Pretty Guilty

by K. L. Cottrell

  I wish so much that I could go back to that time, or any other time of our night when I wasn’t worried about Aaron ruining my happiness because I was too busy enjoying it.

  “Talk to me,” Will says closer to my ear, his voice worried. “Come on. Don’t leave. Not like this. It’s the middle of the night, so leave in the morning if you want to, after we’ve slept some more and eaten breakfast.”

  Aaron floats around in front of me and rakes his eyes over my naked body. Words aren’t needed to convey how much he likes the view—not even his deadness dims it. He lewdly licks his lips and hot nausea wells up in me, but I don’t run for the bathroom. I whirl around and face Will, and not for comfort. “I need my clothes.”

  He tilts my head up so I’m looking at his face and not his bare chest. “Please. I had such an amazing—”

  “Help me find my fucking clothes,” I cut him off, angry and unnerved that Aaron has his repulsive eyes on me, “or give me some of yours.”

  Will’s thumbs brush the corners of my mouth, and his eyes look into mine. “Don’t go,” he urges me lowly, intently.

  Aaron makes a horrible noise that tells me he’s still eye-fucking me.

  “I want to know what’s going on. Was it the nightmare you—?”

  A frustrated yell scrapes out of me at the mention of it. On top of my severe discomfort, I don’t want to think about that dream.

  That memory.

  I’ve yanked myself out of his grasp and I’m swerving around him to go find something to wear. Aaron appears in front of me so abruptly that I can’t keep from walking through him. I shriek and frantically brush at myself as I’m assaulted by a sensation like being covered in bugs.

  And it’s suddenly like he’s everywhere. Aaron. Dead, maimed Aaron all over Will’s room. He’s in front of me and beside me and behind me and through me and the terrible sensation won’t go away even after it’s gone and my ears are flooded with his garbled, obscene remarks and I feel his gaze even after I’ve jerked clothes on—

  Go, go, go, go, go. I desperately dodge Will when he tries to block my way back out of his room.

  As I fumble with the locks on the front door, I hear him beg from right behind me, “Coralie, please!” I’ve just gotten the door unlocked when he turns me around and makes me look at him again. His beautiful face is full of sad alarm, and it hurts me. “I don’t want you to go like this! I don’t understand what’s happening!”

  I don’t want to go like this, either. I don’t want to have to walk home right now because I have to get away from Will but sold my car after Aaron’s death, too anxious to get back behind the wheel. But the skin-crawling sensation floods me in full-force again as Aaron floats through me and stops directly between Will and me. And I can’t handle that and having the dead bastard’s frightening face so close to mine and having so many emotions ripping at me. The hysterical words fly from my mouth: “What’s happening is that Aaron’s fucking ghost is everywhere, even here when I’m supposed to be alone with you, and it’s just not fucking right! He’s dead and he still won’t leave me alone! He’s right in my goddamn face, Will, so let me go!”

  I don’t see Will’s reaction. I only hear him suck in a surprised breath.

  I don’t waste a second in freeing myself from him. Then I’m gone.

  4: Will

  It’s been a week and a half since I last saw Coralie. Since she bolted from my house in the middle of the night wearing one of my shirts with her coat inside-out and her eyes wild with panic.

  I haven’t forgotten how awesome the majority of that night was. Haven’t forgotten the purple-pink smile she gave me when we met up, or the connection that grew between us, or the protective anger I felt when that guy disrespected her. Or the way she looked at me after I calmed her down outside the bar: sweetly, even though I don’t think she realized it. Haven’t forgotten how damn good it felt to have her arms and legs wrapped around my body, or how much fun we had snacking and watching movies, or how I kind of forgot about the guilt I’ve felt for a month. Definitely, definitely haven’t forgotten us being naked a second time, with her straddling me and breathing against my cheek to my most pleasant surprise, “I’ve decided I belong wherever the hell you are, Will.”

  And of course I remember the last thing she shrieked at me before she left—the thing about Aaron Allen’s ghost haunting her, about him even being in my house.

  Maybe I should be over it. With that guy accusing her of killing Aaron and then her freaking out later, maybe I should be deeming her, at the very least, too messy to waste time on. My friends Greg and Brett would have said so if I’d told them much about her during our meet-up this past weekend. But I honestly don’t feel that way. That dude Eddie really is just upset and he made Coralie upset, and ghost talk is actually something I’m pretty used to. My mom and her best friend Vee have all kinds of stories about Vee’s haunted childhood home, and my Papaw, who was a literal genius, had stories of his own that I truly believe were real.

  So I liked Coralie the day I met her and I still do. I’m still intrigued by her, not weirded out. I want to keep getting to know her.

  She sure is making it hard for me, though.

  I never got her phone number and she doesn’t seem to have an online presence. I could probably find out where she lives, but I don’t want to go that far because I’d rather she didn’t see me as a stalker. The only way I know to contact her is through her job, and the few attempts I’ve made to catch her there have been fruitless. Twice, Catie went to find her and came back saying her sister claimed to be too busy to talk. The other time, Coralie saw me through the front window and was gone by the time I got into the shop.

  So much for her belonging wherever I am.

  I don’t know what to do. I don’t believe she doesn’t like me, but how hard am I supposed to try to talk to her when she’s clearly avoiding me? It’s really bumming me out.

  I found her gray beanie on my floor shortly after she left, and I’m currently tossing it from hand to hand as I sit at my desk at work. I haven’t been to Tokens Of Love in a couple of days, so I’ve been debating swinging by today at lunch, which is in twenty-two minutes.

  “Look who’s working hard,” I hear from my office doorway.

  I look over and see my stepdad. This is his construction business and, damn, I’ve just been caught ignoring the new big project plans he gave me this morning.

  “Oh. Hey, sorry,” I say as I straighten up in my chair. “I’m about to go to lunch and my mind is on something. Soon as I come back, I’ll get—”

  “I’m teasing you, Will,” he interrupts with a chuckle. He walks in and drops down into the chair on the other side of my desk. “We both know you got good work ethic. I don’t mind if you kick back a little sometimes.”

  I flash him a smile. “Oh. Well, thanks.”

  “Mmhmm. What’s that you got there?”

  I look at Coralie’s hat again. As close as I am to Jeremy—he’s a real stand-up man, the best I could dream of for my mom—I don’t really know how to talk to him about my situation. I don’t want to share the private details of my night with Coralie with him.

  “Hey, don’t worry ‘bout telling me if you don’t want to,” he says, knowing what I’m thinking. “Your business is your business. I’m just curious ‘cause there’s a look in your eye that I ain’t seen there before.”

  I tsk. “Probably because I haven’t known anyone like Coralie before.”

  “Hmm…. I’ve heard that name somewhere. Was it from your mama? Seems like I can hear her saying it.”

  “I’m sure it was.” I fill him in on how I met Coralie, which my mom helped with.

  I’m happy to see he doesn’t look upset at the indirect mention of Taylor; sometimes it’s obvious how crushed he is that his daughter had a part in Aaron’s death. Right now, he just nods and says, “Ah, yeah, that’s right. Your mama did tell me about that. So Coralie is stuck on your mind, huh?”

  I nod, too, and hesitate
before I admit, “But she’s avoiding me. She’s got some stuff going on, and she…I don’t know….”

  “Thinks you can’t handle it?”

  I recall now how she said in the beginning that I wouldn’t want to be involved with her. It being because of Aaron’s ghost, rather than our simple difference in appearance as I thought at the bar, certainly makes the most sense.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “I think she thinks I can’t handle it.”

  “Well, can you?”

  “Yep.”

  He sighs. “Women. I’ll tell you, they’re spectacular and also aggravating.”

  I have to laugh a little. “Let’s be honest, though: that’s us, too.”

  He laughs, too. “Yeah, true. Anyway, just make yourself known. That’s the best you can do. Say you like her and you ain’t scared of a little trouble. She’ll either appreciate that or she won’t.”

  Well, that’s what I’ve been trying to do, but he doesn’t know that, so I tell him sincerely, “Thanks, Dad.”

  He gives me a happy smile, as he always does when I call him that. “More than welcome, son.”

  He leaves after another minute of chatting, and I think again about his advice. And I think again about what my options are for my next move: I can either give making myself known another try, or I can go to Sue’s Sandwiches like I do every Wednesday and give Coralie another day of space.

  In the car, I decide to go eat. If I get done quickly, maybe I’ll stop by Tokens Of Love. Maybe not.

  My Double Club has just been brought to my table when a familiar blonde comes through the front door. It’s Catie, not Coralie, but I’m not unhappy to see her—in fact, when she spots me and waves, I’m pleased. The last few times I saw her at her shop, I kept most of my problem to myself, but now I’m wondering if she can help me.

  After she orders at the counter, she comes to sit across from me. I’ve prepared what I want to say, but she beats me to speaking.

  “Listen, something’s going on with my sister. She’s acting weird and I don’t know what to do about it because she won’t talk to me—she’s only said one thing that hasn’t had to do with work, and it was last week when I asked her if you did something to upset her. She said, ‘No. Will is amazing. Absolutely amazing.’” Her eyebrows are way up. “That’s all she’s said to me about her personal life, and it makes no sense because for as amazing as you are, she sure is skirting you like a patch of poison ivy.”

  I realize my mouth is hanging open. I snap it shut and draw a deep breath through my nose.

  Coralie thinks I’m amazing. Even after she left me like she did, she told her sister she thinks I’m amazing.

  That does a hell of a lot to improve my bummed-out feeling…but it also really does clash with her current behavior.

  Catie asks, “Do you have any idea what’s bothering her? I mean, whatever it is, it’s real noticeable. She hasn’t been wearing all that makeup, and that stuff has been a part of her look for I don’t even know how long. Ten years?” She frowns and starts twisting her wedding ring around. “She’s jumpy and she always looks tired. She’s had a short fuse on top of already being upset by Aaron’s death. She’s always loved our store, but lately it’s like she doesn’t care much. My husband thinks she might be doing drugs, but Cora hasn’t ever…I mean, not that I know of, so I don’t….”

  I shake my head and assure her, “It’s not drugs.”

  Her expression lifts a little. “You don’t think so?”

  “Not at all. In fact, that was something we talked about at dinner. She asked if I’m into those kinds of things. We agree on how stupid and dangerous drugs are. Don’t worry about that.” I don’t know if I should tell her I know what the real issue is, but at least I can give her this small bit of peace, right?

  She’s nodding slowly, looking thoughtful now. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. Thank you, Will.” After a few moments of studying me: “Well, truth is, she and I aren’t exactly best friends. We love each other, but she’s a lot younger than me and I’ve got a big family of my own that I spend all my free time with. I’m not sure I can get her to be honest with me about what’s got her so odd.” She points at me and narrows her eyes. “But she likes you. I could tell it the moment I introduced you and we all know it hasn’t changed, so let’s do this: I get off at 3 today and she’ll be alone in the store until closing at 7. If you go see her tonight, she won’t have anywhere to run off to because she’s in charge of the store. She’ll have to stay up front and you’ll have your chance to talk.” There’s hope in her eyes now. “And maybe you can figure out what’s going on with her. Maybe even do a little something to help fix it.”

  Oh, wow.

  Being alone with Coralie is definitely something I want. Still, I chew on the inside of my cheek as I contemplate going about it this way. “You think it’s a good idea to corner her like that?”

  Catie shrugs. “If it backfires, sell me out to her. Tell her I convinced you to do it.”

  Hmm.

  It would be nice to have a better shot at talking to her. And I could give her beanie back to her before we see the new snow that’s supposed to blow through in the next day or so. And I was planning on asking Catie to help me get through to her, anyway, right?

  “All right,” I say. “I’ll go.”

  An excited smile breaks out on Catie’s face, and I only realize now just how worried she was looking. “Really? Oh, Will, thank you! Awesome!”

  “Yeah. If it goes well, both of us will have our problem solved, huh?” Me more than her, probably, since I doubt Coralie wants me to mention Aaron’s ghost to anyone. But maybe I can convince her to speak up herself.

  Catie nods. “I wish you the best of luck, for both our sakes.”

  I thank her because I’m sure I’ll need it. Coralie may be short, thin, and one hundred percent feminine when she moans, but I’ve seen her temper in action. I’ve seen how she responds to anxiety or feeling threatened.

  If I stir either of those things in her tonight, it’s not going to bode too well for me.

  Here’s hoping that I’m more amazing than distressing today.

  *

  It’s a little after 6 and I’m standing outside Tokens Of Love, looking through the window. I can see Coralie sluggishly folding brightly-colored shirts at a table.

  Like Catie mentioned, it’s impossible not to notice how weary she looks. Her eyes really aren’t as boldly made-up as they were the day I met her, or even as they were the last time I glimpsed her here. Her hair is pulled up in a messy knot and she’s wearing a very plain black dress that has long sleeves.

  And still, I think she’s pretty. She clearly isn’t feeling her best and I’m not sure how this encounter is about to go (since lunch, I’ve been nervous on and off, and I’m definitely on now), but I’m happy to see her.

  The frigid wind blows. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants, step up to the door, and open it. It’s go time.

  At the sound of the bell jingling, she blinks but doesn’t look at me. After I’ve shut the door, she says tonelessly, “Hello. Can I help you with something?”

  All kinds of responses pop into my head, from super cheesy ones to polite ones to normal ones, but I can’t seem to get anything at all out of my mouth. I can’t even make my feet keep moving toward her.

  Several seconds pass with me being helplessly quiet, and she finally glances this way, just barely curious. Then she sees me, and her countenance totally changes. Her eyes somehow widen in both pleasant surprise and alarm, and her spine straightens as her shoulders snap back.

  Please don’t run, I beg her in my head. Please don’t run.

  She doesn’t. She stares at me with the shirt she was folding clutched in her fists. I swallow hard and try to figure out what to say. The faint rock music playing is the only sound in the whole place.

  At length, I clear my throat and manage, “Hi.”

  Please don’t run.

  She remains motionless, so I hold up her hat. “So,
um…you left this at my house. Thought I’d bring it to you. For the snow, you know? We’re—we’re expecting more snow.”

  I can’t remember ever feeling so flustered around a girl. So worried about what she’s thinking, about what she might or might not do.

  Her eyes flicker to the hat, then to me again, then to the floor. Wetting her lips, she tosses the shirt onto the table and starts toward me.

  Her averted gaze and strangely rigid grace fill me with disappointment. I don’t want this to be the extent of our interaction. As she comes near, I rush out softly, “I’ve been thinking about you, and I tried to come by a couple other times. You know, to give you—and—and to talk about…. But you know that, huh? That I’ve….”

  She snatches the beanie out of my grip.

  “Can we—uh—?”

  She’s turned her back on me.

  “Can we talk about the other night?” I get out.

  She’s walking away, away, away.

  “Please?” I implore her. “Just for a minute?”

  I get nothing.

  “Coralie?”

  Nothing at all. Not a shake of her head or a grunt or anything.

  Irritation suddenly flares up in me and wipes my nervousness away. “Okay, what the hell?” I ask. “I don’t know if you’re embarrassed or scared or what, but I don’t deserve to be ignored. I deserve some sort of response from you.”

  Just like that, she’s whirling around and words are firing out of her. “Are you fucking serious? Did you forget what I said about Aaron’s ghost or did you think it was a joke? It wasn’t a joke, Will Whatever-your-last-name-is, so get out of here and quit thinking about me, because what you don’t deserve is to be burdened by some crazy bitch who sees ghosts. Consider it a fucking gift to—”

  “No, stop,” I say over her. “You’re not crazy and I—”

  “Did you just say I’m not crazy?” Her voice rises to a shriek, and she practically bounces on the balls of her feet with vehemence. “What is normal about being followed around by a fucking dead person?”