by Tara Brown
“Oh, Lochlan, come on. I’m out of my league.” I rounded the corner to our house. I started to laugh harder at the thing I’d just confessed. I was too drunk, and I knew I should hang up, but I couldn’t stop the things I wanted to say from slipping out. I walked and shouted. “You want me to want you? Well, you win. I want you. I want you right now. Maybe you should leave that show and come home and show me what I’m missing by being the nice girl. I fold. I will give myself to you, freely, and then move out. Nothing I do is ever going to top you. Nothing is ever going to compare to you.” I stopped walking, realizing what I was saying. I ran my hands through my hair. I was hurt and I didn’t even know why, but my words turned to a whisper. “You’re the real thing. You let me believe you were some backwater, hillbilly bar singer. You’re a star. You are already that incredible and amazing person you want to be. I am the normal, safe girl. You are fantastical greatness and I am not.” I whispered, leaning against the brick building. I caught a glimpse of a guy rounding the corner coming toward me.
He broke his awkward silence. “Erin, you’re drunk. Jesus, no one puts me on my ass like you do. If I’m ever going to be great at anything I wan—”
I cut him off. “I think someone’s following me.”
“Princess, I can’t hear you, please wait for me. Don’t leave the house. Just stay there and wait for me.”
I ignored him and tried to whisper louder. “I think there’s someone coming.” I realized I was exactly like the idiots on the crime shows. I was such a stereotype it wasn’t even funny, college girl roaming the city drunk and alone. “Shit.”
His voice got panicked. “Erin, what’s shit? I can’t hear anything else you’re saying. What’s going on? Why do you sound scared? I don’t care that you just said that stuff. I just want to have this conversation with you. I want to see you, when I say the things I wanna say.”
“Shit,” I muttered again, hurrying to the apartment and ignoring him. I couldn’t hang up; I needed him to be there still, so I wasn’t alone. I was about to become a skin suit and the last thing I ever said was a confession to a guy about being more than me, even in my own mind.
“What’s happening?” he asked, sounding angry.
My hands shook as I looked back. The man watched me. Was he really though, or was I just acting so crazy that he was staring at the display? My hands shook as I opened the door. I pulled it shut, dropping my phone.
“ERIN!”
I picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“What are you doing?”
I swallowed. “I thought a man was following me.”
He shouted again. “Where the fuck are you?”
I shouted back. “I’m home!”
“For Christ’s sake, where’s the guy following you? Is he in the house?”
I moaned. “There is no guy.”
I could hear him getting frustrated, but I needed water and a bed.
“Princess, I swear to God, you’re going to be the death of me. What the hell? Is there a guy or not?”
I groaned. “There was. I thought he was following me. He was just walking.”
“Well, I’ll be at the house in two minutes.”
I realized suddenly that he was out of breath and the bar noise was gone.
He was coming home . . . after everything I had just said? My drunken mind was whirling until a light bulb came on. It was one of those drunken evil light bulbs, but it was better than dealing with the shit I’d said ten minutes before.
I muttered really low into the phone. “What? I couldn’t hear you. I’m gonna hit the hay.” I hung up the phone and ran the rest of the stairs to the apartment, jamming the key in the door and racing inside. I ran to my room, pulled off my shorts and shirt, and stalked out into the kitchen. I grabbed the Gatorade he’d just bought from the fridge and cracked it open.
He rushed into the apartment. He was almost heaving and covered in sweat.
I frowned. “Hey! Don’t you have more show to do?”
He looked homicidal as he glanced around the house. “So . . . you’re . . . fine?” He struggled to get his breath.
I looked around like what he was saying was absurd. “Yeah.” I swayed a little bit, while trying to maintain my cool.
His eyes flickered on my push up bra and panties. I turned, bending over completely and grabbed the freezer drawer, placing the Gatorade at the back of the drawer. I stayed there for an extra second.
When I stood up, I could see the look in his eyes had worsened. He took a step back, putting his hand to his mouth. “Oh man. Are those Victoria’s Secret Brazilian-cut underwear?” he moaned.
I held up the piece of ice I’d discreetly pulled from the drawer and ran it over my cleavage. “Yeah. What’s up with you? You’re acting weird. How do you know the name of my underwear? Never mind, I forgot who I was asking.”
He ran his hands through his hair, backing up farther. “Seriously? I ran like five blocks to get here, and this was a trap? So all that, ‘Lochlan, you’re the best, I can’t compete with you—OMG a man is following me’ was shit?” He even raised his tone to mimic my voice, but really just sounded like a cartoon character.
I laughed, shaking my head. I tossed the ice into the sink and walked up to his chest. I looked up into his eyes. “How do you boys say that?” I tapped my fingernail against my cheek. “Oh yeah. Don’t hate the player, hate the game?” I blinked a few times and walked by him to the bathroom.
“You— you cheated hardcore. You made me think you were in trouble. How could you do that?” He was mystified, but my lack of clothes seemed to be making him confused enough that the dark-eyed look didn’t come back.
I looked back at him. “You let me believe you were some crazy, southern hick who was making an attempt at being a rock star.” My words slurred a bit. “You didn’t tell me you were a famous star.”
He walked to me, towering over me. The furrowed brows were there instantly. “Are you that fucking dense? All those people asking me for my signature? The fucking cop on the first day we met asked for it. You assumed what—you can’t fucking Google shit? I thought it was hilarious that you didn’t know who I was. In fact, I liked it. You treated me like shit and yelled at me, like people used to do.”
I flinched and looked at the door. “You probably should go back to the bar, before the crowd gets mad.” He was sort of freaking me out with the shouting and swearing.
His blue/black eyes bore down on me. “We closed after that song. We only played one set.”
I felt the sobering feeling of the heat of him standing over my mostly naked body. He ran a finger down my jawline. “Princess, you scared me for real. No games when it comes to that, okay? I can’t handle you not being safe.”
I shook my head. “I . . . I didn’t mean to. I really thought he was following me.”
His gaze narrowed. “You have to tell me what the deal is with you. Mace, paranoia, sketchy about leaving the apartment except in the morning, and only for running with your mace. What’s up?”
I stepped back. “It’s nothing.” My back pressed against the wall by the bathroom door. He stepped closer, putting his arms on either side of me. “It’s safe to tell me.”
I swallowed the vomit slithering up my throat as a shudder took control of my body.
He laughed bitterly. “You’re hanging on by a thread, aren’t you? You’re going to barf any second. You drank too much, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
He reached for the bathroom door and opened it. “Go get sick. We can talk tomorrow.”
I nodded again and slipped into the bathroom.
I knelt at the toilet, realizing he’d run as fast as he could to come and make sure I was safe.
The thought lasted seconds before the wine came back with a vengeance.
Chapter Five
The New Deal, aka playing house
I woke with a start and a gasp. My head spun. I moaned, wincing at the bad feelings covering me. I was on my bed. I didn’t
remember much. I was still in my lacy Brazilian cut underwear and push-up bra. I pulled off my bra and pulled on a tee shirt and some sweats. It was cool in the room. There was a note, a glass, and a small carton of something on my bedside table.
Princess,
Drink this, take these pills, and come wake me up.
Hurry up.
L
I shuddered, looking at the carton. It was coconut water. I popped the pills in my mouth and poured the murky-looking liquid into the glass and drank it back. It wasn’t so bad. Not as coconut flavored as I imagined it would be.
I left the room to see him passed out, fully dressed, on the couch.
I tiptoed to the kitchen. Flashbacks of me in my underwear were trying to get through the barrier in my brain. I pushed them away.
I poured a glass of water.
“Morning.”
I looked back at him. “Hey.”
He grinned. “How are you?”
I shook my head. “Stop shouting.”
He nodded. “I suspected.” He came and grabbed my hand, pulling me to the front door. He grabbed my flip-flops from the organized shelf next to the door and continued to walk.
“I don’t want to go. Where are we going?”
He scooped me up into his arms. “Somewhere necessary.”
He carried me down the stairs like I weighed nothing. “Put me down.”
He shook his head. “No, your drunk ass is gonna go too slow, and I’m starving.”
I panicked a little, mostly because I had no energy. “Loch, I can’t leave the house like this.”
He grinned. “I like it when you accidentally call me Loch.” He always ignored the things he didn’t want to hear.
When we got to the car, he opened the door and placed me inside. I sat and got my bearings while he climbed in, grinning. “You don’t drink, do you?” He passed me my shoes. I slipped them on, trying not to heave.
My throat was burning from the puking, and my head was spinning. “No. I never pass the two-glass rule.”
He didn’t say anything else, thank God, until we got to a small mom-and-pop establishment. I made a face but he pointed a finger. “Trust me?”
I looked at him and with all my might I tried to say no, but I didn’t. The nod was almost involuntary. I opened the car door and he was there, holding a hand out for me.
I recoiled. “You’re being sweet to try to trick me into losing the apartment.
He shook his head. “Not today. I swear.”
His blue eyes sparkled. He didn’t even know he was doing it. I groaned and let him pull me from the car. I burped. He gave me a worried look. I laughed. “There’s nothing left. I got it all out last night.”
He placed my hand on his arm and closed the door. “Okay, but if you throw up on me, I might just let you win.”
I laughed. “I’ll remember that.”
When we walked inside, he pulled me to a booth. It sounded like I was squeaking against rubber when I sat. I looked around, frowning. “What is this dump? Why do you always eat in seedy, shitty places? Is that guy smoking?”
He chuckled. “Trust me.”
I gave him a look. “It’s illegal to smoke in a restaurant. He’s endangering all of our health, including the servers and cooks. It’s a major lawsuit waiting to happen.”
He gave me a dead, blank stare and looked back at the guy smoking. “Yo!” The man looked over. He was the size of a Honda Civic with tattoos and a huge beard. He looked like a biker, but not the hot kind. Not the kind in the novels I liked to read.
Lochlan nodded. “You wanna put that out? She’s a pain in the ass about smoke, so if you don’t put it out, she doesn’t put out. I ain’t getting any if she’s mad when we leave here. Help a guy out.”
The guy gave him a look and laughed. He winked a glossy eye at me and ground the smoke into the bar. “Better be extra nice to him later.” He spoke with a gravelly voice. The waitress smacked him in the arm and wiped up the ashes.
My face was on fire. I looked down at my sticky, plastic menu. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
He snatched the plastic menu, ignoring my annoyance. “You don’t need that.”
I looked up, about to snap and smack him like the waitress had done to the biker with the manners.
A gum-chewing, hair-twirling brunette with her own biker sort of look to her and too much cleavage stepped in front of our booth. She snapped her gum at me. I glowered at Lochlan.
He chuckled and ordered. “We’ll have two number threes and non-stop coffee. Over medium.”
She winked a false eyelash at him.
I shuddered as she left. “Who wears false lashes at nine in the morning?”
He smiled sardonically. “Oh, you think we’re here for small talk?” He leaned forward. “No, princess. You need to tell me what’s going on.”
My stomach started to hurt again. “I hate it when you order for me. I can order my own food.”
He pointed. “Start talking and not about food. Unless that’s why you carry mace everywhere you go.”
My fingers left the table, brushing against the mace in my pocket. It was as natural as putting deodorant on.
I sighed. “It’s nothing. It’s just an ex-boyfriend, and he’s back in North Dakota. No big deal.”
His hands slid across the table, encompassing my left hand with warmth, like a cocoon. “Did he hurt you?”
I stared at the plastic table, unable to breathe. “Not . . . not really.” I felt detached from it. “He just wouldn’t leave me alone.”
He lifted my chin to look into his intensely-dark blue eyes. “Are you scared he’s going to come for you?”
I shook my head. “No.”
His look softened. “Tell me the story.”
I nodded hypnotically, still seeing him the way I had the night before. The words left my lips like I was in a trance. “I lived in the dorms at the University of North Dakota. My parents are in Grand Forks, but I wanted the full college experience. I dated a guy first semester. We’d known each other for years. We were both in track together in middle school. One month into the relationship, he proposed.”
He made a face.
It made me laugh. “Right. Who does that?”
He winked. “Britney Spears’ boyfriends.”
A smile crossed my lips, relaxing me. “Right, but I don’t have millions of dollars or her sex appeal.” He opened his mouth, but I put a hand up. “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.” I ran my fingers through my hair, realizing how huge it actually was. “Anyway, I broke it off because he freaked me out. It was my third boyfriend who sucked. My first one, in tenth grade, cheated on me the entire time. My second one, in twelfth grade, was a drug addict and stole my mom’s tennis bracelet because his parents cut him off.”
He snorted. I flashed him a look. He nodded “Continue.”
I sighed. “I broke up with him and his dad started phoning me. They were threatening me, saying I had to get back together with him. He was showing up at my classes. It was bad. So I recorded the calls and got a restraining order. He and his family weren’t allowed on the campus anymore. I moved back home with my parents and finished my degree.”
His eyes narrowed. “Now, for the part you’re not telling me.”
I sneered. “That’s it.”
He shook his head. “I can tell you’re lying.”
My throat was dry. Thankfully, the waitress brought the coffees. I dumped cream in mine and swirled it. The white slowly dissolved in a twirling pattern until it blended completely.
“I need to know.”
“Okay,” I nodded. “He attacked me one night. It was about five months after the ‘Do Not Contact’ order was in place. He hit me over the head with something and pulled me down between two buildings. He was shaking me and hitting me when a girl came. She was walking by, minding her own business.” This was the part of the story that felt like a demon crawling around inside of me with sharp talons. I took a breath and a sip
of coffee. “She attacked him. I think I blacked out but when I came too, he was beating her. She had tried to help me, but he turned on her. I grabbed a huge rock and smashed him in the head with it. We called the police and cried, holding each other. It was insanely frightening.”
His hands slipped over mine again. They trembled a bit. “Were you guys badly hurt?”
I nodded once. “Her more so than me. She ended up so bruised and beaten. I was better off than her. I visited her in the hospital. She looked so bad. I felt sick.”
“If she hadn’t come along. . . . ”
“Yup.” The word came out strong. I knew it was my self-defense kicking in, shutting down the fear I was remembering.
“Where is he now?” The question was growled.
I pulled my hand back and drank with my left hand. My right needed to touch the mace. “Prison.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
I shook my head. “No.” I looked up. “He’s in jail for another year. This is my fresh start.”
I hated the look on his face.
Our plates were dropped down in front of us. I looked at the food and laughed. “Eggs Benedict?”
My favorite food ever. . . . Could he have guessed that?
He nodded. “It’s my favorite. This place makes their own hollandaise and the home fries are dirty good.”
I smiled at the surly waitress. “Thanks.”
She cocked an eyebrow and left.
The first bite was amazing. My poor stomach wasn’t sure though. I ate slowly, in case it was going to come back up, which resulted in him stealing my home fries.
He switched off the weird, tense look and chatted between bites. “My mom always made eggs Benedict for Christmas, Easter, and Thanksgiving. It’s the only time we were allowed to have it. My dad has cholesterol issues.”
I laughed. “My dad is the opposite. He would never eat something like this. He runs marathons. That’s how I picked Boston. We came here in 2008 for him to run the marathon, before the divorce.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Your parents are divorced?”
I nodded. “Thank God.”
He winced. “Yikes.”
“Yup.” My strong ‘yup’ was back in full force.
