by June Gray
21
KAT
I blinked into space, my eyes dry and stinging, the skin around them puffy. My throat was dry and my head pounded. All in all, I was in shambles.
This is what you get for falling in love, you dumbass.
I’d known better. I’d gone my whole life without a love like that and I’d been just fine. It served me right to think he would be different.
Get off your ass, Kat. Stop being so weak.
I pushed up off the table and picked up the knife, watching for a moment as the light glinted off its shiny surface. I don’t know why I’d thought it was a good idea to answer the door with it; it had just been the closest weapon I had on hand. I didn’t think I’d actually use it—even if he might have deserved it—but I’d needed protection at the time from his pleading eyes and his earnest words.
Once upon a time I might have looked at the sharp edge of that knife and thought about how quickly it would have ended the pain, but I was a different person than that weak girl in high school. I’d spent years conditioning my brain and I’d be damned if I gave up on life because of a little heartache and humiliation.
Never had I wished more for a bathtub than at that moment. I wanted to slip into a vat of scalding hot water and drown my tears, but more than that, I wanted to burn all traces of West off my skin. Instead I took the rest of the bottle of wine he’d bought Christmas Eve and took it to the couch, not bothering with a glass.
I hated him, hated how he made me feel something other than apathy, hated how he’d made me believe there was more to life than Alaska. Even more than that, I hated him for opening my eyes to possibilities only to snatch it all away.
“Come with me to New York,” he’d said during dinner earlier that night, back when he was still West.
I hadn’t known what to say, how to reply, but the warmth infusing my body had been telling enough. “What would I do there?”
He’d chewed quietly for a few minutes then said, “You could go to fashion school.”
I’d sputtered at the suggestion, yet a small part of me didn’t think it was such an audacious idea. With my dad’s oil revenues from Oklahoma I could certainly afford to go to school in New York City, but the question was: did I have the courage to leave the safe confines of my life? “I don’t know…”
“At least think about it,” he said, taking my hand. “I want to share with you my home, my life, everything.”
It was that unspoken promise that we’d be together—that he’d have my back out in the world—that had made me start to entertain the idea of finally leaving Ayashe.
But at the end of the day, the truth was that Luke was nothing but an asshole who got his rocks off by taking advantage of women. He was scum, and I was a naïve fool for falling in love with someone like him.
So I sat on the couch, that bottle of wine in my grasp. But I didn’t drink. Instead I stared at that dark bottle and endured the pain inside, cherished every little shard that sliced into me, looking forward to the day it healed and scarred over. Scar tissue, after all, is stronger than skin.
I don’t know how much time passed before someone started knocking on the door. I sat up, hoping it was Luke so that I could beat the shit out of him once more.
It was Franny at the door, her purse on one shoulder and a paper sack in one hand. “I brought you some potato soup, your favorite,” she said, coming inside and taking a quick glance around. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before.”
“That’s because I don’t invite people over.” And the one time I had, I’d become the biggest joke of the town.
She set the sack down on the counter and pulled out a plastic container and plastic spoon. “Why is that?”
“Thanks.” I accepted the soup and took a bite, finding it a little comforting. “Because I hate people. People piss me off.”
She smiled, an open, non-judgmental type of expression. “I’m people.”
“Yeah, I didn’t invite you either,” I said, walking back to the couch. I spilled some soup on the rug and called Josie to take care of it. “What are you doing here anyway?”
Franny’s smile faltered, but she was nothing if not persistent. “I just wanted to come over and make sure you were okay.”
I gave her an exaggerated thumbs-up. “Fine and dandy. Got my heart broken and was embarrassed in front of the entire town, so all in all a typical night in the life of Kat Hollister.”
Franny sat beside me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. The old me would have flinched at the unexpected contact, but I was beyond caring at that point. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” she said. “Everyone’s on your side.”
“Huh?” I asked, the plastic spoon hanging out the side of my mouth.
“Yeah, after you left, everyone was just so angry that whatever-his-name played with your heart,” she said. “Them big city boys thinking they can come here and just play around with our women,” she said, imitating Dale Hokkeland.
“Why do they care? I’m always such a jerk to everyone.”
Franny gave me a pat on the head. “Because you’re one of us. You’re our jerk and we protect our own.”
Maybe it was my vulnerable state, but that one sentiment actually made me feel a little better. For the first time since moving to this little town I actually felt like I was a part of it. “That’s sickening but sweet.”
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” she said. “No man is worth this heartache.”
“I agree with you there,” I said, a tear sliding down my cheek. I jumped to my feet, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. “God, I’m so tired of crying!” I said, pacing the length of the living room. “This is why I don’t get involved with people. This is why I live by myself. I don’t like baring my feelings for people because I just end up disappointed. People suck.”
“I’m people too, remember?” Franny pointed out once again. She picked up the remote control and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels and ignoring my surprised look. She patted the space beside her. “Come sit down and watch some Gossip Girl with me to help take your mind off things.”
I’d never even heard of Gossip Girl but the show was set in New York City and so my mind never strayed too far from Luke. Despite my anger, I found myself imagining what it was like to grow up in such a hurried, frenzied city. Did living amongst those tall buildings shape who he was and how he viewed the world?
As I leaned against the couch and closed my eyes, I thought about how our experiences and environment transform our personalities, altering us over the years like layers of oxidation on a brass sculpture. And I wondered: was it possible to chip off the patina of time and start again as that shiny person you were before?
I awoke some time later lying on the couch, a blanket covering me, Josie by my feet. When she saw that I was awake, she jumped onto the floor and made her way to me, licking my cheek.
I lifted a heavy hand and managed to scratch the back of her ear. “Hey girl,” I said, finding my voice nearly too hoarse to talk.
“How do you feel?” came a male voice from somewhere in the room.
The voice didn’t belong to West and, somewhere deep inside, the thought that I’d never again wake up to his voice broke whatever was left of the old me. I would never admit it out loud, but I would miss West like hell. He’d filled this little house of mine with his presence, and now it would always seem just a little more desolate, a little less bright.
Tired of being melodramatic, I sat up and watched Drew amble into the living room. “What are you doing here? And where’s Franny?”
He sat down on the coffee table, resting his elbows on his thighs to take a closer look at me. “She had to go home.”
“Why? What time is it?”
“It’s nearly eleven.”
I leaned against the back of the couch, my head too heavy to hold up. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Don’t you have a town to police or something?”
He rolled his e
yes upwards and exhaled. “I have my phone on me. And in case you didn’t notice, you’re part of the town, so I’m here to make sure you’re alright.”
“For fuck’s sake, I’m not the first person in this town to go through a breakup. Are you and Franny taking turns watching me or something?”
Drew looked at the ground between his feet and wouldn’t answer.
“Drew…”
Finally he looked up. “I know about your… um, hospitalization in high school.”
I sat up so fast I about gave myself whiplash. “What? How?”
He looked sheepish when he said, “It was in your police records.”
The memory of that night many years ago came rushing back: the police officer questioning me in the hospital, taking notes as he asked hideous questions about my father, asking why it was that I’d tried to take my own life. I thought I’d managed to leave all that ugliness behind but, as I was recently reminded, you can never run away from your own past.
I threw the blanket off me and stood up. “Well you can leave now. You’re relieved of suicide watch.”
“Kat, I’m just trying to be a friend here,” he said, also rising to his feet. “I feel bad about what I said to you before, about being hurt by him. I didn’t actually think it would happen. Not to you.”
“What does that mean?”
“I mean you’re tough, Kat,” he said, his brown eyes open and earnest. “I never actually thought you had it in you to get hurt.”
“I’m not a cyborg, Drew.” Even tough girls get hurt sometimes.
“I know that.” He reached out and patted my shoulder. “So I’m here as a friend, making sure you don’t hurt yourself over a dirtbag like him.”
“I appreciate it,” I said sincerely. “But you can go now. I have no plans of slitting my wrists or downing pills until my mouth starts to froth.”
He winced at my raw words. “Sure?”
I nodded, full of bravado. “I’m not an especially smart person, Sheriff, but I do know one thing: no man is worth ending my life over.”
Drew nodded and started to pull on his thick winter coat. “If that guy ever comes around here again, call me and I’ll arrest his ass,” he said as he headed towards the door.
I wanted to laugh at the thought. “On what grounds?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Loitering? Vehicular damage to trees?”
I felt a small smile on my lips. “Thanks, Drew.”
I spent the next day taking sheets off beds and collecting clothes, trying to wash away any trace of Luke from my life. A part of me wanted so badly to hold the fabric up to my nose and take in his scent one last time, but the bigger, angrier part of me wouldn’t allow it.
“Fuck Luke,” I said out loud as I threw everything into the washer, then realized that, yes, I had and that’s why I was in this predicament to begin with. “Fuck love and fuck men!” I shouted just as someone knocked on the door.
I stalked out, hoping it was him at the door so I could finally get out everything I’d been thinking, everything I hadn’t been able to say to him last night.
When I opened the door and found him on my doorstep, I’m ashamed to say a little bit of the anger seeped away—because like it or not, I believed him when he said he loved me. I just had to remember that the man who loved me was also a terribly flawed individual who had come to Alaska to hurt me.
His lips lifted a little when he saw me. “Hi.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Can I help you?”
“Can I come in?”
Even though I wanted to punish him by making him stand out in the cold, unfortunately that also meant punishing myself. I guess that’s what happens when you allow yourself to care for someone: you inadvertently bind yourself to that person so that his joy and pain also becomes yours.
Luke looked around and sighed. “Last night I slept on one-thousand-thread count sheets on a king-sized bed at a fancy hotel with a view of the Chugach Mountains. It was the shittiest night of sleep of my life,” he said. “It felt so wrong not to be in bed with you, snuggled under your faded purple blanket with Josie laying on our feet.”
Something fierce ached in my chest and I imagined it was what it would feel like if he stabbed me with a knife and twisted it around. “Are you trying to hurt me more?” I asked.
“No. I just… I miss you.” He sighed and looked down at his hands, at the large envelope he was clutching. “I’ve got my ticket booked. I’ll be leaving later today. At three.” The way he looked at me with that silent question in his eyes almost made me wish I had amnesia so that we could forget the past twenty-four hours. How perfect life would be if we could just pick and choose what our mind forgets.
“I’m not going to ask you to stay, if that’s what you’re hoping.”
He nodded then held out the envelope. “Then I wanted to give you this.”
I took it and threw it onto the table. “Is that all?”
“You’re not even going to look inside?” he asked.
“Nope.”
He sighed. “I couldn’t sleep—”
“So you already said.”
His nostrils flared. “Like I said, I couldn’t sleep, so I went downstairs to the hotel’s business center and printed that out for you.”
“How nice of you,” I said, my voice thick with sarcasm.
“It’s information about the Fashion Institute of New York,” he said. “Please think about it. Don’t just disregard it because of me.”
“I wouldn’t live in the same city as you even if it was the last place on earth.”
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked up, he said, “Kat, I think you have raw talent in fashion design. Don’t sell yourself short. Even if it’s not New York, there are plenty of other schools in the U.S.”
“I’m fine here,” I said. “I have my dog and my house and my dad nearby. That’s all I need. That’s all I want.”
His eyebrow rose. He knew better than to believe my blustering.
“I hate that smug look on your face!” The words burst out of my mouth, and once started, I found I couldn’t stop. “And I hate that you know so much about me. I hate that you’ve kissed me and made love to me. I hate that you look like that, that you used it to get under my skin. I hate that you use women, that you think we’re just here for your pleasure. I hate—” I threw my hands against his chest and pushed him. “I hate you, Luke!”
I stood before him, breathing hard, fighting against the tears. “I wish I’d never met you,” I said, wishing my words were acid so that they could etch into his skin and never be forgotten.
His face registered the shock and hurt, but I didn’t feel satisfaction in his pain: quite the opposite actually. Love’s a bitch that way. “Well, forgive me for not sharing that sentiment,’” he said quietly, his gaze holding me in place. “I’ll be forever grateful for having met you.”
I straightened my spine and lifted my chin, even if every cell in my body wanted to sag from the weight of his words.
“Is it really so hard to forgive me?” he asked. “Does it really matter why I came to Alaska? Can’t we just remember what we have between us and focus on that?”
I shook my head. “Of course it matters. I don’t even know you.”
“Fine.” He took my hand and shook it, desperation tainting his face. “My birth name is Luke Nicholas Harrington. I’m twenty-nine years old. I’m the only child of Angelina Kohl and Desmond Harrington. I’m an account executive at Kohl Media. I like to do outdoorsy things. My favorite color is blue. My favorite flavor is strawberry. I went to a boarding school in upstate New York. I’ve loved singing and playing guitar since I was ten. I enjoy working out and sometimes take those ridiculous pictures in front of the mirror. I think Oprah is overrated. I secretly love the Star Wars prequels—”
“Stop,” I said, pulling my hand away, but he kept hold and continued talking.
“I’m a night owl. I secretly think Stephen C
olbert is more entertaining than Jon Stewart. I like listening to rap and hard rock, but I write songs about love because it’s the one thing I’d never experienced.” He paused, catching his breath. I knew what was coming next. “Until you.”
“Stop saying until you!” I cried, slapping a hand against his mouth. “Stop pretending your whole life changed when I came along because we both know that’s just some bullshit line to make me forgive you.”
He placed his hand over mine and pressed my palm into his lips. I closed my eyes and steeled myself against the frantic pounding in my chest as he pulled my hand away and held it above his heart. “We both know that’s not just a line, Kat,” he said in a voice hoarse with emotion. “I was lost long before I flew to Alaska. I was wandering through life without aim, and then you found me and it was as if everything slid into place. In a tiny house in Alaska, I found my true north.”
I felt his heart beating under my palm, thumping hard along to the beat of my own. My face crumpled in the face of his confession and, in that moment, nothing seemed insurmountable. The only things that mattered were the two people in this room and the love that pulsated like a living, breathing thing around us.
The washing machine beeped and jarred me out of my trance. I took a step back before I lost myself completely. “You need to go back to where you belong.” He opened his mouth to speak when I added quickly, “And no, it’s not with me.”
He didn’t say anything for long minutes, just looked at me with those nearly translucent grey eyes. I didn’t know it was possible to reach inside someone and squeeze their heart with one look, but somehow this man in front of me was doing it.
He bridged the gap between us, crowding me with his body like he was so fond of doing, and took my face in his hands. “You take care of yourself, Kat,” he said and pressed a long kiss to my forehead. He took a deep breath before letting me go. “You’ve made me a better man.”
A flood of emotions coursed through me, all anger and love rushing together, and though forgiveness was trying its hardest to surface, I held it down and drowned it. Even if I could stomach his past, the fact was that we belonged in two different worlds. He was a big city playboy and I was a small town loner.