“Are you alright?” he asks as he crunches over the glass towards me. I hold out my hand, hoping that he'll help me up, but instead, he reaches under my knees and puts an arm around my waist. With a grunt, Ty lifts me from the floor and pulls me against his chest. The beat of my heart sounds in my ears as I stare at the bit of blood on his face and wonder what the hell he's doing.
“Thanks,” I say because I don't know what else there is to say. Ty smiles and looks around like he isn't sure where to put me. The counter isn't an option, not with the clerk's corpse lying so close to it, and I can tell he isn't going to just stand me up somewhere, not with glass embedded in my feet. You're not worth it. I swallow hard as I remember his words. If he really believed that though, why is he bothering to help me? Why not just stand me up and leave it at that?
Ty turns towards the entrance and wades through the glass and out the front doors. Now there really are sirens in the distance and already, I can see the flash of blue and red lights. While he's glancing in that direction, I take a moment to pick at his shirt and check for injuries. When I don't find any, I give a sigh of relief. Whoever this man is, I owe him one, and I'd rather not see him hurt. Just when I think his strength is going to give out, he sets me down on the hood of a car and steps back, putting his hands on his hips.
“Thanks,” I say again and he smiles, flashing me dimples.
“No,” he says. “Thank you. If you hadn't attacked that guy, I wouldn't have been able to get the girl.” I shrug because I don't know what else to do with the praise.
“If you hadn't stuck around, I'd have been dead. You could've left through the back door, you know.”
“Never even crossed my mind,” he says, and I look at him, trying to decide if he's just full of himself or if he's being honest. I decide that it doesn't matter; either way, he stayed to help and that's what counts. Ty nibbles his lip ring and runs a hand through his hair while I struggle to find something to say back to him. I can't come up with anything and start to pull bits of glass from my skin. When Ty reaches out and takes my hand, I nearly fall off the hood. “Need some help?” he asks, and I stare at him like he's crazy. When his fingers reach down and start to pull shards out, his touch is gentle enough that I don't argue.
What is going on? I wonder, but I don't have an answer for that. No answer at all.
4
I let the EMTs take a look at my cuts, but refuse a trip to the hospital. Instead, I go down to the station, sitting quietly in the back of a cop car with Ty McCabe. They want us to make a statement which is fine with me. I want the fuckers to fry, but I know I'm hoping for too much. More than likely, they'll get twenty years tops, ten with good behavior. I try to make myself feel better by imagining how much it would hurt to get punched by a guy with big biceps and knuckles glittering with a dozen rings.
When we get to the station, I see that Ty's friends are already there, sitting beside Lacey in the waiting area. She and I hug briefly and share a look that tells me how grateful she really is. She doesn't thank me which is fine because I didn't do it for her. I did it for me. I get so tired of seeing injustice and pain where there doesn't have to be any. It just bothers me.
I give my statement while the cops try to placate me, offering a trip to the hospital or a ride home, and practically force me to eat some stale cookies from their break room. They aren't suspicious about anything which is nice because I don't feel like explaining my anger to anyone, especially not about Guy Two. It's just there, boiling hot and angry. Fortunately, this time, the cops do their job of playing the good guys and release us after a few hours.
After we finish performing our civic duties, Lacey catches a ride home with her girlfriend who has the audacity to show up with Rick in the front seat of her car. Lacey's face shows this sort of desperate sorrow that I don't understand at all because I've never been in love with anyone before. She pushes it away as quick as it came and throws herself into the girl's arms with a sob. I don't judge her for any of it. I'm in no place to judge anyone.
I don't much feel like going home, so I sit down on the cement steps and put my head in my hands. I'm tired and sore and pissed off, but I'm grateful to be alive, and I don't know why. I had thought I didn't care. Guess that's easy to say when your life isn't hanging tenuously in the air, ready to snap as easily as a thread. Now that I've actually been threatened with losing it, I kind of want to keep it. I wish it was in better shape.
“Hi,” someone says, and I look up to see Ty standing next to me with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. He's got dimples again and despite the simple fact that I hate him, my stomach flutters in response. “My name is Ty McCabe.” He holds out his hand, and I see butterflies all over the back of it, tattooed in a swarm of color from his fingertips up his arm where they disappear under the sleeve of his black T-shirt. “It's nice to meet you,” he says, and I can see that he wants to start over with me. I figure we got off to a rocky start, so I give him another chance. You're not worth it. I swallow hard and try to remember that I was the one that called him a whore. All he really did was ask me to go dancing.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, reaching up and taking his hand in mine. “My name is Never Ross. Printed just like it sounds right across the top of my birth certificate.” The silver bangles on my arm clink against the gold ones on his.
“I like it,” Ty says, retracting his hand and fetching a cigarette from the front pocket of his jeans. He hands it to me, and I take it, pleased to see that it's a Marlboro Red, the same kind that I smoke. “Sounds exotic,” he tells me as he puts the cigarette between his pretty lips and lights it with a black lighter that he retrieves from a different pocket. His brown eyes are watching me with unmasked curiosity. “You were pretty fucking awesome back there,” he tells me as he hands over the lighter. I light my cigarette and unconsciously pocket it. Ty notices but doesn't say anything.
“Right back at you,” I say as I notice a sign prohibiting smoking within twenty feet of the entrance. I nod my chin at it and Ty and I move down the steps together. We pause on the sidewalk and stand in silence for several moments, watching one another smoke. The two cherries are the only source of light in this quiet spot, just two, little orange glows in the dark of night. No cars drive by and the only sounds we hear are from inside the police station. But at least I'm not alone. If I have to go home and be alone again, I might just break. “I don't much feel like being by myself,” I admit to Ty as I study the hard lines of his face. He's beautiful to look at, but he's also broken, bruised, and betrayed. No wonder I was so attracted to him. He's exactly the kind of guy I always go for. I wonder what he thinks of me. Obviously he was attracted to me, too, or he wouldn't have come across the bar to talk to me. I think about having sex with him and dismiss the idea. If he even wants to, then I'll feel twice as alone when he's gone. I admit this, too, not caring what he thinks of me for saying it. I kind of just want to be honest right now. My past has enough lies in it to drown me three times over. “And I don't want to have sex, I just want to be with someone.”
“Same here,” Ty says as he crushes his cigarette into the ashtray on top of a nearby garbage can. “Want to go to the beach?” I nod and copy his motion, putting out my cigarette before following him down the sidewalk. “I don't have a car, so we'll have to walk. Unless you have one?” he asks. I shake my head and pause to remove my heels. My feet hurt either way, so I might as well not even bother to wear them. The EMTs put bandages on me anyway, so I figure I won't be completely unprotected against the grimy streets.
“Nope,” I say as I examine my mangled shoes. The heel on one is broken and the other has a bit of blood on it. I feel sick. “I'm in the mood for walking anyway,” I say as I turn back and jog over to the garbage can. I shove the shoes inside, next to an empty bottle of liquor and a half eaten sandwich. Ty doesn't say anything, but he does smile.
“So,” he continues as I catch back up to him and fall into an easy stride. Neither of us seems to be in any
hurry to get where we're going. It's all about the journey. “Tell me about yourself. Where do you come from? What do you do? What is it that made you want to fight back like that?” The pavement is cold against my bare toes, but in a good way, a way that makes me feel more awake. I like it. I stare down at them for a moment before answering. The red nail polish still looks good and isn't too chipped, despite my scuffle at the convenience store.
“What made you want to fight back?” I counter, unsure of how to answer his questions. Despite what he may think, they're all difficult ones for me, and I don't have any real answers to them. I look up at Ty's face, at the piercings in his nose and lip and eyebrows. The streetlights above them catch on the metal and make them shimmer like diamonds. He looks down at me, and I can see that he doesn't know either.
“I'm sorry for what I said to you,” he tells me, and I feel tears sting my eyes. I don't know why, but suddenly, they're just there. I look away and pretend that the cold is getting to me by tucking my hands under my armpits. “I'm the last person that should be judging anyone else.”
“Second to last,” I say, and dash my tears away before throwing a smile back at him. “And I'm sorry for calling you a whore.” He grimaces and the smile falls from his face for a moment. Ty bites his lip and spins the ring back and forth with his tongue.
“That's okay,” he says, and before I can argue, he explains himself. “Because I am one. Or I was.” I shake my head as we pause at the street corner and wait for the light to change. There are no cars, but we wait anyway.
“I sleep around a lot, too,” I admit, and have no idea why I'm spilling my guts to this guy. Maybe it's because he reminds me so much of myself. I reach into my coat and find the lighter and the box of cigarettes. I light up again and pass one to Ty. He takes it in his fingers but doesn't put it to his mouth.
“No, not like that,” he says as I tuck the lighter away, and we start across the street. “I worked as a whore.” Ty puts the cigarette between his lips but doesn't take a drag. It hangs limply from his frown, and I can see in his eyes that he's tortured by whatever it is that he's done. He looks as sick as I feel. “And not a very good one,” he tells me as we pass by brick apartment buildings that were once historic treasures but now just appear rundown. Very few windows glow with light. “For a couple hundred bucks, I would've given you what you wanted.” Ty inhales and holds the smoke in his lungs for a long time before he exhales in a cloud of white. “Or I would've. I don't do that anymore.”
I don't say anything to that. I don't know what to say. On one hand, I'm disgusted with him. I think things like, How could he sell his body like that? and Doesn't he have any shame or dignity?, but then I realize that we're just the same, me and him. I may not have ever taken money for sex, but I abuse it just the same.
“I have six sisters which is just as shitty as it sounds,” I say randomly, and Ty finally smiles again. He has a really nice smile. It lights up the dark almost as well as the streetlamps above us. “My mother is, like Lacey said, a belly dancer. She does shows during the farmers' market and teaches classes.”
“That's cool,” Ty says, but I cut him off.
“No, it's not. She could've made more money working at Mc-fucking-Donalds. I don't know how someone could be that selfish and still pretend they care, you know?” Ty laughs, and it sounds bitter and dry.
“I know what you mean,” he says as we pause outside a 24-hour coffee shop. “Want something?” he asks me, and I nod as this strange feeling takes over me. I'm hanging out with a guy with butterfly tattoos who worked as a hooker and blew me off at our first meeting. The same guy who tackled a person with a gun just to save me and has a smile with dimples. I'm making a friend. I smile.
“Coffee, black,” I say and Ty grins.
“Funny,” he says. “That's just the way I like mine.”
5
“I had one serious boyfriend in high school,” I tell Ty as we sit on the edge of a cliff and look down at the sea below. My coffee is clutched between my fingers, cold now but still good. Ty finishes his with one last sip and crushes the cup between his hands. “We dated right up until the day I ran away. I still think about him sometimes.”
“What was his name?” Ty asks as he sets the cup down in the grass beside him and wraps his arms around his knees. I watch the horizon and see that it's already tinted with a rosy blush, preparing itself for the sunrise that's only moments away. I can hardly wait. After what happened to the two of us last night, we could use a little light.
“Noah,” I say with a smile, thinking of one of the last times I saw him, waving goodbye to me from the parking lot near the high school. That was just days before junior prom. I wonder if he went with anyone else, or if he was still holding out for me. I guess I'll never know.
“Just Noah?” Ty asks as he leans back and puts his hands in the grass. “No last name? What is he, like Madonna or something?”
“Of course he has a last name,” I say as I finish my own coffee and go for another cigarette. I try to hand one to Ty, but he waves it away.
“What was it then?” he asks, feeling awfully bold in this early morning darkness.
“Scott.”
“Noah Scott, the long lost love of Never Ross. Why don't you call him? Look him up online?”
“I do way better than that,” I say as I copy Ty's pose and lean back. “I stalk him online.”
“Ah,” Ty says as he reaches over and plucks the cigarette from my mouth. “You're one of those.” He puts it in his mouth and smirks at me. Apparently, we're good enough friends now that he can do this. I guess we both did tackle a bunch of armed thugs, so I let it go. I'm a little uncomfortable, but I don't say anything, just pull out another cigarette and light it.
“He goes to school in the same town where we grew up, at the community college. I don't know why; he always had good grades. As far as I knew, he could've gone anywhere he wanted.” Ty doesn't say a word, just blows smoke into the cool air. “What about you?” I ask, and he turns his head slowly to look at me. “Any long lost loves?” Ty purses his lips, but I don't think the expression's for me. I'm pretty sure it's for his own thoughts. He doesn't look all that happy about what's going though his head.
“Not a single one,” he says, and I can see that he's being honest. In fact, he looks kind of pissed off about it.
“It's not as glamorous as it sounds,” I promise, feeling the rush of pain and loneliness that had swept over me as I'd driven out of town and never looked back. Suddenly, it gets hard for me to breathe, and I sit up, leaning over my legs like I'm trying to touch my bare toes. They're like blocks of ice, and they hurt like hell, but I'm not ready to go back to the dorms, not yet.
“It's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, right?” I scoff at Ty's words.
“So says the prick who's never been in love.” He stares at me, and I realize how badly that came out. “Not you,” I sputter and Ty smiles.
“You meant Alfred Lord Tennyson, right?” he asks as I sit back up, trying to forget about Noah again. Whenever I think about him, I feel sick and start to regret all the decisions I've made. If I start doing that, I might as well curl up and die because I'll never recover.
“Who?”
“I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost; Than never to have loved at all.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“You're quoting me poetry?” I ask, and Ty shrugs.
“Why not? Does it bother you or something?”
“I don't know,” I say, and we both go silent for awhile. I've had a lot of guys try to quote poetry to me. It always just sounds lazy, like they can't be bothered to come up with words of their own. I don't think that was Ty's intention, but I just don't feel comfortable with it, so I say nothing.
“So do you go to the U?” he asks me, and I nod as I press my cigarette into the ground and toss it into my empty cup.
“Yeah. You?” Ty l
aughs.
“Me? Hell no. If I stepped on campus, I'd burst into flames.”
“It's a Christian school in name only. You'd never know otherwise.” He shrugs again and sits up, stretching his arms above his head. I watch his body carefully, feeling that gentle tug in my lower belly that proves I'm still interested. He has perfectly sculpted arms, rounded with muscles but not bulging, and a wide chest that tapers into a thin waist. My body still wants me to fuck him, but my mind's no longer willing to let me. These bad boys that I like so much don't serve my purposes when they're laid out on the table for me to see. Ty's already told me too much. Knowing that someone is wounded and wanting is one thing, but knowing why and seeing it firsthand is another altogether. Ty McCabe is no longer on my radar, not like that anyway. I tell myself this is a good thing because I don't have any fucking friends. It would be nice to have one, especially one that I've been completely honest with. There are no lies floating between us yet. It's kind of refreshing.
“I work at a friggin' grocery store. My life goals lie somewhere between shift leader and assistant manager.” I don't know what to say to that, so I lick my lips and listen to the sound of the ocean below us. It's calm today, much calmer than usual, and so peaceful. I close my eyes and absorb the gentle whisper of the waves on the rocks. After awhile, I hear Ty sigh, but I keep my eyes shut and don't say a word. He shifts beside me, and I think I hear him stand. Still, I don't look at him. Footsteps sound beside me, and when I open my eyes, Ty is gone.
I watch the sun come up alone.
6
“Does anyone know what the bloody knife in this poem symbolizes?” the professor asks, voice tinny over the microphone she's got strapped to her face. She walks back and forth across the stage with a small clicker in her hand and smiles like she knows something that we don't. God, I hate lecture halls. Even if I was inclined to participate in the discussion (which I'm not), there's no opportunity to do so anyway. There are over two hundred people in this class and no time for personal thoughts. The professor moves to the next screen of her presentation. It's a poll with four options. She reads them aloud.
Tasting, Finding, Keeping: The Story of Never Page 3