by Staci Hart
And now, after everything, I somehow found myself bunking with the girl I couldn’t let go. I pushed away the thought that this could be my chance, not wanting to hope. In my experience, hope led to disappointment. But if nothing else, maybe Rose and I could at least find a way to mend things on some level. I blew it up, so I figured it was up to me to figure out how it all fit back together, one piece at a time. Even just friends would be better than nothing, better than what we’d been over the last few months.
I knew what nothing felt like, and I never wanted to go back to that.
Life could have been so much harder than it had been for me. I never went hungry. I was never beaten or abused. I had a roof over my head and clothes on my back. But I couldn’t say I ever felt loved or wanted. Not that I could remember, anyway.
My father — The Sergeant, we called him — was in the Army, and it suited him almost too well. I sometimes wondered if he could have survived in a civilian life, a civilian job, the quiet, hardened man I knew who valued structure and order over everything. I suppose it was why we never saw eye-to-eye — I had the rebellion gene, thanks to my mom.
Sometimes I think I remember what it was like when I was very young, though part of me thinks it’s just a recreation of an old photo, a retold story from someone else’s memory rather than one of my own. But I remember us happy, even though it’s a fleeting feeling — as soon as I touch the thought, it’s gone. I remember the three of us laughing, holding hands as we watched the giraffes with their long black tongues, necks stretched to reach the green leaves near the viewing platform.
I was nine when she left us, and I think she took the best part of him with her. Maybe she just normalized him somehow, or maybe she was a buffer that made everything feel like it was fine. Either way, he was never the same after she left. I don’t think he really knew what to do with me, and we never understood each other. Temperamentally, he and I were very much alike — stoic, avoiding what we didn’t know how to deal with, leaving things unsaid and unresolved. I stayed out of his way, and he stayed out of mine.
Art was my only constant, the place — the only place — where I could be open and honest. Over the years, I filled sketchbook after book, never taking classes, never expecting it to amount to anything. It was just what I did, something to fill my soul and the silence of my life. We never lived anywhere for more than a year before we were re-stationed, which meant I never really had a chance to make friends. So I was the weird, quiet kid who wore mostly black, with charcoal-smudged fingers and hard eyes, smoking under the bleachers.
When I turned sixteen, The Sergeant announced we were moving again and it just hit me. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to live with him. I wanted to go to New York, start a life for myself.
He didn’t even put up a fight when I told him, just gave me a couple grand and told me to call him if I got in any trouble.
I never called. Neither did he.
It had been more than ten years since then. Sometimes I wondered about him. If he found a new wife. Had more kids. If he was happy. Sometimes I wondered if he wondered about me. But usually I didn’t think about him at all.
I’d taken a bus from Fort Rucker, Alabama, to New York with nothing but what was in my dad’s old canvas army-green duffle bag, used the money to rent a room at the Vanderbilt YMCA for a month, and found a job at an Italian restaurant bussing tables.
It was there that I met a gangly blond kid, a couple years older than me with a smile like Christmas morning and the ability to make me laugh like no one I’d ever met. Seth was my first friend, the first person to make me feel included. It was the first time I’d ever been happy. He lived with his buddies, Danny and Sarah, and said they had room for me, if I wanted to stay. And of course I wanted to stay. I wanted to stay forever.
But what I thought was good and real was just an illusion. I followed Seth down the rabbit hole all the same.
I’d done drugs before — smoked a little weed, tripped on mushrooms — but nothing like what I walked into with Seth. Molly — ecstasy — was the first step for me, the easy push, something to make you feel like everything was going to be just fine, the overload of serotonin that made all of my problems, past or future, seem small and trivial. Then it was ketamine, heavy limbs and stretched out nights spent just existing. And through it all, I felt like I finally had a home. That I had a family. That I belonged. And I was so in love with the idea that I sacrificed myself to hang on to the feeling.
One night, Jared, our dealer, came over and brought a needle kit. Free samples of China White. Like nothing we’d ever felt before, he said, and he was right. It was like nothing I ever felt again, even though I chased it every time I put a needle in my arm.
The next two years were a blur, days and nights running together like dripping paint. The four of us split rent in a shitty two-bedroom in Hell’s Kitchen, working so we could get high. Then Seth started peddling for Jared, and the cycle went around and around, faster, deeper, darker — until we were all lost.
I remember the day I woke up in both senses of the word. The metallic tang of unwashed bodies hung in the thick air, still and stagnant from long, slow breaths and closed doors and windows. I didn’t know what time it was, what day it was, as I opened my heavy lids, mouth sticky. I looked over at Seth, hanging half off his rumpled bed, the knuckles of one hand dangling just over the floor. His face was turned to mine, eyes closed, ringed with dark shadows, hair more yellow than golden, dark and thick with oil. His needle kit lay on the bed next to him, the cigar box open, contents strewn around it.
I didn’t recognize him. I didn’t recognize myself. And it was then I knew I needed more out of life than I was giving myself.
I didn’t have a diploma, so my job options were slim. But I could draw. I saw an article about Tonic in a magazine and wondered if being a tattoo artist was a possibility. You didn’t need a diploma or degree, you just apprenticed and practiced and became what you wanted to be.
And that’s exactly what I did. Walked into that shop where — I learned later — it was nearly impossible to get a job. I showed Joel a couple of my sketchbooks, and he hired me on the spot. Even offered me a place to stay, helped me get clean.
People may call me Tricky, but the best things in my life have come to me by sheer luck.
The door opened behind me, and I closed my sketchbook, looking over my shoulder to find Rose with her bag in the crook of her elbow, foot on the door as she pulled her key out of the lock.
“You’re still here.” It wasn’t an accusation or a question, though I couldn’t quite place her tone, like she was happy and pissed at the fact.
I stretched. “Just about to go to bed. How was Habits?”
She set her bag on the table and took a seat in the armchair., propping her boots on the coffee table. “Good. The usual.”
I watched her twist up her hair, noting that she was concentrating a little too hard for such a simple task — lip between her teeth, eyes narrowed with focus. I realized then that she was drunk.
“I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” she said as she settled into the chair.
I leaned forward to set my sketchbook on the table by her feet, glancing up the line of her legs to meet her eyes. Mine lingered there. “Yeah, sorry. It was just getting late, so I figured why leave and then come right back?”
“I have a date tomorrow,” she blurted, looking somehow nervous and determined all at the same time.
My heart stopped for a long moment, though my face was still as I leaned back to settle into couch again. “Okay.”
Her cheeks flushed as she picked something invisible off the arm of the chair. “Not that I need your permission, or anything. I just thought you should know, you know? Like you staying here doesn’t mean—”
I smirked, covering for the fact that she’d called me out. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
Her mouth opened and closed again, and my smirk climbed. Stone-cold Rose, caught off guard.
I wondered if it was my lucky day.
“I know what it doesn’t mean, Rose. Funny that you’d assume I didn’t, though,” I joked.
Her flush deepened. “It’s not like that. I just wanted to say it out loud.”
“I get it. I wasn’t planning on making a move.”
It was true. I hadn’t planned on it, but I wouldn’t ignore an opportunity. I’d never admit that to her, though, and she needed reassurance that I wasn’t going to make it weird. So that’s exactly what I gave her. “Look, it’s been long enough that we’ve danced around each other like this. Maybe we can find our new normal. Move on.”
I said it like it was simple, but it was just another lie to keep us both standing.
I veered us away from that subject and into the last thing I wanted to talk about. But I had to play it cool, pretend I was fine with it. I had a feeling I’d be doing a lot of pretending in the days to come. “So, a date, huh? You excited?”
She relaxed into her chair at the mention, looking a little weary. “I don’t even know, man. Mostly, I’m nervous. It’s been a while.” Her eyes darted to mine, like she’d forgotten for a second it was me she was talking to.
I stared at her bottom lip where it was pinned between her teeth — lips that were mine. Lips that had said words I wished they would utter again. Lips that had smiled only for me, that had kissed my own, that had delivered her to me.
Lips that were my deliverance.
Lips that could be kissing some other guy within twenty-four hours.
I smiled reassuringly through the fire in my ribs. “I know the feeling. What’s his story?” I asked, not wanting to know.
“He’s an artist named Steve. I don’t know too much else.”
“What’s his medium?” I was genuinely interested, only because I hoped it was something I could hold against him.
“Not sure, though I know he makes furniture at least.”
I nodded, impressed despite myself. “Lots of math, which is why I never got into it.”
She laughed. “Right? My high school algebra teacher was a friggin’ liar. I’ve never once had to solve an algebra problem as an adult.”
“Try learning it on your own. Joel attempting to help me while I was getting my GED was a fucking riot.” I snickered at the memory.
Those smiling lips again. I couldn’t look away. “Oh, my God. I can only imagine the swearing involved in that.”
I chuckled and rested my arms on the back of the couch with a sigh. “Shep’s actually the mathmagician of the family, so at least I had him to step in and save the day when quadratic equations got the best of us.”
“So,” she said as she leaned forward to untie her boots. “I think everyone’s going to Habits night after next. Maggie and Cooper are even going to be there.” She made a mock surprised face.
“It’s a miracle.”
Her eyes were on her fingers as they unlaced the first one enough to slip her foot out. “It’s been so weird lately. Everyone’s so … busy.”
With each other, was the rest of that sentence. “For sure. I feel like I haven’t seen Cooper and Maggie in weeks.”
“Because it has been weeks.” She wiggled her toes before getting to work on the other boot. “We’ve barely seen them since they moved in together after like four seconds of dating.”
“Who would have guessed?”
She chuckled and shed the final shoe, dropping it with a thump. “Certainly not West. I’m surprised he only decked Cooper once for nailing his sister.”
“West has two rage buttons: Lily and Maggie.”
“Truth. It’ll be good to see everyone, since they’re all taking a break from being grownups, or whatever.” She wrinkled her nose.
I shook my head, thinking about how much had changed over the last couple of months. “It blows my mind that Cooper, playboy of the century, the guy who never took anything seriously, has a live-in girlfriend and a real, adult job. At an investment firm. Where he wears a suit and tie to work every day.”
“Playboy to professional. At least he has somewhere to wear all those fancy suits of his.”
I chuckled. “Like Coop needs an excuse.”
“True. And then Lily and West are just together all the time. It’s so strange to be here alone all the time now,” she added, partly to herself.
“Mine’s the opposite. It’s strange to feel like you have nowhere to go. Though it’s not like I haven’t been through that before. At least I’m not a kid this time, and at least it’s not like I really have nowhere to go.” I watched her for a beat. “Thanks again for letting me stay, Rose.”
Her face softened. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I can help, even though you’re still a dick for not asking first.”
I put my hands up in surrender. “Hey, blame Lily for that.”
“Oh, trust me. I do.” She stretched and groaned. “Man, I’m beat. Getting up at eight in the morning is horse shit.”
I laughed. “You get used to it.”
“Who said I wanted to?” she asked as she stood.
I grabbed my stuff and followed her to the bedrooms. “Hey, don’t knock it. You’d be surprised at how much you can get done when you’re awake during the day.”
Rose yawned one stretched-out word. “Pass.” She turned in her threshold and looked up at me with dark eyes, most of her hidden in shadows of her dark room. “Sleep well.” The words were soft, full of some emotion I couldn’t quite place. I only knew I wanted to cross the small space between us and kiss her until she was breathless.
But instead, I stepped into Lily’s dark bedroom. “You too,” I said quietly. And I closed my door as she closed hers, putting the walls between us as we always did.
SAVE ME
Rose
I WOKE THE NEXT MORNING to the damn cats again, though at least this time they didn’t break up contraband dreams about certain sexy ex-boyfriends who happened to be sleeping in the next room.
Not that it mattered. I had a date with a cute guy in a few hours, and I was optimistic. Maybe he wasn’t as hot as Patrick Evans, but who was? I was sure Patrick was some superhuman, unreachable by mere mortals like me. He was on another planet, in another universe. Completely unattainable.
I knew he was still attracted to me — he was about as subtle as a car alarm — but I didn’t know if what he felt went deeper than that. The man was written in a language I didn’t understand. I thought I did through the things we didn’t have to say. But he was otherwise closed to me. I could see the pieces of him moving behind his eyes, but the meaning was lost on me. The attraction was the only thing that was simple. The only thing that made any sense.
And today, I felt better and worse about him. Last night marked the first real conversation between the two of us since we’d broken up.
Look, I get that it’s crazy. We hang out all the time. But I’d conditioned myself to ignore him, which I think might have made him crank the intensity. I don’t even think he knew he was doing it. He just looked like that. Lily called it resting smolder face.
I called it trouble.
My date was in a few hours, and I was still nervous. It was the kind of morning I’d usually find Lily and curl up in her lap like a cat so she could pet me, but Lily wasn’t here. So I shuffled out of the apartment and down the hall in my pajamas, knocking on the door in warning, opening it when I didn’t hear any protests.
“Lil?” I called.
“In here,” she said from the bedroom.
I closed the door and walked toward their room. “You decent?”
“For now,” West said, and Lily laughed.
“Don’t scare her away. Come in.”
I smiled when I walked into the room. They were stretched out in bed wearing pajamas even though it was ten, which might as well have been four in the afternoon to them.
“Aww, look at you bums,” I said, the words gooey and sweet.
West had a full-sized bed, and Lily scooted, shuffling West against the wall to make room
for me. “Pile in, Rosie.”
I climbed in and slipped under the covers.
West propped up his head and smiled. “Maybe I’ll go make breakfast so you two can make out.”
I laughed. “What a gentleman.”
“Just be sure to give the nanny cam over there a good show, all right?” He made a show of it, angling his head to peer at his bookshelf, pointing in its direction.
We giggled, and West kissed Lily on the cheek and climbed out of bed, stretching his long body and twisting his dark hair up into a knot.
“Thanks, LumberWest,” I called. “I’ll have bacon and eggs, please.”
“You got it.” He winked and left the room.
Lily’s cheeks were rosy, her smile soft and sweet. She looked like a princess — wide, blue eyes, long blond hair, creamy skin. And I’d never seen her so happy, not in all the years I’d known her.
“I miss you.” It just slipped out — I hadn’t meant to get all sappy. But I couldn’t help it. I really did miss her, and was feeling sentimental. I might have also been PMSing, or as I sometimes called it, the Filter Deteriorator.
“I miss you too, Rosie.”
“I wish you’d been there last night when I got home. Tricky was sitting in the living room almost like he was waiting on me.”
She raised a brow. “Oh? How’d that go?”
I sighed as she moved back to West’s pillow, relinquishing hers to me. I gave it a solid punch to fluff it before settling in. “Well, I told him I had a date, which wasn’t weird at all.”
“That bad?”
“I mean, I guess it could have been worse. He asked me polite questions about it with his face like a statue or a robot or something. Then we talked for a little and went to bed.”
She rolled her eyes. “Boring.”
“You’re the worst. What do you expect us to do? Make out?”
“Just take off your clothes and parade your goodies around for him,” she said cheerily.
“I’d rather not have sex with my ex, Lil.” The words were as flat as my face.
