by Jordan Bell
But as much as he complained he also called to check on her when she lived in the dorms, threatened her boyfriends if they hurt her, and showed up to all her art shows.
At her first gallery show when none of her pieces sold, he’d purchased three of them anonymously. He loved her more than he didn’t.
But when their father died, his affection evaporated. I didn’t know if it was grief or what, but suddenly her life wasn’t charming, it was charmed and it wasn’t fair. Suddenly her happiness became a personal insult. I’d been sure this irrational anger was a phase, something Brian would get over when he moved on with his own life. Only he didn’t move on. He kept simmering in some defeat he didn’t want to talk about.
“She doesn’t work here,” I carefully reminded him. “She’s not an employee and do you blame her for not answering your calls? All you do is yell at her. Let it go. Call someone else in.”
“Boy has she got you on a leash. You and my father, man, she’s got the life doesn’t she? Bat those big eyes and everyone scrambles to take care of her.” Brian’s nostrils flared as he rambled. The very idea that anyone had me on a leash was amusingly ironic. He plowed forward undeterred. “It’s just Kat being Kat. Isn’t she adorable? No one forces her to act like an adult. No one but me and when I do, I’m the bad guy. I’m the villain.”
There was a vibration in Brian voice, a hint of malevolence towards her unrestrained delight. I recognized that need for control over something that refused to be restrained. I’d heard it sometimes in the voices of Doms who played for all the wrong reasons. It wasn’t because they felt strongly about getting their way, it was that they wanted to punish someone for refusing to give them the power they thought they deserved. And it always, always ended badly.
While I’d spent the last three weeks brooding and antisocial, I’d missed the fact this anxiety was now infecting Brian’s mannerisms. He certainly looked better on the outside, but everything he did was high-strung and aggressive. He ground his teeth as he spoke. He twitched and shifted and fussed with his fists, calloused and clenched.
Under no circumstances could I let Brian anywhere near his sister.
“Are you ok?” I asked him carefully. “You seem really on edge.”
Brian ignored my question and stared at his phone instead, silent and taunting. He picked it up and turned it over, back and forth, as if it were the most interesting thing in the room.
We both jumped when it rang and he damn near dropped the thing.
“I gotta take this. Give me a second?” Brian nodded at his door in a not so subtle way of saying Get the fuck out.
I suppressed my annoyance and stood up. “Fine, but hurry up. We have a problem.”
He flipped the phone open, already turning away from me in his chair. “Don’t we always.”
This time when Brian said, Hey, it wasn’t in his terse, desperate voice he’d been pacing around his office with before I’d walked in on him. This one was softer, like he was talking to a baby animal. There was a little bit of begging in his voice and for a moment I wondered if he was talking to Kat, but that seemed doubtful. It wasn’t their mother either, who was half-suburbanite, half-pterodactyl. If Brian had cooed at her, she’d have slapped him across the face. I’d known ex-Navy Doms who were less alpha than Mrs. Koile.
A woman, maybe. For his sake I hoped so.
An impatient glance over his shoulder kept me from overhearing any more of the conversation. He didn’t say anything else until I’d left the room.
When I pulled the office door closed to give him some privacy, I discovered that he was definitely not talking to Kat.
Because Kat was standing at the bar.
I stopped short and watched her run her palm across the polished bar top, pausing her fingertips at the gouges made by someone years ago with the tip of a knife and a love of someone named Susan. She traced the letters, nearly smooth from years of hands and elbows and shot glasses. Kat kept herself turned away from me, eyes darting from the dance floor to the front door as if she couldn’t decide whether to run or throw herself into the middle of the room and never let go. She crossed her right arm over the small of her back, alarmingly reminiscent of the position I’d tied her up in. I could almost feel the restraint keeping her from spinning out onto the dance floor, music or no.
This girl.
Three weeks without her and it took all my strength not to lift her off her feet and slide her onto the bar top so I could look at her and touch her and keep her from running away. God, even from across the room I could almost smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo.
“Kat?” I rubbed the back of my neck and grimaced at the sound of her name. Her body tensed then swiveled towards me using the bar for balance. Her eyes widened and I was momentarily caught by them before I realized with a shock that she didn’t look like the Kat I’d lost three weeks ago.
She wore black slacks and a robin’s egg blue shirt that traced her hourglass figure and settled over the flare of her hips. She wore flats and tights under her pants instead of socks. Her backpack with all its pins and patches was nowhere to be seen, and her hair had been pulled into a tight, smart high ponytail. If it wasn’t for the pink hair, she would have aged ten years right before my eyes.
Katrina was still beautiful as hell but I hated it. For the first time in her life she didn’t look like she fit in her own skin.
“You look different.” I took a step towards her. She tensed again but didn’t move away, just followed my approach with her eyes. “Are you ok?”
Kat sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and bit just hard enough to pucker the skin. Her busy mind spun away and back, but I couldn’t tell what was going on behind her eyes. Like her brother, she ignored my question.
“God,” she said finally with a little affectionate laugh. “This place really is a dive. Are those the same booths from the 70s? I don’t think I really noticed how orange they were before. You should get someone in here to update some of this stuff. I can’t even imagine how many grimy guys smeared their sweaty bodies on these things.” Kat glanced towards the tables fondly. “Get rid of all my stupid doodles.”
Get rid of…a shiver raced across my skin and it was very difficult to stay still. There was something intensely forced about her smile, ruined every time she bit her lip and looked anywhere but at me.
“Kat--” I started but she laughed suddenly, bright and wrong. Everything about her was so plastic, like a postcard. Greetings from Kat! The weather is perfect. Wish you were here.
“Did you know,” she said as she toed the bottom rung of a bar stool. “I’ve read more books in the last three weeks than I’ve read in the last year combined? It turns out that having your social life ripped from your hands makes you smarter. My apartment’s cleaner too. If I’d known how easy my life would be, I’d become an introvert ages ago.”
“I didn’t--”
“Yes you did,” she interrupted. After a moment of quiet, her eyes drifting aimlessly across the floor, she sighed. “Maybe this was a mistake.”
“South River will always be yours.”
“No,” she laughed. Shrugged. “Give me a break. We can barely stand next to each other and approximate human beings.”
“Then why are you here?”
Kat pushed past me and wound up at the jukebox, distracted by its shiny buttons and bright lights. She ran her hands across the glass top and absently flipped through the tracks.
“Julie thought it would make me feel better. She thought if I asked why, why everything, that your answers would make me less crazy. But now that I’m here I don’t think I care why. It won’t change how much I hate you.”
A flare of anger forced me to turn away from her and head behind the bar. I needed to do something with my hands. That was where my tension heated, made me want to get my hands on something, or someone. I needed that intense, grounding control, where the world made sense beneath my fingers. I needed a dark room and a partner and rope. Control. I needed
quiet, peaceful, thunderous control where I could work my emotions out before they became real, breathing things I couldn’t run from.
Instead I snatched up a dish towel and squeezed it between my fists. I twisted and wrapped it until I’d made a nice, thick cord. It would fit around wrists or ankles. It would make an excellent spur of the moment gag.
“You were never supposed to be at that party.”
“That wasn’t your call.”
“Oh you think so? If Kelli would have told me you were invited I would have put a stop to it immediately and everyone would have respected my wishes. You would have never been allowed in.”
“You don’t own me, Josh!” She spun around as she yelled, her cheeks pinking and her hands balled into tight little fists. “You can’t stand there lecturing me about people respecting your wishes when you won’t respect mine. I wanted it. I begged for it.”
Kat taunted me with those last words, with the way her body arched, the way her hips pivoted. I couldn’t take my eyes off her hips, her belly, the jut of her breasts.
I dropped the dish towel back on the counter and rubbed my face with my hands. You don’t own me. It had crossed my mind over the weeks, late at night and early in the morning, that if I did, if she was mine, I wouldn’t sleep alone ever again. I wouldn’t have to wonder if she was safe in her bed or where she was at two in the morning. I’d know because I’d own her nights. And her mornings.
“I can have it all,” she went on, stalking across the room towards the bar as if she were fully prepared to throw down with me over her right to get spanked. If I wasn’t so angry, if I didn’t miss her so much, if I wasn’t so hurt by her declaration that she hated me, I would have thought her aggression was amusing. I would have wrapped her in a hug and kissed her hair until her tiny fury dissolved. If I touched her now, we were doomed.
“They are my fantasies. They belong to me. And I’ll share them with whoever I want. I’ll let them do whatever I ask for. You can’t stop me.”
“Like hell you will.” Against my better judgment, I met her halfway, grabbed her by both arms and held her still. Her face came just under my chin and for a moment her mouth parted to argue, to fight, to say everything unkind and horrible to punish me for not wanting her, but she stopped. She clenched her fists against my chest, not pushing or pulling or moving. Hardly breathing. “If I have to chain you to my bar to keep you from doing something foolish and stupid, I will. Test me, Kat.”
Her whole body shuddered and she wilted an inch into my grip. Her face lowered close to my chest, so close she could have kissed my collarbone, but she didn’t.
She bowed her head and trembled with each breath, gorgeously submissive in my arms. I brushed my lips against her hair, seconds away from burying my face against her throat and begging for her forgiveness. Begging her to kneel for me and no one else. I wanted to give in, badly, with all my heart. But just on the edge of this moment was a thirteen year old version of Kat and a lifetime of memories and two sets of parents who had more than proven to us that love was the fastest way to ruin your life.
More than I wanted to take her to my bed, I didn’t want to ruin her.
When she lifted herself back up, tilted her head back, and met my gaze without blinking, the submissive vanished.
“You had your chance.”
She unwound her fisted hands and pressed them, fingers spread, against me. That moment of connection shorted out all rational thoughts in my brain.
Then she shoved herself back and out of my reach. Kat retreated to the door where there was a box I hadn’t noticed before. She knelt down and picked it up, carried it over, and shoved it into my arms.
“Here. I can’t stand looking at this stuff anymore.”
“What…” But one glance and I knew what it was. The box was filled with CDs, t-shirts, books. Things she’d never given back to me.
“I’m keeping the coffee maker,” she added before shoving the door open and fleeing into the rush of foot traffic outside. A blast of cold air filled the room, the only evidence she’d ever been there to begin with.
“Kat!” Behind me the office door yanked open. “Oh. Never mind. I thought I’d heard her voice.”
I set the box on the bar top and avoided Brian’s prying eyes. I tried to push her out of my mind, her wrongness, her smell, her mouth. I still had problems that didn’t revolve around her, even though everything seemed to.
“You were mistaken.”
“Damn. Well I’m off the phone. Let’s talk if you still need me.”
Reluctantly, I followed him back to his office. He collapsed into his chair behind his desk, cell phone in hand like I’d never left. I barely got two feet into the room when he started speaking.
“I gotta ask, are you fucking her, Josh?”
I halted. “Excuse me?”
“It’s a fair question.” Brian shrugged. His nonchalance was a trap. “I have a right to know.”
Three weeks later, could Brian smell her on me? Was she permanently etched on my body? That’s how it felt most days, that somehow her shape had been drawn onto me and everyone could see my guilt and shame and affection.
It was none of his business, but I couldn’t say that. I couldn’t defend her honor or protect her or become defensive. Brian would take that as a confession and he’d take it out on Kat. I couldn’t imagine the things he’d call her, the shame he’d beat her with.
What I wanted was to put my fist through something, but for Kat’s sake I forced disinterest, even a little disgust.
“No. Jesus, no.” It was technically true, anyway. I hadn’t slept with her. Thought about it. Dreamed about it. Often. And in graphic detail. But I’d never been inside her so I didn’t have to lie. “Shit, Brian, why would you even ask me something like that?”
Brian shrugged. “Why else would you put up with her if she wasn’t at least putting out for you? Whatever, I don’t care. Fuck her if you want to. Her behavior doesn’t surprise me anymore. She hasn’t even finished the webpage, you know? You were a fool to trust her. You should have hired a professional.”
“The website is finished. I checked.”
Brian began tapping his fingertips rapidly against the arm of his chair. “She left out information. None of the pictures I wanted are up. It’s not done.”
“It’s done. It’s what I asked for,” I sighed, tired of the topic. I returned to the old couch and dropped into it. “We have other things to deal with right now.”
“It’s not done until I say it’s done!” Brian struck the top of his desk with the flat of his hand. He narrowed his eyes, sunk back into his seat, and resumed his finger tapping.
“I’m sorry, Brian,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “You seem to be under the impression that this is your bar. Let me remind you who signs your pay checks.”
“And I know how you love reminding me, boss.” Brian jerked to his feet and started pacing again. “I’m not paying her a fucking penny until it’s done right.”
“Don’t do this,” I warned. “Don’t go down this road.”
“You mean, don’t make you choose. We both know who you’d choose.”
When Brian snorted and turned away, I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees and stared straight at my manager and friend. “Brian, why don’t we have any rum in stock? Why does it look like we haven’t gotten our last shipment?”
Brian froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You heard me. Why does it look like you haven’t put in an order in weeks? There is nothing in stock. Where is my inventory?”
Brian’s mouth opened and formed a slow, silent Oh. “No. I…maybe I misread the inventory numbers.”
“Maybe you should stop worrying so much about what Kat is not doing and do what I pay you to do.” I stood up, aware of my fists squeezed at my sides. “Otherwise we’re going to have a room full of thirsty people and nothing to pour them. And then I’m going to have to hire a new manager. Are we clear?”
<
br /> We stared at each other, me unblinking, Brian flinching. Finally he nodded glumly. “Got it. I’ll get what we need for tonight and put a rush on the next shipment.”
I nodded, releasing my violence as quickly as I’d fisted it. “We’re friends, but this is still my bar and I am not going to put up with your martyr bullshit anymore. You are not her warden. You’re her brother. Act like it.”
Brian looked down, but I could see the red in his face and the hint of shame.
“What happened Brian? When did we become like this? I mean, shit, when did you start hating her? And me? We’ve been friends for more than half our lives but these days all you do his pace and yell.”
“I don’t know.” Brian leaned back in the chair until it creaked and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know when I started hating her. Most of the time I don’t and then I see her and she smiles and laughs so easily and I just want to make her stop. I know I shouldn’t. But do you have any idea how much trouble she’s in? Her money issues alone…I just don’t understand why she can’t just grow up and stop acting like she deserves to get everything she wants. No one ever gets everything they dream about, why should she?”
“Why shouldn’t she? I mean, don’t you want her to have everything she dreams about?”
Brian ran his hand through his hair again and stared through the dim window into the empty bar. He looked so old all the sudden, like he never slept or ate or lived on anything but this spiraling new depression. It suddenly reminded me of a night when we were sixteen and stupid and girl crazy, sitting in the bed of Brian’s pick-up truck at some after party where everyone was too high or drunk to do much but stare at the stars and dream of going somewhere better than South River. That night Brian told me he wanted to buy a motorcycle and just drive aimlessly around the country for the rest of his life. He wanted to work in a bar like Pop’s for a month or two, then hit the road again. No permanent address. No roots. No reason to stick around.
He’d added, cocky and self-assured, that he’d sleep with a different girl in every state. Maybe two or three and he’d never sleep with the same girl twice. It was easy being young and foolish and calling it romantic, thinking we even deserved the affection of so many girls. As if that many girls would even give us the time of day.
