by K. A. Tucker
I assume that sister of yours has convinced you to run off. I can’t possibly understand why but I hope you are safe. Please send me a message to let me know where you are. I will come get you and bring you home, where your parents want you to be. That will make them happy.
I am not upset with you. You are a sheep led astray by a wolf.
Please let me bring you home. Your uncle and I miss you terribly.
Love,
Aunt Darla
Heat erupts like a volcano inside as my blood boils. Not about the wolf comment. I don’t care about that. She’s called me worse. What I do care about is her using our parents as a guilt trip, knowing full well it’d hurt Livie. “You didn’t respond, did you?”
Livie shakes her head solemnly.
“Good,” I push through clenched teeth, crumpling the note into a tight ball. “Delete your account. Get a new one. Don’t ever respond to her. Not once, Livie.”
“Okay, Kacey.”
“I mean it!” I hear Mia’s tiny gasp and I quickly temper my tone. “We don’t need them in our lives.”
There’s a long pause. “She’s not a bad person. She means well.” Livie’s voice turns soft. “You didn’t exactly make things easy for her.”
I push down the lump of guilt forming at the back of my throat, rivaling to take over my anger. “I know that, Livie. I do, really. But Aunt Darla’s way of ‘meaning well’ doesn’t work for us.” My hands move to rub my forehead. I’m no idiot. For the first year after the accident, I put all my effort, focus, and thought into fixing my body so I could move again. Once released, my focus moved on to shoving the memories of my former life into a bottomless well. There were impossible days though—holidays, birthday, and the like—and I quickly learned that alcohol and drugs, while capable of destroying lives, also had magical powers; the power to dull pain. More and more I relied on those weapons against the constant and overwhelming rush of water swelling over my head, threatening to drown me.
That and sex. Meaningless, mindless “take what I want” sex with strangers who I didn’t care about, and who didn’t care about me. No expectations, at least not on my part. Guys from parties, guys from school. If it was awkward for them after, I didn’t care. I never let them get close enough to me to find out. It was the perfect coping mechanism.
Aunt Darla knew what was going on. She didn’t know how to handle it. At first she tried connecting me with her priest so he could confront and rid me of the demons within. This all had to be the work of demons, after all, according to her. But when the demons proved resilient to her church’s powers, I think she decided ignorance was best. “It’s just a phase,” I’d hear her whisper to Livie with a comforting pat. A disgusting, self-deprecating phase that she wanted no part of. From that point on, she put all of her focus on her non-broken niece.
I was fine with that.
Until I woke up to Livie smacking my back to keep me from choking on my own vomit, tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing hysterically, saying over and over again, “Promise you won’t leave me!” her words a knife stabbing through my heart.
I stopped everything that night. The drinking. The drugs. The random sex. The sex, period. I haven’t so much as looked at a guy since. I’m not sure why. I guess it’s all linked together in my mind. Luckily, I found a new release with kick boxing soon after. Livie’s never completely approved or supported me in this newest addiction but she happily takes it over the other stuff.
I slam the fridge door, not wanting to think about Aunt Darla or the depths of my self-destructive past anymore. “What time’s breakfast?”
“Brunch!” Mia corrects me with a loud sigh of exasperation.
***
The delicious smells of bacon and coffee sparks hunger pangs as we follow Mia into her place. I mentally pat myself on the back for making the right choice. If nothing else, I’ll have loads of energy for the gym today.
My attention drifts over Storm’s apartment with a degree of awe. It’s a mirror of ours except it’s nice. She’s filled the living room with a dove gray sectional, sparkly throw cushions, and little glass tables with pretty crystal lamps. A flat screen television sits on a stylish teak armoire. The hideous green carpet peeks out beneath a cream shag rug. Her walls are a light gray and splashed with candid black and white photos of Mia. Where our apartment looks like a cheap rental, Storm’s looks like a trendy girlish boutique.
I have to admit, as I sit at the table and quietly listen to Storm, Livie, and Mia banter back and forth, I’m starting to like Storm whether I want to or not. Though one would never know by looking at her, what with those distracting inflatables on her chest, Storm’s street smart and she acts a lot older than her twenty-three years. It takes no time to see that. She’s laid back and she cracks a witty joke here and there in that soft, but husky voice of hers. She fumbles with her hair a lot, and laughs easily, and I see nothing but sincerity and interest in her eyes. For someone so beautiful, she doesn’t come across as vain or self-absorbed. Mostly she listens though. And watches. Those shrewd orbs take everything in. I catch her studying the tattoo on my thigh, narrowing slightly as I’m sure she zeroes in on the hideous scar beneath. It’s the one major scar that’s not caused by surgery on my body but from a jagged chunk of flying glass.
She doesn’t ask about it, though, and that makes me like her even more.
“Oh, man!” Storm exclaims through a yawn, eyes red and lined with dark purple bags. Leaning on her elbows, she rubs her face fiercely. “I can’t wait until Mia learns how to sleep in. At least during the week I can sneak in a mid-morning nap while she’s at school.”
“Oh, I was going to ask you. Do you mind if I take Mia to the park down the street?” Livie offers as if she’s been thinking about it and genuinely forgot. I instantly see what she’s doing. That’s so Livie. “I won’t let her out of my sight. Not for a sec, I promise. I’ve got my CPR certification, my junior lifeguard designation, a thousand hours at a private day care.” Livie starts rhyming off her impressive resume. “I even have a printed copy of my resume in our apartment if you want to have a copy. And references!” Of course you do, Livie. “We’ll be back in, say, four hours, if that’s okay with you?”
“Yeah, Mommy! Say yes!” Mia bounces up and down on the couch, waving her arms frantically. “Say yes! Yes! Yes! Mommy, say yes!”
“Okay, okay. Calm down.” Storm laughs, patting the air. “Of course you can, Livie. You spend so much time with her as it is, I’m not worried about your credentials. I should be paying you, though!”
“No. Absolutely not.” Livie brushes her words away, earning my sharp glare. Is she nuts? Does she enjoy eating bologna? Must we move on to Spam?
Livie helps Mia with her shoes. “Bye, Mommy!” Mia shouts on her way out. Livie avoids making eye contact with me. It’s like she has a line to my brain and can read my scathing thoughts.
As soon as the door closes, Storm’s forehead drops to the table. “I thought I was going to die today. Oh, Kacey. I swear, your sister’s like an angel fluttering around with little satin wings and a magical wand. I’ve never met someone like her. Mia’s already so in love with her.”
The layer of ice over my heart melts. I decide maybe I can “try” to be friends with Storm Matthews, giant fake breasts and all.
***
“See you later, Livie,” I grumble, grabbing my things for Starbucks, a scowl twisting my face.
“Kace …” There’s a long pause. Livie’s gulp fills the silence in the apartment and I know something’s bothering her.
“Ugh, Livie!” I roll my head back. “Spit it out. I don’t want to be late for my stellar job.”
“I think I should have stayed in Grand Rapids.”
That freezes my feet. Anger sparks inside me at the thought of my little sister left back there. Not with me. “Stop saying stupid shit like that, Livie.” I tap her nose, making her flinch. “Right now. Of course you shouldn’t have stayed in Grand Rapids.”
&nb
sp; “How are we going to survive though?”
“With ten hours of prostitution for each of us. Maximum.”
“Kacey!”
I sigh, turning serious. “We’ll figure it out.”
“I can get a job.”
“You need to concentrate on school, Livie. But …” I waggle my finger at her. “If Storm offers you money again, take it.”
She’s already shaking her head. “No. I’m not taking money to hang out with Mia. She’s fun.”
“You’re supposed to be having fun with people your own age, Livie. Like boys.”
She sets her jaw stubbornly. “When they’re not idiots, I’ll do that. Until then, five years olds make more sense.”
I stifle a laugh. That’s part of Livie’s problem. She’s too smart. Genius smart. She’s never related to kids her own age. I think she was born with the maturity of a twenty-five year old. Losing my parents only exacerbated that problem. She’s grown up too fast.
“What about you? It’s never too late for the Princeton dream,” she says quietly.
An unattractive snort escapes me. “That dream died years ago for me, Livie, and you know that. You’ll go, on that full scholarship you’re going to earn. I’ll apply somewhere local as soon as I have the money.” And somehow forge my transcript to make up two years of appalling grades.
Her brow creases in that worried Livie way. “Local, Kacey? Dad would hate that.” She’s right, he would. Our dad went to Princeton. His dad when to Princeton. In his view, I may as well enroll in a school with golden arches for a crest and take “Flipping Burgers 1-0-1” if I’m not going to Princeton. But Mom and Dad are gone and Uncle Raymond blew our entire inheritance on a black jack table.
I remember the night I found out about that like it was yesterday. It was my nineteenth birthday and I asked Aunt Darla and Uncle Raymond for our money so we could move out. I wanted to become Livie’s legal guardian. I knew something was up when Aunt Darla couldn’t meet my eyes. Uncle Raymond stumbled over his words before blurting out that there was nothing left.
After smashing almost every dish on the kitchen counter and jamming my foot into Uncle Raymond’s jugular so hard his face turned purple, I dialed the cops, ready to charge them with theft. Livie grabbed the phone from me and hung up before the call went through. We wouldn’t win. I’d likely be the one arrested. As smart as Mom and Dad were, they didn’t plan on dying. All the money left after the debts were paid went to Uncle Raymond and Aunt Darla to “care” for us. Secretly, I’m kind of glad Uncle Raymond did all that he did. It gave me another legitimate excuse to take my sister and leave that part of our lives behind for good.
I pat Livie’s back, trying to appease her guilt. “Dad would be happy that we’re safe. End of story.”
***
The next day I’m in the laundromat, when Storm skips down the steps, smiling but sallow-eyed. Livie took Mia to the park again and I’m giving serious consideration to smacking her upside the head for refusing to take money.
“Tanner must have his panties in a bunch over this.” Storm slides her foot across the sticky green stain left by my detergent. I duck my head, silently reminding myself to come back and scrub the floor. The thought of Tanner in any kind of underwear makes bile rise in my throat.
I quietly continue my sorting until I notice Storm’s standing there idly, watching me. It’s obvious she wants to talk to me, but she probably doesn’t know where to start.
“How long have you lived here?” I finally ask.
I think my voice startles her because she jumps and begins tossing in Mia’s little t-shirts and tiny pairs of undies. “Oh, three years, I think? It’s a pretty safe building, but I still wouldn’t come down here at night.”
Her words bring me back to thoughts of Trent and the unwanted feelings he elicited so effortlessly. We’ve been here weeks and I haven’t run into him since. If I dig deep inside, if I care to pay attention to what I’m trying to bury, I catch a glimpse of disappointment over that fact. But I quickly crush it with a hammer and throw it into the well with all other unwanted feelings.
“What are the other people like in the building?”
She shrugs. “A lot of people move in and out. Rent’s cheap so we get a lot of college kids. They’ve all been nice, especially to Mia. Mrs. Potterage on the third floor helps babysit after school and when I work. Oh,” she waggles a finger. “Avoid 2B like the plague. That’s Pervie Pete.”
My head tilts back with a groan. “Fantastic. No building is complete without a resident perv.”
“Oh, and a new guy moved in next to you. 1D.”
I can’t control the bit of heat from crawling up my neck. “Yeah, Trent,” I say casually as I set the machine. Even his name out loud sounds hot. Trent. Trent. Trent. Stop it, Kace.
“Well, I haven’t talked to this Trent but I saw him and … wowza.” Her eyebrows waggle suggestively.
Great. My gorgeous Barbie neighbor thinks Trent is hot. All she has to do is adjust her shirt and she’ll have him on his knees. I realize my teeth are clenched painfully and I focus on releasing my muscles. She can have him and all the trouble he comes with. Why do you care, Kace?
Slamming the doors shut and hitting the on switch, Storm exhales deeply, blowing her long bangs off her face. “Are you going to be here for a while?” She glances at the newspaper and marker I’ve brought down with me. “Would you mind just turning my stuff over when it goes off? I mean, if you’re around and it’s not too much trouble.”
I look at her again, at her drawn skin and the purplish lines marring her pretty blue eyes and see just how worn she is. Young, single mom with a five year old and she works six days a week, up until three a.m. every night?
“Yeah, no problem.” That sounds like something a nice, normal person would do, I tell myself. Livie will be proud of me.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”
I notice that she’s biting her lip and her shoulders are pinched together and it dawns on me that she’s nervous. Asking for my help likely took her a ton of courage and she must be desperate enough to do it. Realizing that makes me want to slam my head into a wall. Clearly, I haven’t tried very hard to be approachable, like I promised Livie I would. And Storm’s nice. Really, genuinely nice.
“Why, Ma’am, I reckon it’d be my honor to wash your drawers,” I drawl in a fake southern accent, picking up the paper to fan myself with it.
Her face lights up with surprise as she giggles. She opens her mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Me having a sense of humor has floored her. Dammit, Livie’s right. I am an ice queen.
I quickly add, “Besides, I owe you for last week. It’s the least I can do after pulling out Hannah—the dirtiest of all weapons.” I smile and it’s not forced. “I’ll just be going through the jobs section so I may as well do that in this paradise.”
She frowns. “Starbucks not working out?” Livie must have told her because I sure didn’t.
“It’s fine, but the pay’s shit. If I want to live of Spam and scrape blue spots off of bread for the rest of my life, I can make it work.”
She nods, thinking. “You guys should come over for dinner tonight.” I open my mouth to decline the charity and she adds, “as my thanks to Livie for taking care of Mia today.” There’s something in that tone, a mixture of forced bravery, but also a level of natural authority that makes me slam my mouth shut.
“And …” she shifts her feet a bit hesitantly, like she’s not sure if she should say what’s on her mind, “… do you know how to mix drinks?”
“Uh …” I blink rapidly at the sudden change in topic. “Isn’t it a little early in the day for that?”
She smiles, her perfect teeth gleaming. “Like martinis and Long Islands?”
“I pour a mean tequila shot.” I offer half-heartedly.
“Well, I can talk to my boss and see if he’ll hire you, if you’re interested. I bartend at a club. The money’s good.” Her eyes widen with those las
t words. “Like, really good.”
“Bartender, huh?”
She grins. “So, what do ya think?”
Could I handle it? I don’t say anything, trying to picture myself behind a bar. The visual ends with me smashing a bottle and kicking a grabby customer in the head.
“I should probably warn you, though.” She hesitates. “It’s an adult club.”
I feel the frown line zip across my forehead. “Adult like …”
“Strippers.”
“Oh …” Of course. I look down at myself. “Yeah, I’m a ‘keep clothes on in crowds’ kind of girl.”
Storm’s hands wave my words away. “No, don’t worry. You wouldn’t have to strip. I promise.”
Me? Work in a strip club? “You think I’d fit in, Storm?”
“Can you handle being surrounded by sex, booze, and loads of cash?”
I shrug. “Sounds like my teenage years, minus the cash.”
“Can you learn how to smile a bit more?” she asks with a nervous giggle.
I flash her my best fake grin.
She nods with approval. “Good. I think you’ll do well behind the bar. You have a look they’ll like.”
I snort. “What look? The ‘I just got off a bus from Michigan and I’ll do anything for money so I don’t have to eat Spam’ look?”
The corners of her eyes crinkle as she giggles. “Think about it and let me talk to my boss. It’s really good money. You wouldn’t have to eat Spam again. Ever.” With that, she skips up the stairs.
I think about it. I think about it as I watch Storm and Mia’s clothes spin around in circles. I think about it as the timer goes off and I flip the clothes over into the dryer and start two new loads. I think about it as I sort and fold their freshly clean clothes into neat piles and reload the hamper, paying a little too much attention to the skimpy outfits in Storm’s pile. Like a tiny black top that looks like a cross between a sequined sports bra and something a wild animal mangled. I hold it up. Does she serve drinks or her body in this? That would explain her ridiculous boobs. Wow. I might be making friends with a stripper. That’s sounds weird. And then I acknowledge that I’m going through her underwear. That sounds way weirder.