The Fall of January Cooper

by Audrey Bell

  "We need a helicopter," I muttered. "There should be an app for that. There should be an app for communicating when there's no cell service."

  Shockingly, Christian's dashboard had nothing to say back to me.

  "Listen, Jeep. You better get your shit together for Christian."

  Nothing.

  I looked at myself in the rear view mirror. "What is wrong with you?" I asked my reflection. My mirror image scowled back, as mystified as I was. I looked out the window, at Christian. I shredded the corner of the National Enquirer. And I dug my hand into my jeans pocket and extracted a receipt for the gas.

  Diesel.

  That almost definitely sounded wrong.

  I got out of the car and started walking towards Christian, who had faded against the horizon, like a speck into the distance.

  "What are you doing?" he asked me.

  "I think I put diesel in the car.”

  He smiled. "You're not that stupid."

  I looked at him, uncertainly.

  "You can't even get diesel fuel into an unleaded car, January."

  “Sorry,” I said softly. “I…” I bit my lip. “I just did. I was reading that…”

  He shook his head. "Come on. Don't fuck with me.”

  “I’m not.”

  He stared at me for a long second and shook his head. “Jesus Christ, January. That’s not something they can fix overnight.”

  “You told me to do it myself,” I protested weakly.

  He shook his head, in disbelief.

  “What, you did,” I said, getting angry.

  “Yeah, forgive me for thinking you had a fucking clue.” He looked down at his phone. “God, you’re—how are you even alive?” He asked. “Seriously. You don’t know how to put gas in a car?”

  I stepped back, sharply.

  He dialed again and put the cell phone to his ear.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated.

  He waved me off.

  I stalked back to the car. Forgive me for thinking you had a fucking clue.

  I burned with shame as I opened the trunk. That was fine. That was fine. I grabbed my flip phone and my two bags and I started to walk in the opposite direction.

  I stuck out my thumb and I started to cry silently.

  I could hitchhike to wherever I needed to go. And Christian could get his car towed and turn back to Boston. Whatever.

  Christian

  When I turned my head, January was gone.

  I squinted, past the car, down the road. An eighteen-wheeler had pulled over to the side of the road and I could see January’s blond hair blowing back in the wind, and the suitcase she had pulled from the car.

  She had to be fucking kidding me.

  I took off towards the car, swearing.

  “January! Wait!” I shouted, closing the distance on my aching leg. Fuck January Cooper. Fuck Texas. Fuck women.

  “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” I shouted when I was close enough for her to hear me.

  “Just leave me alone!” she said. She was crying. Again. Cause of me. Great. “I’m going home.”

  The trucker stared me down as he loaded one more suitcase into the car and I grabbed her by the arms. “You are not fucking hitchhiking to Texas.”

  “Hey, do we have a problem here, buddy?” the trucker demanded.

  “What. The hell. Are you doing?” I demanded, breathlessly.

  She pushed me away. “Nothing. I just,” her voice broke and she didn’t bother answering the question.

  “Hey, sweetheart, if he’s a problem, I can radio the police. Why don’t you get your hands off of her?” he demanded.

  “There’s no problem,” I snarled. “Give me her bags.”

  “Christian,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re not getting in a fucking truck with a stranger,” I said. I had just barely begun to get my breath back. I looked up at him. “No offense, man.”

  He shrugged. “Darling, if you want to come with me, just say the word, and I’ll get the cops here.”

  “No, no,” she shook her head. “No, don’t call the cops.”

  He shrugged.

  “Can I have her luggage?” I asked. “Please.”

  He gave me one long look and then turned his gaze to January. “You want to stay with him?”

  “I think so. I don’t know. Yes.”

  He shook his head. “Man, couldn’t have told me that before I packed the truck?”

  He set both suitcases back on the ground, shaking his head.

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  He nodded once, and moved the truck out onto the highway, growing faint as he tracked west. January pulled her arms out of my hands and started walking in the opposite direction.

  “January!” I called. “That’s not the right way to Texas. You’re going east.”

  “Oh, come on,” I called after her. “Where are you going?”

  She kept walking, arms crossed, and her head down.

  I jogged after her, and got in front of her and grabbed her arms. “Where. Are. You. Going.”

  She pushed me away. “I can’t—I’m not—you need.” A half-sob escaped from her throat. “Look, I just can’t…”

  “I’m sorry I was a jerk,” I said. “Calm down. Stop crying.”

  “You think I’m such an idiot,” she said. She wiped her eyes with the palm of her hand. “Everyone thinks I’m such an idiot and that my life is this big joke. And maybe that used to be true, but, Christian, my life sucks. And you’re right. I don’t have a fucking clue.”

  “January, I didn’t mean that.”

  “No, you did.” She wiped her eyes. “You did.”

  I looked at her, feeling like a fucking asshole. “Look, it doesn’t matter if I meant it. Because it’s not true.”

  She pressed a hand to her forehead and turned away from me.

  “January. I’m sorry. Alright?”

  “Why are you apologizing?” she asked, without turning around. “I broke your car.”

  “You didn’t mean to.” I reached for her arm and turned her around. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. But you can’t just fucking hitchhike to Dallas.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Yes, I can. And you can’t be nice to me when you hate me,” she said. “It’s not fair. Because nobody is nice to me anymore. And every time you are, I start to think that you like me. And then every time I realize that you don’t like me, you’re just nice to everyone and I can’t deal with it, so you need to stop being nice to me.”

  “I like you.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “I like you, January.”

  “Okay. This is what I’m talking about. You can’t do this.”

  I grabbed her by the chin and kissed her hard. It was a flash of passion, and I could feel her shock, and then she pressed her lips against mine, and kissed me back.

  “I like you. Okay? Do you get it now? Will you let me a call a fucking tow truck? Jesus.”

  She looked at me, blinking her ice blue eyes. She wiped her eyes. “You’re so weird.”

  I nodded back towards the broken down car. “Can I call a tow truck now or are you going to walk away?”

  She pressed her hand to her lips. Horrified shock. Some kind of shock.

  She took a sharp breath. “I’m sorry I’m such a spaz.”

  I kissed her again. Harder.

  “Can I call a tow truck now?”

  She laughed, brushing her eyes. “Yeah. Yeah, call the tow truck.”

  “You’re not going to go running down the fucking highway and hail a truck to Dallas?”

  “Hitchhike.”

  “Whatever the fuck,” I said. “You know that’s how people get raped and murdered, right?”

  She shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Yeah. Well. It’s not. It’s a bad fucking idea. Nobody ever told you that?”

  She bit her lip and shr
ugged. “I don’t know. I just. I couldn’t stand you being mad at me.”

  I called AAA again and spoke with a mechanic who would come by and pick us up. When I hung up, I looked over at January. She had sat down on one of her gray and white Louis Vuitton cases and stretched out her feet.

  I walked over to her. She stuck her foot out and kicked over the other suitcase. “Sit down.”

  “We can sit in the car.”

  “You need the fresh air.”

  I smiled and looked at the suitcase. “That looks expensive.”

  “Not as expensive as your car.”

  I sat down on her suitcase.

  She wiped underneath her eyes again. “I didn’t use to be like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Weepy,” she said. She cocked her head. “Maybe I’m pregnant.”

  I laughed.

  “Like with Satan’s child or something,” she said. “And that’s why I feel doomed.” She cocked her head. “And super-hormonal.”

  “Well, at least you know it’s not Tyler’s,” I said lightly. I didn’t want to know about anybody who could have gotten her pregnant.

  There were a lot of things I didn’t want to think about.

  I looked down the highway, trying not to think about the fact that I’d told her that I liked her and then kissed her when I had no intention of ever doing anything about it or the fact that I was going to have to call my mom and tell her I might not be home for Thanksgiving.

  She looked over at me. “I’m not actually pregnant.” She sounded vaguely offended.

  I gnawed on my lip, trying to think of what to say. I like you. I mean, what were we? In fifth fucking grade? “I know you’re not pregnant,” I said, just to fill the silence between us.

  “You’re freaking out,” January said, after a beat.

  “Don’t be dramatic, January.” I got to my feet. “I’m going to grab my soda. You need anything?”

  She shook that mighty head of hers, a strange smile on her lips.

  I walked to the car and opened the door and pulled out the Wendy’s cup, trying not to freak out.

  My father was going to fucking murder me when I told him I wasn’t coming home for Thanksgiving.

  Ever since Sam had died—ever since I’d killed Sam—he’d been psychotic about holidays. I’d never missed them before, but it wasn’t a good time to start. Especially not over a girl who I had no ability to take care of—not like she expected, or deserved.

  But God, I liked her.

  I knew I wasn’t the only one—I knew that she did this to people. I’d seen it before. But it felt like it was only me. It felt like she was a long stretch of black ice laid out just for me—just to make me spin. It felt dangerous. It felt like she was made for me, and I knew that wasn’t true. I knew that everyone who dated her, who had had a shot with her, had felt like this at some point. Like she was everything. Like she was the center of gravity.

  I’d seen the way Tyler Snow had looked at her, that first night I met her and took her home. I’d seen him on TV, apologizing, but I’d never seen him look like that. He looked at her like he was watching the love of his life walk away and he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

  It had taken me three months to stop vehemently denying the fact that I had a crush on the girl. And now, when it seemed like she was game, I wanted her to pick someone else. Anyone else. I didn’t want her happiness to be my problem, because I didn’t know how to do that for her. I couldn’t get myself to be happy, and I had a family that cared about me.

  But I didn’t want her going anywhere without me either. If she tried to walk away, I’d stop her. If I saw someone else coming, I’d step in front of her.

  It was mind-boggling.

  Shit. I took a breath.

  I walked back to her, sucking on the straw, trying not to think about how badly I wanted to fuck her and how badly I wanted her to decide this wasn’t for her.

  “Why are you freaking out?”

  “I’m not freaking out.”

  “Liar.”

  “I’m not freaking out.”

  She tilted her head back and looked at me. I kicked my feet out in front of me, so I didn’t have to meet her eyes, and stared at the painted lines of the highway dividing the lanes, like an infinite string of Morse Code.

  “You don’t have to date me. I don’t expect anything,” she said. She looked down the road. “I mean, I’m an emotional wreck, but you don’t need to lie to me. I’m pretty sure I’ve always been an emotional wreck, I just used to be able to numb all of the feelings with a lot of shoes.”

  “Would you shut up? I’m not freaking out,” I said flatly.

  “Fine,” she said cryptically. “If you insist.”

  I looked at her. She pursed her lips, like it was hard for her to keep quiet.

  She reached across the distance between us, swiped the soda from my hand, and took a sip. “I can’t possibly freak you out more than Olivia.”

  “I don’t really have an opinion on Olivia,” I said, which was true. The sex had been sloppy—we were both drunk enough that it shouldn’t have been awkward, but she kept saying come on, Cutlass in bed, which reminded me of my high school hockey coach.

  It was actually quite unappealing.

  “Why not?” she asked. “She’s a total psycho, you know?”

  I shrugged. “We didn’t really talk, actually.”

  “I’m telling you she’s a total psycho.”

  “You’ve probably said that about me,” I told her.

  “Well, obviously. But Olivia is actually a total psycho.”

  “Who did you tell I was a total psycho?”

  She pointed a finger at me. “See. You are freaking out.”

  “I’m not freaking out. Just want to know who thinks I’m a total psycho because of you.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Darrin. You’re totally freaking out.”

  “Don’t finish my soda.”

  She smirked and handed it back to me. She looked down the road. “Just say it.”

  “Say what?” I demanded. “I don’t even know what the fuck we’re talking about.”

  “We’re talking about how you’re freaking out because you think I think you’re going to be my boyfriend or something.”

  I shook my head once, surprised she’d picked up on that so quickly. “It’s not like that,” I said quietly.

  “I mean, it’s not an obligation,” she said. She crossed her ankles.

  I nodded. “Okay, well, I don’t know what—what you’re going to…” I took a breath. “Well, it’s weird because you’re.” This was hard. “We’re. Whatever. You get what I’m trying to say.”

  She laughed.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t,” she said.

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know what you want.”

  “You want me to tell you how you’re supposed to date me? Is that it?”

  Exactly. I finished my soda in a long gulp. “No.”

  “I can tell you.”

  “Trust me, January. If you get to define how I’m supposed to date you, I’m going to end up being your butler.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. She grabbed my collar and kissed me. She caught my hair in one hand, and I pulled her off her suitcase and over to me so she was straddling me.

  I didn’t notice where we were. Her eyes were just above level with mine and she stared at me and she kissed me again.

  I pressed one of my hands along her leg, and another to her waist and I slipped a hand underneath her soft shirt and felt the valleys of her ribs, the buttery soft skin, the lace edges of her bra.

  “Just to be clear,” she said huskily. “I may be the poorest debutante in America right now, but I’m not taking my clothes off on the side of the highway.”

  I laughed against her neck and dropped my hand back to her waist. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the backseat of your car though.”

  My heart and cock jumpe
d at the same time.

  “That sounds…”

  I was interrupted by the loud honk of our tow truck and I groaned. “We’ve got some bad fucking luck, you know that?”

  “Yes,” she said seriously.

  January

  The mechanic told us it would take at least 24 hours to fix Christian’s car. I sat on a bench, kicking my feet anxiously.

  “Look, maybe you should get a flight,” I told Christian, who was leaning against the wall. “I can drive your car back after break. I mean, there’s no reason for you to…”

  “It’ll be fine,” he said.

  I looked at him. “Chris, your parents…”

  “Will live. It’ll be fine,” he said.

  I bit a nail. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine. I broke your car.”

  “Yeah, but you let me touch your boobs on the side of a highway.”

  “Don’t call them boobs.”

  “What do you want me to call them?”

  “I don’t know. I hate that word.” I said.

  “Knockers?”

  “You’re being creepy and you need to go home.”

  He smiled. “Look, I live with my parents.”

  “It’s Thanksgiving. It’s a big deal,” I said. “You can—”

  “I can get a ride to the motel,” he said. “We pick up the car tomorrow night, get you home late Thursday morning.”

  I rubbed my chin. I didn’t like that plan. He would drive home. It would take him two days. It was supposed to be a holiday. He was supposed to be with his family.

  “You could stay. We could drive back together,” I said. “I mean, if you want.”

  He smiled. “Okay.”

  “You don’t have to. I mean, it’s not going to be fun.”

  “I’d like that,” he said. He bit his lip and tilted his head backwards. I liked the slant of his nose and the way that he smiled.

  I tried to visualize my aunt’s house. And then my mother. And my father. And my Aunt Lynda.

  And Christian with them. It didn’t make sense, the vision of my family and Christian together. And I had a feeling Christian would despise my father. He had far too many principles to put up with that kind of thing.

  I watched him outside, standing in the sun, the phone beneath his ear. He leaned to his left, favoring his unhurt leg. I like you.