by Max Henry
Whatever his intention, a girl scout should always be prepared. Steph wasn’t about to fast-track herself to the lead role in a cheesy horror flick. She wasn’t going to be that girl who everyone yelled at to ‘run’. She wriggled into his side further, and slid her hand between the cushions of the sofa. Unbeknownst to him, her fingers roamed the gap behind the seat for the little surprise she remembered was in there.
The movie credits rolled, and her hand tightened around her solution for the Possible Pete Problem. Yep, that’s right—she had named the conundrum in the course of the movie.
He sat relaxed, reclined into the back of the sofa—not going anywhere.
“Comfortable?” she cooed.
“For now.” He traced a lazy line up her arm with a finger.
“You know, I’m kind of tired. I think I might—”
“Are ya tryin’ to blow me off, Cutie?” He twisted in the seat to face her better.
“I’ve already asked you to leave, and yet here you still are. Would you rather I got nasty about it?”
He chuckled, and she caught herself laugh with him. “Ya don’t know much about me, huh?”
“Don’t get the chance with you,” she retorted.
He soured. “Never heard ya complain.”
“So you’ve said.” Steph gave him her best ‘I-mean-it’ glower. “So, are you leaving, or what?”
“Nah.” He grinned.
Why did he have to look so boyishly cute when he grinned? Such innocence almost had her go soft on him—almost. “For the last time, you’re making me uncomfortable. Please leave.”
Pete’s gaze dragged the length of her, and settled on her chest. “They don’t think so.”
She followed his line of sight to her breasts, and gasped. Heat flushed her cheeks when she saw what he referred to. Her nipples were hard enough to make soft peaks of her t-shirt. Oh God, kill me now.
Pete laughed, softly at first, but louder as her embarrassment grew. “Yer body don’t lie, Love. It wants what it wants.”
Enough. The guy wouldn’t leave when asked, and now he made a mockery of her situation ... in her home. Steph brought her hand wielding the weapon up, and rammed the fork into his thigh. He hollered a litany of curses, and grabbed at the handle which merrily sat upright from his leg. Acid roiled in her stomach at the sight, and she leapt off the seat. In no way had she intended to be so brutal. Still, she took the chance and bolted to her bedroom, slammed the door and snatched the phone from the nightstand. Her finger hovered over the third zero, when he called to her through the door.
“Fine. Have it yer way. I’m leavin’.” The metallic ting as the fork hit the tiles echoed through her unit, before the dull thud of the front door punctuated his exit.
Her head spun with the craziness of what happened. Since when did she take to stabbing people who refused to leave? Had she been too rash? Acted on impulse? Perhaps he wasn’t as dangerous as she thought? Guilt buzzed in her temple as she thought it over. Maybe she had been a bit rough. Steph placed her phone down on the bed, and got to her feet. She paused by the door, and listened for movement. All that responded was the dull hum of ads on her TV. She inched the door open, and listened again. Still nothing. A little braver, she pushed it wide and stepped out into the short hallway. As she rounded the corner into the lounge, a hand clamped down over her mouth.
“Jesus, you’re gullible.” She caught the amusement in Pete’s words.
She tried to scream, kick, thrash her way free, but he held on. He wrapped his arm about her middle and pulled her into his body. Warmth spread across the back of her thigh where the blood from his wound soaked into her trackies. He crushed her to him to shush her, calm her.
“It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”
She let off a string of profanities which lost all effect under the dampener of his hand.
“I’ll take me hand away, but if ya scream again, I’ll fuckin’ tape yer mouth shut until I’m done.”
Oh my God—he’s going to rape me. What the fuck else did he mean by ‘done’? His hand fell from her mouth, but he kept her pressed to his hard chest. She stuttered out her words before the sickness in her gut took their place. “What are you going to do to me?” Oh, God. How could she have let him into her home the first time if this is how nutty he truly was?
“Nothin’,” he said. “I want to talk to ya, and have ya bloody-well hear me out.” His words vibrated where her back still rested against him.
“Some way of convincing me to listen you have there.”
“Some aim ya have with a fork,” he replied.
She hung her head, and her chin rested on top of the hand which pressed against her chest. “Sorry about that.”
Pete let her go, and limped around where she stood to the couch. “I would have done the same. What bothers me more is that ya keep forks in yer couch for such occasions.”
She forced a laugh. “Not quite. It dropped there the other night. I just hadn’t remembered to fish it out yet.”
“Oh well,” he shrugged. “Lucky for ya, then.”
Steph looked to the floor, unsure what she should do. Bolt? Or hear him out? Somehow, he had managed to make her more at ease around him in a short few minutes. “So what did you want to talk about?”
“I want to try and explain why I’m such an asshole. Maybe ya’ll understand why I got so heated last weekend.”
“Charming.” She frowned. “Are you going to include what brought you to the conclusion that you needed to keep me prisoner in my own home to do it?”
“Perhaps. Depends how well ya listen.”
“What does it matter?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, and stopped to flick his lip ring before he spoke. “Because, Cutie, if ya hear me out and choose to let me stick around, I’ll know you’re the girl for me.”
****
Pete eyed her where she stood. She still shook like a new born lamb, but at least the colour had returned to her face. For a moment there he was convinced the woman was about to hurl all over him.
Steph took a few deep sighs, and rubbed her fingers over her eyebrow as she thought. As much as he hated to admit it to himself, the tension in his chest was a direct result of waiting on her answer. Would she hear him out? Fuck, did they have a chance after tonight? The woman thought he was psychotic. Hold on, she’s the one who stabbed ya, remember?
“Okay,” she whispered. “But first, let me fix your leg.”
“It’s fine.” He brushed her off.
She threw her hands on her hips, and frowned. “It’s not. And besides, it’s the least I can do since it was me who did it to you.”
He dropped his shoulders, and nodded. She was determined—that cute little crinkle in her nose said so. She turned and headed for the bathroom, and he dropped his head back on the sofa. The puncture in his thigh had numbed after the initial pain, but his leg could still do with the dressing. He just wasn’t sure if he could handle her hands on his skin. When he held her to his chest moments before, a torrent of erotic images had surged into his mind. What he’d do to hold her in the same position—naked. She fit. Perfectly.
Steph reappeared with a small, first-aid bag, and perched on the couch next to him. “You’re going to have to take your pants off, you know.”
He noted the slight curl in the corner of her lips as she spoke. The thought amused her too, huh? Pete stood, and flicked the catch on his belt buckle. Her keen eyes followed the movement. He popped the button, and edged the zip down, then paused for effect. She ran her top lip through her bite, and popped the lush pink skin out. His little fella stirred.
Not now. For fuck’s sake.
He played still shots of cute animals through his head to distract from the thought. Puppies, chickens, baby tigers, and elephants … shit. Not elephants, ya eejit.
Pete drew his eyes shut, and hooked a thumb in each side of the denim. He shoved them over his hips to his knees. The subtlest of gasps pierced the silence, and his skin bro
ke out in goose bumps. What the fuck was wrong with him? Here he was, a man who successfully portrayed indifference and a lack of compassion since he walked out of his parent’s house, and now a woman made him lose control of his body.
He dropped onto the couch, and draped an arm over his groin to hide any possible embarrassment that may ... arise. Pete watched her as she looked at the wound with concern.
“I didn’t realise I’d pushed so deep.”
“Ya pretty much put yer full weight on it, Love.”
She huffed, and turned to the kit at her side. He looked over the punctures in his thigh as she unzipped the bag, and pulled out the necessities. Steph was right—she had pushed deep. Angry purple circles ringed the reddened prong holes. The flesh around the entire wound had swollen into a puffy, red patch.
“This will sting.” She placed a swab over the area; her palm wrapped over the contour of his leg.
He sucked a harsh breath through his teeth, glad for the pain to detract from the sensational feel of her palm on his skin. She removed the swab of gauze, and applied antiseptic cream, then finished off with a fabric plaster. He studied her face the whole time, and noted how her eyebrows twitched with her concentration.
“Feel free to start telling me whatever it is you think will scare me off,” Steph said as she placed the kit back together.
Pete stood once more, and pulled his jeans back on. “I don’t think it will—I know it will.”
She levelled him with a stare as she stood to return the kit. “Do you think I’m that precious?”
“Not at all. I think you’re that sensible.”
“Great,” she muttered as she left the room again.
What was that about? Didn’t girls like being told they were smart? I give up. He settled back into the couch, and rubbed where the plaster was under his jeans. Steph returned, and took a seat opposite him in the only armchair.
“Ya need to stop assumin’ people think the worst of ya,” he started. “Perhaps it’s a compliment to ya that I think ya would be too smart to stick around me.”
“I’ll make up my own mind, thanks.”
He smiled, amused at her optimism. “I have few friends, ya know. Mostly I keep to meself.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“Shush.” He held a finger to his lips. “No talkin’. Just listenin’.”
She nodded, obviously pissed off.
He closed his eyes to expel the alluring sight of her on the armchair; legs tucked under, her oversized t-shirt strangely sexy. “I don’t tell anybody who I was before I came to Australia, because not many people can understand it. Most people look at me with pity in their eyes. I don’t want fuckin’ pity.”
She opened her mouth to ask a question, then stilled.
“I’m tellin’ ya this, Cutie, because I see somethin’ different in you—potential. Yer not like the usual hook-ups I get. Yer ... interested. Ya want more than casual sex.”
Her lips pressed into a firm line. The need to talk killed her.
“I don’t take partners easily. I’m tired of women who think they can throw themselves at me for an easy night with a dangerous man. Yea, sure, I’m fucked up. I’m the first to admit it. But it still grates me that most of the tarts who try it on, want to drag me around like its fuckin’ show-and-tell. They want to parade me in front of their friends like I’m some sort of designer accessory. I’m not.” He punched a fist to his chest. “I’m a fuckin’ person.”
Steph fidgeted in the seat, dying to speak. He needed a moment to gather his train of thought anyway, so he nodded approval.
“Do you mean to tell me, that nobody—and I mean nobody—has cared for you. Ever.”
He shook his head. “Caring, and me lifestyle don’t get along that well.”
“What is your ‘lifestyle’?”
The nerves which crackled in his limbs relaxed. This was a subject he was comfortable enough to discuss. “I’m not one to operate within the confines of socially acceptable rule. Some people would say the things I’ve done are illegal, immoral, or downright moronic. Me? I say they were necessary.”
“Then if I’m so different—” Her fingers wound in her lap. “—why me?”
“I want to know if ya can be the woman I need. I want to know if you’re gonna match me blow for blow. I need ya to push me, to challenge me. I need ya to be me catalyst for change. Without a reason to improve, I’m driftin’.”
She shook her head, and if he wasn’t mistaken, tears bloomed. “But I’m not anything special. I don’t know what it takes to ‘fix’ someone. Shit, I can’t even fix me.”
“Love, ya didn’t judge me. Ya didn’t give a fuck who I was, what I looked like. Ya talked to me like any other person ya might meet.”
“Well, that’s not exactly true.”
“How?”
She screwed her mouth to the side before she spoke. “I did care a teeny bit for what you looked like.” With her head tucked to her chest, he barely made out the words.
He chuckled. “Did ya now?”
She looked up, and smiled. A beautiful, warm smile.
“Anyway.” He laughed. “Let me give ya the rest of me history before ya decide if you’re doin’ the right thing playin’ Mother Theresa.”
“Does it honestly matter where you came from?”
He looked to her, shocked at the sincerity of her statement. The woman truly wanted to know why it mattered. Bless her. He loved her that much more, now.
“I mean,” she continued. “So what if you grew up in poverty, wealth, abuse, or love. All that matters is the person you are now.”
The fucking woman might make him cry if she bloody carried on. He held up a hand to stop her. “That’s just it, Cutie. The man I am now is the problem.”
“Because you’ve done a few bad things?” A hint of amusement played on her lips. “We’ve all made mistakes.”
He grimaced. “I didn’t pick-pocket a chocolate bar, ya know.”
“Oh.”
“No, me reputation with the law isn’t the problem.” His face dropped as he thought of what he had to say next. She wouldn’t understand, not yet, but he had to warn her. “The problem is I’m becomin’ the same man me father was.”
Steph drew her eyebrows together as she watched him scrub both hands over his face. What did his father do that made him so horrified to be the same? An unease settled low in her gut at the obvious: murder, blackmail, torture. All that sticky, relationship-ending stuff. “It hurts you to think that might be true, eh?”
He snapped his cool blue eyes back on her. “Yeah, it does.”
Did she want to ask any more? Would it help to know? Or was he right, and she should cut him loose and move on, leave him behind? It’s not as though they’d started anything yet, had they? What did you call a casual one-night peep-show? Perverted.
“What did your father do, then?” she queried, eager to lose her train of thought.
“It was as much what he didn’t do.”
She raised her brow in question.
“Care. He didn’t give a fuck for anyone, not even his own flesh and blood.”
“What about your mother?”
“Worse.” No wonder he had been cool in his response when she complained about her mum the other night. She stared at him as her heart hit the floor with a thud. Was this the reason for his cool dominance over her? Was that why he liked to be in charge? Because he always had been? “You don’t have to tell me any more if it’s too upsetting,” she said.
He shook his head vigorously, adamant he had to. “I need ya to know. I want to find out now what you’ll do.”
“Why?” She shrugged. “What makes it so urgent? I want to be around you—just not when you’re doing the creepy stalker thingy.”
He laughed—briefly. “If I don’t say it now, I don’t know if you’re worth the effort.”
Well that sounded a bit harsh. “Thanks,” she bit back.
He threw his palms up. “It’s the truth.
Why waste me time if you’re gonna run?”
Steph sighed, and slumped into the chair. “Hurry up and tell me then. What could be so bad?”
His gaze pierced into her, and his expression darkened. The shift in his mood had her straighten in the seat. Something horrible surfaced, and maybe he had been on the money after all? Maybe this was too serious for her?
****
Pete dove into the memory banks that he usually kept vaulted tight. Buried emotions pushed to the surface, an itchy pressure under his skin. Steph shifted in the seat opposite him, and for a fleeting moment, he questioned his motives.
“I grew up in Ireland, as ya can probably tell.” She nodded. “Me mam, da, and a brother. We didn’t have a lot, but then not many people did in the smaller towns. Me da worked at the docks, like most fellas did in the coastal areas. Me mam, she was a stay-at-home mother. Fat load of use she was, though.”
He noted how Steph’s hands fidgeted in her lap. Her nerves would fry her if he dragged the story out too long.
“Anyway, I won’t bore ya with the details. Da was either at work, at the pub, or drinkin’ at home with his mates. Didn’t matter where me mam was, nine times out of ten she would be on her back.” Steph’s eyes widened. “Ah, it’s the truth. No point beatin’ about the bush on it. She was a shit mother. Never fed us, never bathed us, barely cleaned the house. She hated us.”
“That can’t be right. She had to love you a little—she gave birth to you.”
He soured at the hope in Steph’s voice. Indications were she wouldn’t understand a thing. “Me da was a right cunt. He stole, he gambled, he beat us. And he enjoyed the lot of it. I’ve had to do some things I aren’t proud of to escape them. Problem is—they’re the same things me father did. I’ve stolen. I’ve gambled—money and lives. And now I take pleasure in beatin’ people when they deserve it. I’m fuckin’ sick in the head, Steph.”