Last Girl

by K. S. Thomas

  His freakishly large hand covers mine completely as he wraps it around my fingers when we both clasp the door handle at the same time. “And I didn’t break your ONE rule. I haven’t broken that since I first found out it existed.” Then he walks out, leaving me to stand there with my eyes automatically glued to his bare ass while he moves down the hall to the bathroom we share.

  I want to throw one last argument his way. Add one last insult. Maybe remind him not to leave the seat up after he’s done. But I don’t. He will anyway. He always does. Not because he can’t remember, which I thought for a long while was the reason, leading me to actually paint the words ‘Put The Seat Down’ under the seat in hot pink nail polish, but because he enjoys pissing me off. And he’ll enjoy it even more this morning when I’m already flustered about him seeing me naked. In daylight.

  It’s stupid. I know that it is. It’s even more stupid than sleeping with him in the first place. I don’t even know why I do it. That’s a lie. I know why. I don’t know why he does it. No. That’s bullshit, too. And admitting that to myself, means having to admit something else. To him.

  I knock on the bathroom door and wait for him to respond.

  The door opens and we’re face to face. And still naked. But I don’t care.

  “You’re right.”

  He does a dramatic double take, then, slowly begins to nod like some deep understanding has just set in. “I really think you need to go and get your head examined. You were beating the shit out of it last night and clearly did some fucking damage to your brain in the process.”

  “Listen, jackass. I’m trying to apologize here.”

  He reaches up and runs his palm over the back of my head until I wince. “See? Huge knot. Right there.”

  “Penn.” I gasp, trying to suck back in the exasperation trying to escape in a wave of curse words.

  “It’s fine, Trix. I get it.” He leans in close and I catch myself inhaling too deeply for too long. Penn smells good. Always. I don’t even know how he does it, or how to define it. “You had a bad night. It’s over now.” And we’ll pretend it never happened.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me for sex, Trix.” He shakes his head at me, giving me a haughty glare. “It makes me feel dirty.”

  Then he slaps my ass just in case I was starting to feel something other than the usual disdain I harbor for him, and strolls off, back toward his room while I hurry into the bathroom.

  Fucking toilet seat. And I slam it back down into place before I pee myself.

  After taking an unprecedented thirty-five minute shower, I finally emerge from the hot steam to find the words ‘I put tripe in your burrito when you weren’t looking’ written out on the bathroom mirror. Penn’s an asshole. Even if I’m pretty sure he’s just fucking with me. Not totally sure. But pretty sure. Just in case it’s true though, I wipe his message away and put a few choice words of my own up in its place. It’s our thing. Has been since the first time he slept over in first grade and thought it would be funny to surprise me with the words ‘I’m watching you’ in the fogged up mirror above the sink when I climbed out of the shower that morning.

  When I finally make it out of the bathroom, I’m feeling semi-prepared to face the world again. Although, I’m still not able to shake this icky feeling that something is somehow different now that we’ve actually woken up together. I know Penn’s right, on a logical level, but for the sake of my mental health, I’ve always been quite fond of denial when it comes to the way we deal with our grief. And it’s not like I’m the only one who’s ever had to fuck her way out of a meltdown. He’s needed me too. And I’ve never thought twice about it in the moment. It’s just after. When the proverbial smoke clears and I realize what I’ve done...again...and I swear to myself it was the last time. Because it’s wrong. Because it’s only a matter of time before this very delicate, very volatile, very sick arrangement we have, takes on a life of its own and bites us in the ass.

  By the time I make it down into the kitchen, there’s a full pot of coffee freshly brewed on the counter in the coffee maker and no sign of Penn anywhere.

  Now’s a fine time to remember the rules. I pour myself a cup, then I call out, “I’m no longer wallowing in shame. You can come out from wherever you’re hiding.” I wait and watch both openings to the kitchen, but there’s still no sign or scent of him.

  “Fine. I’ll drink my coffee in solitude.” Then I spot Gilbert slinking her way into the room. “Where were you last night when I needed you?” Cuddling a kitten would have been so much healthier than sleeping with Penn. Although, I’m guessing not nearly as satisfying.

  I gag at my own disgusting thoughts as I grab my purse and car keys with my free hand. Now’s as good a time as any to tackle what I originally thought would be the most awkward part of my morning – meeting my new boss.

  Penn

  I watch her car pull out of the driveway. It’s Bo’s old Mustang. Sometimes it still freaks me out. Like I have flashes of thoughts, barely even formed, but they’re there, and for a split second they con me into believing it’s him behind the wheel and not her.

  I should have walked into the kitchen earlier instead of staying hidden down the hall. I don’t even know why I didn’t. It’s her first day at a new job, and considering the night she had, I’m well aware she’s not in the best frame of mind to deal with another major change right now. But she has to. And I have to let her. Even if it’s hard. And it’s always hard.

  Bo was better at it. Balancing on this fine line of protecting her and supporting her while never holding her back or going too far and enabling her. I’ve done my best over the years to follow through where he left off, but I’m not Bo. I’m not her brother. And I don’t love her the way he did. Not that I hate her either. She can say whatever she wants. What I feel for her isn’t moldy, old distorted hate. And she knows that. Everyone knows that. Even on the days I wish I hated her, I know for a fucking fact, I never could.

  “Yo! You here?” I hear Tony’s voice travel down the hall just seconds before the back door slams.

  “In the living room.”

  He’s standing across from me before I even finish talking. This house isn’t exactly big.

  “Dude, you’re not even dressed.” Tony gestures at my boxers looking less than impressed and for a second I feel compelled to tell him I was naked up until five minutes ago, but I don’t.

  “I forgot you were coming by. Give me two seconds and I’ll pull on some sweats.” I didn’t really forget. We work out nearly every day of the week and have done so for nearly three years.

  “Your sudden lapse in memory have anything to do with that gash you got the other night when you got hit in the head? Or was it the nurse who patched you up that’s got your brain in a fog this morning?”

  I don’t actually want to answer that, so I do my best to skirt the question. “What makes you think it was Trix who patched me up?”

  He grins. “I didn’t think it was Trix. Last I heard she wasn’t due back until next week. I was referring to the hot new nurse at County we were both checking out two nights ago. Figured that’s who you went to see yesterday morning after you got off. Thought maybe that’s why you were so eager to dump Red, but if Trix is back...I guess that makes more sense.”

  Fuck. I walked straight into that one. And trying to back out again will only make it worse. So, I don’t answer at all this time. Just head toward my room and go straight for the dresser where I yank out the first pair of sweats I can find and start getting dressed.

  “So...how is she? Better than last time?” Tony’s watching me from the doorway.

  “Worse.” I grab some socks from the top drawer and sit down on the bed to put them on along with my sneakers. “I’m kinda hoping this last trip was enough to keep her from going again.”

  “She know you feel this way?” He leans into the frame.

  I laugh. “Right. Like I’m going to tell her how much I hate this Doctors Without Borde
rs shit. That’d be a great way to get her to hop on a plane tomorrow, just to prove that she can do whatever the hell she wants.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe if you told her the truth and didn’t come off like a condescending ass about it, she would hear you out.”

  I shake my head. “Your version of the truth isn’t exactly accurate, man. Mine is a lot more like condescending asshole than you suspect. I don’t think she should be out there in the fucking jungle in the middle of a Goddamn war zone. It’s not safe for anyone. It’s definitely not fucking safe for her.”

  I stand up from the bed and start moving toward him. “Meanwhile, she’s stalking you on Instagram now. Calls you ‘Hot Tony’ in case you’re interested.”

  He chuckles and starts walking into the hall. “Sure, I’m interested in Trix. I’m just less interested in having my face pounded by you if I ever act on it.”

  I follow him to the door, rolling my eyes into the back of my skull because Tony and I have had this conversation a hundred fucking times already. “Whatever, man. Make a move, don’t make a move. I don’t fucking care, but I’m not going to pound you either way.”

  I hold the door open for him and he snorts at me as he goes. “Pretty sure you pounded Dinkins last year when he tried to ask her out.”

  “That’s because Dinkins is an asshole. I’m sure he gets punched in the face on the regular.” I lock the door and stuff the key into the flower pot at my feet. “You wanna talk about something other than Trix yet, or do I need to break out the earbuds to tune you out?”

  He breaks into a backward jog heading down the driveway. “So, how about them Yankees?”

  Finally. A topic I honestly don’t give a shit about. It’s likely to be the best conversation I’ve had all morning.

  Chapter Five

  Trix

  I hate the first day in a new place. I didn’t use to hate it so much when we were kids and Bo went everywhere I went, but now, I fucking hate it. And it’s my own damn fault because I keep my inner circle so tiny and tight I hardly ever have to step out of my comfort zone...unless I take a big-ass step like going to Africa or starting a new job. Both of which I want to do more than I hate doing it, so here I am. Another first day.

  The practice hasn’t opened yet when I walk into the waiting room. It’s nice. Clean. And I notice that even the magazines are stacked neatly with current covers at the top. There’s a woman sitting at the counter. She hasn’t become aware of me yet. Or, at least she hasn’t looked up to acknowledge me.

  Slowly, I step toward her, wanting to give her enough time to finish doing whatever it is she’s so engulfed in. It’s not until I’m standing right in front of the counter looking down over it that I realize she’s on the phone.

  She lifts her finger indicating for me to wait, and keeps talking away at high speeds.

  Several minutes pass before she hangs up. I’m about to tell her who I am when she pushes back on her chair on wheels and rolls backwards across the small space, coming to a stop only when she hits the filing cabinet. Next thing, she’s on her feet and busy opening drawers and sorting through large manila folders while her mouth is still moving at rapid speeds. Even if she wasn’t talking so fast, I’d still only understand half of what she’s saying since she keeps turning away from me while she’s working.

  “I can’t hear you.” I have no idea how loud I’m speaking, and these days I don’t practice often enough to be sure I’m even forming my words particularly clearly to the point they can be understood by someone who isn’t used to hearing me speak the way Penn is, but it’s enough to get her attention. So, I continue talking out loud while I sign, just to make sure she gets the message. “I’m deaf. I can read your lips, but you need to slow down and look at me when you talk, please.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  I got that. I’m sort of exaggerating on my lip reading skills. I mean, I’ve got ‘em, and they used to be top notch, but in recent years they’ve become slightly less reliable. Mostly because I haven’t had to rely on them as much what with severely limiting myself on who I speak to on a regular basis and all. I try to brush up on my skills when I have to, but there’s still a great deal of guessing involved most of the time. Routine conversations like the one we’re about to have, are usually fairly easy to navigate though.

  “I’m Trix.” I’m still signing. Out of habit more than anything. It’s pretty clear this woman has no clue what any of it means. I could be gesturing obscenities at her and she’d never be any the wiser.

  “Beatrix Daley? The new nurse?”

  I nod. “Trix.” Just Trix. No one really calls me Beatrix except my mother. I don’t know why, but I’m fairly certain it’s an ugly name. I have nothing to base this on. Other than it seemed yet one more thing the kids liked to make fun of me for when I was in Kindergarten. So, I stopped using it. I didn’t need to give anyone any extra ammunition to pelt my way. Being the deaf girl with the glasses and awkward personality alongside perfect Bo, my twin and the complete opposite of my equal in every way imaginable, was plenty material for the playground bullies to work with. Well, until Bo came along and shoved them into the dirt anyway. Then in first grade came Penn, and between the two of them taking turns shoving people into the dirt, gradually the teasing stopped.

  The woman watches me for a second longer, then holds up her ‘hold on a sec’ finger again and runs from the room. When she comes back, she has another woman with her.

  The new girl in our midst has short black hair with purple tips and a definite pixie vibe about her which I dig instantly. Then, I kind of fall in love with her in a totally non lesbian way when she starts signing.

  “Just to clarify. You really are deaf and Melissa isn’t just a total idiot?”

  I notice she’s not moving her lips as she says this.

  I nod, trying not to laugh. “I’m Trix. Pamela Hicks hired me. She didn’t mention any of this to anyone else in the practice?”

  She smirks. “Pam’s mid evolution. We’ve been training her to shed her rude and condescending ways, but while she’s busy trying not to offend or coddle anyone, we’re all scrambling around a bit. She hasn’t quite grasped the concept of equal treatment not meaning treating everyone the same.”

  Yeah. I’ve met my share of Pams over the years. They try so hard to make everything as normal as possible for me that sometimes it just gets more awkward.

  “I’m Nat, Dr. Patterson’s surgical nurse. You’ve already met Melissa and Pam, which just leaves Cam. He’s the nicest one here, so he’s the only one we let talk to the patients when they’re conscious.” I see her eyes follow Melissa, who has her back to me, but is clearly speaking given Nat’s attention on her. “I’m not telling her that.” She shakes her head and motions for me to follow her as she walks out of the reception area and to the back.

  “What was that about?” I ask when we enter a small hall just past the waiting room.

  “She’s got a thing for Cam. Wanted to make sure you know to keep your hands off of him.” Nat laughs and I’m suddenly very curious about this Cam guy. Not because Melissa wants me to keep my hands to myself, but because Nat clearly thinks such a warning is unnecessary. But I don’t ask any more about it, I just follow her around for the next thirty minutes while she takes me on a tour of the place and gives me the run-down of how things are done around here. It’s all pretty standard stuff. I’ve worked in a private practice before. I like it. For the most part, I can keep to myself and just do my job without having to rely on or interact with anyone else. Although, that may be a little different now that I have Nat. I’ve never worked with someone who could sign before, so this has potential for a more social work environment. Which would be nice for a change, I suppose.

  “Where was your last job?” Nat asks as we settle back in the office and she begins to review the day’s schedule.

  “I just got back from doing three months with Doctors Without Borders. Before that, I was working at St. Alphonsus Children’s Hospital, but I was
at a private practice prior to that.”

  She eyes me for a long second. “Impressive. Well, if you can navigate third world surgeries, this place will be a piece of cake.”

  I kind of figured that already. It’s never the job itself I get nervous about. It’s the people. And so far, I’m feeling pretty lucky.

  “I have to ask. Where did you learn to sign?” She’s good. Not as fast as someone who uses it regularly, but still fluent.

  “My mother’s sister is deaf. She was also my nanny from the time I was three until I was ten. I was almost twelve before I broke the habit of signing and speaking at the same time.” She grimaces.

  “My brother used to complain about the same thing.” I smile. Used to drive him nuts. He’d be out, talking to random people and signing to them while they stared back at him like he was a total idiot. Those stories never got old. Now I hear them from Penn on occasion, but it’s different. Mostly because he doesn’t seem to find it nearly as annoying.

  “Older brother?” I know she’s just making conversation, but I’m suddenly sorry I brought him up.

  “Twin. He was killed in a car accident when he was eighteen. So it’s just me now.” Might as well just put it out there and avoid any uncomfortable questions.

  “Sorry. That had to have been hard.” In spite of Nat’s edgy outside, her eyes twinkle with a warmth not many people share anymore and I’m starting to think she and I could really be friends someday. I could use another friend. Penn’s been bearing the brunt of it for long enough and he never even asked for the gig.

  “It was.” I’m about to change the subject when the most gorgeous man I’ve seen in a long time shows up in the open doorway. He’s wearing blue scrubs and a smile for days. His short black hair is spiked up in front and his blue eyes are outdone only by the insanely long lashes which actually curl up at the corners. Men suck. No woman has lashes like that without the extensive use of mascara and lash curlers.

  His hand reaches out for me and I watch his lips move. They’re beautiful lips. Perfect actually.