The Secrets We Keep

by Hannah Davenport

  I think about it. I don’t really do anything. Go to work, come home. The first year, I just knew someone would show up looking for me, so I spent it in hiding. Except for work.

  Now, I don’t look over my shoulder constantly, but I don’t really do anything for fun. I frown when I think about how empty my life is. I’m barely living at all.

  You already know I love movies. I also enjoy a good cup of tea while watching TV, or reading a book. I’m a homebody. Nothing special. Tell me about you. What else do you enjoy?

  I work a lot, so there’s not much time left for fun. That pissed Elena off more than once. Now, I just come home, but occasionally I’ll meet up with friends for a drink.

  How long ago did you and Elena split?

  Two and a half weeks ago.

  Disappointment flares inside me. The fact that he hadn’t told me when it happened . . . I thought he confided in me the way I confide in him. Mostly.

  I see. ☹

  You’re upset?

  No. Just thinking. You’re right. I should go Friday night. It may turn out great after all.

  I know it sounds stupid, and I’m someone who doesn’t want a relationship, but I’m a little hurt. In the span of a few minutes I went from thinking I was special, to just someone he chats with. And who knows how many girls he chats with online. Get over it, Ariel!

  I’m sure it will. Just remember, don’t accept drinks from strangers, only the waitress or bartender, and never leave your drink unattended. Be safe.

  Excuse me?

  Just be safe, Syrah. And just like that, my spirits lift and I smile.

  Who are you? My mom? I chuckle as I write it. He sounds like a parent giving me a lecture. But at least I know he cares about me as a person, a friend. Thinking about my mom, I wonder how old he really is. He could be some sixty-five-year-old stalker. That makes the smile slip from my face and my nose crinkle.

  Ha! I don’t think I’m old enough to be anyone’s mom or dad. Just so you know. And I’m just worried about you. If you need to talk about anything, I’m here. Just consider me an anonymous counselor, or a priest sitting in the confessional box.

  I smile at the thought of confessional. He always knows how to lighten the mood and make me grin, even if he doesn’t know it.

  Wait! Your online ID is Altruist. Are you a priest?

  Far from it! (wink) if you know what I mean.

  Hmm, I don’t really know what he’s talking about. Unless he’s like Jimmy. He has girls hitting on him all the time, and at work he talks about a different girl every other night.

  You’re a player?

  Ha! No! But I’m no priest, or saint, or anything like that. Just a normal guy with a healthy appetite.

  Hmm . . . I scratch my head, wondering if he’s talking about food or sex. His answers intrigue me, and I can’t stop smiling.

  I can’t explain it, but I want to know more about him. We’ve been talking for a while, dodging subjects, dancing around truths. And with Elena out of the picture, I want more. What does he do for a living? Where does he live? What does he look like? How old is he?

  But I can’t go there. Deep down, I know I’m not safe. Not really. And I can’t endanger other people. Frank works for bad men. Drug lords. And I stole a shitload of their money. No doubt they want it back, and sometimes I wonder if they might have killed Frank because of me. But I don’t dare search the Internet. I’m not that computer savvy, but I know that certain key words can alert them, if they have a computer guru working for them, which they probably do.

  I need to get some rest. Talk to you tomorrow?

  I’ll be here.

  Goodnight, Altruist.

  Altruist is his online ID, and I sometimes wonder if it’s a charade. Some people will tell you one thing but act completely different.

  Goodnight, Syrah.

  I shut off my computer, a little sad to end the conversation but knowing it is the right thing to do. Every time he uses my online ID, I worry that I’m getting too close to him.

  I lay my laptop on the night table, switch off the lamp, snuggle into the covers, and close my eyes.

  ~~~~~

  Friday Night

  Dressed in a pair of tight-fitting jeans, a pushup bra, and a light blue shirt that shows some cleavage, I apply my makeup, making my blue eyes smoky. After curling my long blonde hair, I brush my teeth and apply some lip gloss. Once I’ve puckered my lips together with a pop, I’m ready.

  My cell rings. “Hello?” I say as I slip on my favorite black flats and grab a small bag and head for the door.

  “Ariel!” Alina says excitedly and then giggles. “It’s Friday. Jimmy and I will come and get you. Where do you live?”

  Not happening. Privacy is my friend. “No need to come out of your way. I’ll meet you.” I step outside and lock my door before heading toward the subway.

  “Look at you, being all mysterious and shit.”

  “I’m not. I’ve just left already.”

  “Fine,” she huffs. I know she doesn’t believe me. “Meet us outside The Golden Deli. You know the place?”

  “Yeah, I’ll see you there.” I click off my cell and slide it into my purse as I walk briskly down the busy streets. No one notices me; everyone here always has somewhere to go, and they never look anywhere but straight ahead. It’s the only place you can be all alone in a group of people. It takes about fifteen minutes to get there, and I wave when I see them waiting by the corner.

  The sun just dropped behind a tall skyscraper, but I still see Alina’s white pearly teeth when she smiles and waves her hand in the air to get my attention.

  I feel a little jealous as I take in Alina’s gorgeous appearance. She’s stunning in her very short, very tight, black, painted-on dress. Her heels, at least five inches tall, look very expensive with their red soles. She wears them like a pro, like someone born into money, even though she waitresses down at the bar and grill with me.

  Jimmy has on fitted tan pants and a black button-down. His thick dark hair is fashionably styled. I feel very underdressed as I approach the two of them.

  Alina is still waving excitedly and wearing a genuine smile. “Ariel, you made it!” She pulls me in for a hug, pressing her store-bought breasts tightly against me. I grimace and wriggle away from her, not liking anyone touching me that much.

  “You look great, Ariel,” Jimmy says, running his gaze down the length of me. It makes me a little self-conscious. “I’ve never seen you look like this.”

  I want to tell him to stop looking at me that way, but instead I say, “I’m underdressed.” I almost whine. “Why didn’t you tell me we needed to dress up?”

  “What are you talking about? You look fabulous!”

  Jimmy places one hand on my lower back, the other on Alina’s as he shepherds us down the crowded street. I don’t know where we are heading, but I feel safe with the two of them.

  When we near the club, the music pumps out the door, and the bass vibrates in my chest. A line of people a mile long waits to get past the bouncer who sits on a stool at the entrance. Leaving the two of us to follow, Jimmy strolls to the front, and with a smile he says, “Hey Gino. How are things?”

  “Good,” the guy replies, smiling with every feature as he lowers the rope and lets us in. Wow, Jimmy must know people.

  The club is crowded with people dancing, grinding into each other as the lights dance with the beat of the music. Someone bumps into me.

  “Watch it!” Jimmy scowls at the half-drunk guy and shoves him back onto the dance floor.

  My eyes linger briefly on the guy that bumped into me, then I pull my gaze away as we sit at a small round table with four chairs. It’s shoved midway against the wall. Casting my eyes back to the dance floor, I feel completely out of place as I watch the women rub and grind against their dance partners. None of them are wearing jeans like me. Nervously, I tug at the hem of my shirt and wonder what the hell I’m doing here. Oh, yeah, my fake birthday. Lucky me.

  When th
e waitress comes by, dressed scantily in what I’d call a bra and short skirt, Jimmy flicks his wrists and orders shots for everyone.

  “Sure thing,” the waitress says with a seductive smile, and then exaggerates her hips as she walks away. This club oozes sex.

  A few minutes later, shot glasses sit in front of us. Jimmy raises his glass, followed by Alina as he shouts, “To your birthday!”

  I want to shush him, tell him to be quiet, but then Alina follows with her own toast. With her glass raised, she shouts, “To your birthday. May you have many more!” They each clang their glass against mine before I toss my head back, letting the dark liquid slide down my throat. Immediately, I cough, my eyes water, and Jimmy and Alina laugh.

  “Are you okay?” Alina hides her smile behind the backside of her hand.

  “I think so.” I cough another time or two and pound my fist against my chest, trying to stop the embarrassment that stains my cheeks. I’ve never had straight liquor before, always preferring wine or a good mixed drink.

  Jimmy laughs as he waves the waitress over. “We need two more shots,” he glances over at me, “and something less strong for my friend.”

  “Sure thing.” The waitress winks at Jimmy before she turns and sashays away. She’s trying hard to get his attention.

  “Hello there, beautiful. Want to dance?”

  A tall man with dark hair stands next to Alina’s chair, casting his dark eyes her way as he waits for an answer.

  She glances up at him with a flirtatious smile. “No, thanks. We’re celebrating right now. Maybe later?” She winks. With a knowing gleam, he nods, flashing a smile before heading toward another woman with long brown hair.

  The brown-haired woman takes his hand, and he leads her to the dance floor. I watch, wondering what will happen later. Will he take her home, ravish her body, and regret it tomorrow? Will he take her back to her place, and after having sex, call a cab?

  Watching the two of them grind on the dance floor, I say with a grimace, “You could have danced with him, Alina. I don’t mind. Really.”

  She waves my comment away. “It’s your birthday.”

  My eyes slide lazily to hers, and with an impish grin, I say, “So . . . he’s hot.” Everyone chuckles, including me. I don’t want to hinder her fun, and I don’t want to tell her it really isn’t my birthday. She should have fun. Looking around, I ask, “So, what is this place?” They are obviously familiar and comfortable here, unlike me.

  “Just someplace we hang when we need to relax,” Alina says, just as the waitress sets more drinks on the table.

  “Relax? Ha! I don’t think so.” I take a sip of my drink, already feeling the effects of the first shot. I’m a lightweight. “I have to yell over the music to talk to you, so it’s definitely not relaxing.”

  The waitress stands next to Jimmy. I watch from the corner of my eye as his hand slowly snakes up her inner thigh and disappears under her short skirt. I don’t know what he’s doing, but the waitress rests her hand on his shoulder and her lips part in a small gasp. When I realize . . .

  I jerk my eyes away and glance at Jimmy, who has a mischievous grin on his face, his eyes staring at me while he . . .

  I try not to look, but I’ve never been around anything like this. I’ve never been on a date, nor have I been kissed. How could I? Frank held me prisoner during my teenage years. The last three, I’ve spent making sure I’m safe.

  “How did you relax before you moved here?” Jimmy asks, his hand still . . . busy. I know he’s just trying to embarrass me.

  My mouth clamps down tight so no words can spill out. What can I say? After my mom left, I had years of solitude? My stepfather took his anger out on me, so I avoided him at all cost? Nope. Then I’d have to admit that I’m socially awkward, a little dysfunctional. Okay, a lot dysfunctional.

  The worry of the past drains quietly away before I answer. “Well, certainly not like this.” And I chuckle.

  Jimmy removes his hand and stands up before leaning down to whisper in my ear, “Lighten up. Live a little.” He stands up straight. “I’ll be right back.”

  I watch as he leads the waitress through the crowd, toward the men’s bathroom.

  Another man approaches Alina from behind. Without a word, he sweeps her long hair away from her left shoulder and kisses her neck. Slightly startled, she jumps, and then a smile slowly spreads across her delicate face. “Andreas, is that you?” Alina turns her head and grins at the man over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same,” he says with a seductive gleam in his eyes.

  “Come on, sit down.” Alina pats the empty chair next to her. When he drops down, she shoots him another grin and then introduces me. “This is my friend Ariel.”

  He slowly turns his head in my direction, noticing me for the first time. His intense stare makes me a little uncomfortable. I am one of the few true blondes in the nightclub, at least the ones I’ve seen. Everyone, including Andreas, has dark hair and naturally tan skin. It was the same way in Texas. My mom was a transplant to the state and I look more like her.

  “A lovely name for a lovely lady. It’s nice to meet you, Ariel.” His voice is deep, smooth, as he reaches over and grasps my palm, kissing the outside of my hand.

  I squirm a little but try to hold my composure under his scrutiny. “Thanks.” I shake my head slightly and bite my lower lip. Thanks? Really? That’s all I can come up with? I should’ve said something like Hi Andreas, it’s very nice to meet you. Maybe next time.

  Letting go of my hand, he smiles one last time before giving his attention to Alina. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  “I wasn’t aware I needed to.” She raises one eyebrow, and I can clearly tell she’s enjoying his attention.

  He places his arm around the back of Alina’s chair and leans in close, almost nose to nose. “Of course, you don’t need to.” His voice drips of sex. No doubt he’s a player used to getting what he wants.

  Alina laughs, but it’s different. Flirty. “We’re here celebrating Ariel’s birthday.”

  He turns his dark eyes back to me. “Happy birthday, Ariel.”

  “Thank you.” I grab my drink and take a sip, needing to wet my dry mouth. Trying to regain some composure, I ignore Alina and Andreas and stare at the crowd of people dancing. I don’t want to see the way he touches her arm, kisses her neck. The way Alina turns her whole body toward him. Nope. I’m envious, and I don’t like it. Both Alina and Jimmy are confident, self-assured, unlike me.

  The music changes to a slower, more intimate rhythm. I hear Andreas whisper in Alina’s ear, “Dance with me.” She glances my way, almost asking permission. When I nod, she takes Andreas’s outstretched hand. With a quick jerk he yanks her to her feet, leaving no space between their bodies. I can almost feel the sexual tension pulse around them before he takes her hand and leads her away.

  I’m still watching them when Jimmy drops back down in his chair. “And then there were two.” My head whips around at the sudden sound.

  I laugh, but it’s forced. “Yeah, I guess so.” I finish my drink, and Jimmy motions for a waitress to bring me another one. Thankfully, it’s not the same waitress he just fucked in the bathroom.

  “Having fun?”

  “Sure . . .” I lie. When the waitress sets the drinks in front us, I have to ask. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “Yes. Is it working?”

  Just as I open my mouth to speak, a man in a dark suit places his hand on Jimmy’s shoulder. His face is chiseled, hard, his eyes unforgiving. My heart leaps in my chest when I see the serious expression on his face. He bends down and whispers something in Jimmy’s ear. I watch Jimmy’s playful expression change in an instant.

  “Ariel, I’ll be right back.” He tries to smile but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Stay here.”

  “Okay.” I offer my own halfhearted smile, but he doesn’t notice. The man in the suit leads Jimmy away and I sit there all alone.
/>
  I take another sip of my drink and try to spot Alina on the dance floor. But with all the bodies grinding together in standing room only, I can’t find her.

  “Excuse me.” I look up at the guy with light brown hair and green eyes. “Let’s dance.”

  Without giving me a chance to answer, he grabs my upper arm and pulls me to the dance floor. My body moves halfheartedly to the rhythm, trying to keep my distance, but it’s nearly impossible with everyone bumping into me. His movements are sloppy, the smell of alcohol strong when I lean in too close. When the song ends, I smile and then bolt from the dance floor, heading back to my chair.

  Jimmy’s been gone awhile and I don’t see him anywhere. I’m uncomfortable without the distractions of my friends, uneasy, like something’s wrong.

  The skin on my arms prickle and I know someone is watching me. But who? I look around, trying to find the source of my discomfort. Who stares at me? Watches me? The club is so crowded, I can’t spot anyone in particular. Under the table, my leg begins to shake uncontrollably. The feeling intensifies and I nearly panic.

  Just as I jump from my chair, ready to leave, Jimmy reappears. “Leaving so soon?” He narrows his eyes and folds his arms across his chest. No doubt he can see my panic. Taste my fear.

  “Yeah, it’s been a long day and I’m ready to be home.”

  “But we haven’t been here very long. Stay a little longer, have one more drink.” His face softens, morphs into the easy smile he had before suit guy made an appearance.

  I don’t want to. I want to leave, escape the paranoid feeling of being watched. Reluctantly, I sit back down, glare at Jimmy and smirk at the same time. “One more drink,” I point my finger at him, “and then I’m heading home.”

  Alina strolls back to the table wearing a huge grin on her face. “That was fun.” She drops down into her chair.

  “Where’s . . .” I look around, trying to spot her dance partner. I can’t think of his name, only see his handsome face.

  “Andreas?” I nod. “He went to the restroom. He’ll be here in a moment.”

  Jimmy motions for the waitress to bring more drinks for everyone. They are obviously used to all this drinking. Me, not so much. My head feels dizzy and I stave off a yawn. But I sit here at the table, trying to enjoy the night with my friends. I’m trying to be normal, whatever that means. But it proves fruitless. The uneasiness returns, and even with my friends surrounding me at the table, the skin on my arms still prickles. Something isn’t right.