knew exactly who he was. Called my father. He showed up and waited to tell me in person.”

  My mouth moves to comment, but I'm not sure with what.

  What the hell do you say to that?

  The silence returns, which is my cue to refill my plate with another layer of lasagna and salad.

  Maybe if there's more food in my mouth I won't be tempted to stick my foot in there again.

  Casually, Jaye lays her fork down. “What did you do before you became homeless?”

  The shift of invasion from her privacy to mine causes me to grit my teeth.

  I don't care if she was dumb enough to be open with me. It doesn't mean I have to be open with her. This isn't fucking elementary school. There are no fucking rules.

  “Does it matter?”

  She reaches for her wine glass. “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “If you were a drug dealer or a baby kidnapper and business went under, I would say you deserve what's coming to you.”

  Her outrageous accusations force me to smirk.

  Damn it.

  “But something tells me you were probably just a guy luck got away from.”

  Scooting my food around on my plate, I divert my eyes back down. “I don't believe in luck.”

  Jaye's mouth cracks open, but she stops herself. Whatever comment is let go of and she says, “So which was it? Baby kidnapper or failed ax murderer?”

  Another smile tries to crawl on my face. “What happened to drug dealer?”

  “I upped the ante.”

  I roll my eyes.

  How do I make her less....irresistible? She's smiling again isn't she? That damn smile is infectious.

  Instead of stuffing my face, I continue to push the food around. “I was a grunt.”

  “Is that...is that like that rock band thing?”

  Dumbfounded, I lift my head back up. “What?”

  “Metal band? Music or something?”

  Shaking my head slowly I reply, “I was in the army.”

  Embarrassment flushes her face, “Oh!”

  How the hell can she look even more appealing than she already had? Did she poison my food? She put hallucinogens in this? You'd tell me. Right?

  “For how long?”

  “About seven years.”

  She pushes her plate away and drops her face into her hands. “Wow. Why didn't you keep going?”

  My body instinctively tenses. Rolling my tongue around in my mouth, I remain silent.

  Jaye quickly backs down. “My mistake. I should leave it alone.” She rises to her feet. “I'll check on the laundry. Do you need anything while I'm up? Another bottle of water?”

  I shake my head. As soon as she leaves the area, I hit my back against the wooden chair, head falling backwards.

  Fuck. Why didn't I just tell her? I didn't have to give her all the gory details. I don't have to explain the shit I saw that I'll never un-see, or the pathetic politics that go on. You know the kind if you don't suck enough dick you'll always just be a pair of boots on the ground waiting to lose your life? It's life. Someone's always trying to get their dick wet.

  There's a heavy clunking sound followed by a door closing. Suddenly Jaye is headed back towards the table and my eyes refuse to look anywhere else.

  She commands them like she's their lieutenant. It's ridiculous. And fucking terrifying. One more reason to cut and run in the morning.

  When she reaches for her plate, obviously preparing to clear it, I quietly state, “I was injured.”

  Her movements cease. Cautiously she questions, “Is that why you have a limp?”

  My hand grips the back of my neck and squeezes. Hating the fact she noticed, I push my eyes back down to the plate and nod.

  The very small pause is proceeded with a beautiful hum, “Dessert?”

  Surprised she didn't push any further yet relieved, I drag my eyes back up.

  With a bright smile, she picks up her plate and says in a tempting voice, “I've got chocolate chip peanut butter cookies.”

  The playful tone makes me chuckle lightly.

  “They're homemade,” she continues. “And in case you didn't get a chance to overhear the conversation I had with Officer Brallon, I make a fantastic cookie. We're talking Martha Stuart should grab my number fabulous.”

  Another laugh escapes. “I um...I'm actually full.”

  “Okay.” Jaye backs down but her smile st
ays. “You can go ahead and get settled in for the night then.”

  “But-”

  “I'll take care of the dishes. Don't worry about it.” Grabbing her glass as well she says, “I'll leave the light on in the guest bathroom downstairs in case you need to go. Remember to turn the space heater off before you fall asleep. Once your clothes are ready I'll fold them and put them by your backpack.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  She nods and leaves me alone with my thoughts for a final time.

  You know, I know this was a one night, one time thing. I know I should've been a little warmer or a little friendlier, but believe me when I say I did the best I could. My people skills are rusty, so forgive me. The point I'm trying to make is even though I know this has to end, I'm glad it happened. I'm glad that for one moment in time I got to remember what it felt like to be human again.

  Jaye

  You're not still fussing at me for letting a complete stranger spend the night in my home are you? Give it a rest! I sleep with my Beretta within arms’ reach. Besides I locked my bedroom just in case the act of kindness went very south. After finishing dinner, dishes, and laundry, I tucked myself away for the night. He didn't make a sound. Not one after he closed himself in the garage. Is it wrong to wish he had? A small part of me wanted to know more about him. Hear about how he became homeless. To listen to anything he had to say even if he was a little ornery. His voice was delicious. Totally worth waiting for those first words. It only makes sense his voice is as amazing as his body. For a man who doesn't have access to a gym, his chest and abs tell a different story. He's built so much different than Chris was. Chris was groomed, clean shaven, so pristine it made for an uncomfortable amount of pressure for me to be the same. Archer...Archer's rugged with scars and tattoos, his flesh one walking story I wanna hear. Ugh. There's so much about this situation that can't possibly be healthy. Have you ever been in a situation like this? Maybe not inviting a homeless man to slumber in your garage, but something that you knew you shouldn't do and did it anyway with a smile?

  Dressed for work, I rush down the stairs and head straight for the garage. I give the door a sharp knock and open it slowly. “Archer...”

  On the other side of the door, my garage is abandoned. The space heater is off. The mattress is deflated. The sheets are folded neatly in a pile on top of the pillows. Seeing everything neat, done with so much care makes his absence even more heartbreaking.

  I have no right be this sad. I know. I just...I was hoping he would be here so that we could...maybe, I don't know. Have breakfast? Talk? I'm not sure what my plan was. All I know is that he's not here and it sucks.

  My phone that I slipped into my back pocket starts to vibrate. Answering it as I close the garage door behind me, I try to put away my irrational disappointment. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hey, sugar.” The term of endearment warms me up. “You doing okay?”

  “I'm fine. Headed to work,” I reply, grabbing my bags from beside the front door.

  “Quick question. I heard from Brallon that your visitor was digging in the neighbor's trash?” My lip slips between my teeth. “An old college friend?” When he doesn't get a response, Dad says, “I know my little girl. I also know you would climb to the top of a mountain to save a helpless rabbit.”

  I....might.

  “Your secret is safe with me. I just wanna make sure you're safe. That everything is fine.”

  Other than him not being here when I woke up.

  “Everything is fine, dad. Thanks for checking on me.”

  He hums. “Locked and loaded?”

  With a little chuckle I button the last one on my coat. “Always.”

  “That's my little ball of sugar,” he sighs. “Alright, I'll let you get to work. Call me later?”

  “I will.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you more.”

  Once I hang up, I grab my bags, head to my car and begin to defrost it. The pop music filling my car does its best to drag me away from my wandering thoughts of Archer.

  How did I not hear the garage go up? Do you think he went out the front door? Why did he go? Why not wait? Why not have one warm meal with me before disappearing? You think he took the leftovers from dinner with him? Maybe a bottle of water? I bet he's thirsty...Why can't I just let it go? Am I on the verge of some sort of mental breakdown?

  As soon as my windows are clear, I back up slowly, relieved the ground was too warm for most of the sleet to stick to last night.

  I have a hard time driving on icy roads since Chris' death. Most of the time I won't. Presley's completely aware of the situation and has given me an automatic pass for life to be late or call in, worry free whenever that's the case. Thankfully that's only been twice.

  Driving towards the front of the neighborhood, I try to get a hold of my frustrations by gripping the wheel tighter.

  It's fine. This was obviously a one-time thing. I'll be surprised if I ever see him again. Clearly, this meant more to me than it did to him, even if it shouldn't have. I swear the more and more I talk to you about this, the more and more it sounds like a sexless one night stand. Do you hear how absurd that sounds?

  At the stop sign, I glance both ways before preparing to continue on, which is when a sight catches my attention just as it had a couple days ago. Rather than accelerating to drive forward, I do an awkward U-turn and pull into the park parking lot just a few feet away.

  I pull up slowly and roll my window down. “Hey.”

  A hint of happiness appears briefly on his face. It doesn't take long before he buries it. “Hey.”

  The cold winter air seeps in causing me to quickly demand. “Get in.”

  Archer looks both ways before looking back at me. “I don't think that's a good idea.”

  On a sigh I say, “Fine. Then I'll get out of the car. But my way keeps us both warm rather than both battling possible frostbite.”

  His face scrunches as if the thought of causing me pain irks him.

  Let's put that in the win column.

  After another moment of hesitation, Archer gets up, walks over and slips into the front seat of my car.

  Thank goodness. These heated leather seats are much warmer than that cold bench he was sitting on.

  Once he's inside, I roll the windows back up. “Morning.”

  He doesn't turn to face me. With his attention directed out the front of my car he questions, “What do you want, Jaye?”

  Not surprised he cut right to the chase, I ask, “Why'd you leave before I woke up?”

  “Why would I stay?”

  “Why wouldn't you stay?” I shriek back. “It's freezing outside! Sure, my garage may not be a five star resort, but it was at least warm! And protective! And what about breakfast? I didn't get to make that for you or um...us. I-”

  “Jaye.” His sharp voice presses my glossed lips together. “I appreciate the meal. The shower. The clean clothes and warm bed to sleep in. It was all....” He lets out a deep sigh. “Refreshing. But I'm not some fucking charity case. I don't need you take care of me. I don't need anyone. So get it out of your little, rich girl brain that I'm your next make over project and move the fuck on.”

  Unsure if I'm hurt more by his tone or word choice I simply put the car in park. My voice slips to a whisper. “Is that what you think of me? That I'm some bored socialite looking for my humanitarian award to make up for the amount of coke and wine I consume the other 364 days of the year?” In a stronger voice I state, “Because I'm not.”

  He snaps his head around to me. “Then what are you? Why are you so fucking nice to me?”

  “Because I think you deserve it.”

  When his mouth slips open I wait for another viscous remark to escape, but it doesn't.

  “I think that you've had enough shit kicked your way over the last couple of years and could use a little compassion.” With a shrug I continue, “Hell, maybe I know what it's like for the entire world to look at you one way and just wish one
person would see you a little differently.”

  Archer quietly retorts, “How could anyone see you for anything less than amazing?”