Sever

by J. M. Miller

  His fingers unfastened the top of his jeans.

  I couldn’t believe what was happening. I felt like a stalker holed up in a closet. It felt so wrong, but I couldn’t look away from the crack in the door, eying the way his jeans loosened over his hips, exposing the rounded tops of his butt cheeks—he wasn’t wearing underwear. I inhaled sharply and his head turned. I held that breath as fear sliced through me. His body turned toward the door and I backed away from the crack, pressing into the closet shelves as far as they’d allow. Their edges had no sympathy, biting into my shoulders and thighs, punishing my immorality.

  Still able to see his body through the narrow crack, I watched his bare feet take another step on the tile before suddenly stopping. He looked toward the bedroom, refastened his jeans, and walked out with a hurried stride, not bothering to turn off the light.

  I let my breath out slowly, feeling my head tingle from its temporary lack of oxygen. A noiseless minute passed. Leaving the closet would be a risk, but I doubted I’d have another chance.

  I had to take it.

  Cringing at every little noise my boots made, I stepped into the bedroom and looked toward the balcony as a possible escape route. I could only hope the drop wasn’t far.

  “Ah!” A man’s deep shout came from downstairs, erasing every bit of silence in the house, and I jumped back toward the bathroom. It was an odd scream. Instead of decreasing in volume, it just cut off. Stopped. It had sounded almost pained, not angry. Worry rippled through me.

  I chewed on my thumbnail and took a few cautious steps toward the door. There were no noises, no sounds. I peeked around the corner and looked down into the darkened living room. Most of the lights were off again. Why?

  The scream replayed in my mind, tearing at my conscience as I glanced back at the balcony. What if he’d hurt himself? I couldn’t just sneak out and leave him.

  Hugging the side of the door frame, I slid out into the hallway. The low lights from the kitchen cast the same glow into the room as when I’d first arrived. It was dim, but it still didn’t make me feel as invisible as the dark. I kept my back to the wall, moving down the stairs with slow, easy steps. Where was he?

  My heart pounded harder as I scanned the room. Knowing that Damian had been walking around less than five minutes before, the house’s renewed silence wasn’t reassuring. It was scary. There was no movement. Nothing seemed out of place. Aside from the opened beer on the table, there was no indication of anyone having been there.

  Not seeing anything in the living room or kitchen, I turned left into the front door hallway. He could’ve gone outside. Maybe he’d heard someone and screamed at them. None of it made sense, but I had to look. As I passed by the dining room on my right, I glanced at the shadows inside.

  Damian’s body was slumped against the far wall, his head lying sideways on his shoulder, unconscious.

  “Shit! Damian!” I yelled, pulling the hood off my head and rushing over to him, throwing away all care about being seen. “Oh, God.” Falling to my knees beside him, I palmed his face and pushed it upright. His eyes remained closed, his lips parted and slack. “Damian.”

  I scanned his body. Nothing looked wrong. I glanced around the room again, not seeing anything that could have injured him. “Damian,” I said, tapping the side of his face.

  Something didn’t feel right about this situation, something I didn’t understand. His eyelids fluttered and his head tilted a little. “Hey. Damian.” I smoothed my palm over his face and placed my other hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” His body shifted and he let out a groan. “Easy, easy. What happened?”

  His eyes opened fully, looking first at the floor then slowly lifting to take in the rest of his surroundings. When he finally noticed me, his eyebrows pulled together. “Syn?” he asked, his voice groggy.

  “Yeah, it’s me. What happened? Did you fall?”

  “Syn … Wh-What are you …” He palmed the floor and attempted to sit up.

  “Stay still, okay. Just tell me what happened.” I laid my hands on his shoulders to keep him from moving.

  He looked down at the floor again and rubbed the back of his head. “Did you hit me?”

  “What? No, I …” How could I explain?

  His eyes looked up to mine then shifted past me and widened. “Syn, watch out!”

  I turned my body at his warning, only seeing a silhouette before something hard crashed against the side of my head, bringing a flash of pain as the light disappeared from my eyes.

  Mom and I had been back in Havre de Grace a day, enough time to unload the U-Haul and set up our beds. The unpacking would start later after she made a trip to The Twisted Grape and I took a walk downtown. I swiped the toe of my boot through a patch of snow on the parking lot’s pavement and glanced up at our new townhouse, which wasn’t far from the apartment we’d had before the move to North Carolina.

  “I promise I won’t be at the restaurant long. Tony just wants to introduce me before my first day back tomorrow,” my mom said, tightening the belt of her wool trench and stepping beside the driver’s door of her Accord. She tucked some loose strands of her honey hair behind her ears and readjusted the knitted hat she’d dug out of a box this morning. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride? It might snow again.”

  “It’s five blocks. I’ll be fine.” I kept my cargo jacket unzipped and shrugged off the chill creeping in. Sure it was colder here, but it was where I’d grown up. I was pretty sure the readjustment wouldn’t take long.

  “Okay,” she replied, opening her car door. “Do you have your pepper spray?”

  I raised an eyebrow and stuffed my hands into the large front pockets of my jacket. “No. I didn’t plan on seeing any bears on Main Street.”

  She rolled her eyes and slipped behind the wheel of the car. “Not funny. I know you’re confident, Annisyn. It’s a good trait to have, but we both know too much confidence has caused you some problems. So just focus on the basics, okay? Pepper spray is still safer than a knife. Besides, you still have half a year of school and you—”

  “Can’t carry the blade to school,” I finished her sentence and thumbed the knife in my pocket. “I know.”

  Without further argument, she started the car and pulled out of the townhouse’s parking lot. I turned toward the sidewalk until I heard the car’s tires stop on the slushy pavement. “You’re eighteen,” she called from the open window. “There are no more juvie cushions to fall on. Just thought I’d remind you in case something shiny blinds your judgment. Love you,” she added before driving away.

  I looked up to the thick gray clouds and considered her words as I walked. Being back held hope for a new start, a chance to move on from my mistakes. It was the change I needed: different, but familiar enough.

  The chill of late January won out after a couple of blocks, numbing my toes through my leather boots and forcing me to zip up my jacket. My first view of downtown had been through the windows of the Accord, but standing on the sidewalk, kicking snow away with each step, the reality of being back was really tangible.

  The final block went by in a blur of entrance doors and welcome signs. Most businesses downtown looked the same. Antique shops, cafes, boutiques. When I’d driven by yesterday, the past scrolled by the car’s windows like a movie. One frame that caught my eye was Rewind, the music store. It held a fair amount of my memories of buying CDs and lifting lyric keychains, but the real draw that day was the help wanted sign taped inside its frosty window.

  With stinging cheeks and a frozen nose, I gratefully tugged open the glass door. Hard beats of a dubstep song filled my ears while my eyes took in the store’s cramped interior. The open two-story setup hadn’t changed much. Slanted cases filled with records lined one wall, and the register counter sat on the other. Two row dividers, holding staggered levels of CD cases ran the length of the room. What was different was the DJ equipment locked inside glass cases around the register and on racks behind it. Looking up to the source of the music, I not
iced a DJ booth pressed against the railing of the lofted second floor.

  No one was in sight.

  When the front door finished its slow close, the store’s warmth blanketed me. The air inside smelled of old wood and leather, more like an old bookstore than a stale music shop. It clashed with the club music bouncing off the walls, but in an odd way, it worked.

  I moved closer to the register, skimming my hand along a rack of iPod accessories and looking outside through the front bay window. Fresh snowflakes littered the sky. Rubbing the tip of my thawing nose, I glanced around the store again. No one? Really? If this place didn’t pan out, I’d probably wind up getting a job with my mom again.

  After a stint of community service in Kitty Hawk, she’d forced me to work for her. She swore boredom was the root of my problems. That and confidence, apparently. ‘Help Wanted’ at Rewind seemed like a much better choice than waiting tables with my mom up my ass.

  “You aren’t casing the joint, are you?” a stern voice said close behind me at the same time a hand grasped my shoulder. Too close.

  Within a second, my fingers had a grip on my knife. I yanked it from my pocket and spun around, colliding with the guy’s chest and pressing the blade to his neck, just under his jaw.

  “Whoa shit,” he squeaked out, aiming his chin at the ceiling, hiding his face from my short stature. His arms shot out to the sides in surrender. After his Adam’s apple bobbed once with a frightened swallow, he held his breath and his entire body stilled.

  I lowered the blade and backed off him slowly. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to sneak up on people?”

  Another couple of seconds passed before he lowered his chin. He was pretty tall, maybe six-feet, with a slim, solid build. The muscles I’d been pressed against hadn’t swayed at all from the movement of my body. It was probably from playing a sport, though his faded jeans and plain V-neck shirt didn’t give much away.

  His eyes considered me cautiously, grazing over the entirety of my five-foot-quarter-inch frame—a full inch on humid days. I stood straighter on instinct, clinking my boot buckles together in the process.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I saw the big jacket and thought you might be pocketing some stuff. I wasn’t expecting …” His eyes stared into mine, searching my face before darting down to my hand. The knife.

  I tucked it back into my jacket pocket. “You weren’t expecting a girl to pull a knife?” I finished the statement, knowing the jerk thought process all too well. So many guys had reacted the same way. Not that I pulled a knife on every guy I knew, only the jerks. There’d been enough of them to build that confidence my mom was so worried about.

  “No,” he replied with a quick head shake. “I thought …” Then his lips turned up into a fraction of a grin. “I’d love to say I was shocked simply because you’re a girl, but truthfully, I was just shocked by how sharp the blade felt against my throat. I’ve never had a knife pulled on me before, by anyone, but I have seen a knife pulled on someone else.”

  I quirked an eyebrow.

  “Wow, that makes me so hard,” he mumbled with a breathy chuckle. His eyes widened at what he’d just said. “I mean hardcore. That makes me sound so hardcore. I think I’ll shut up now.” He grinned again, with another nervous head shake. Unless the store’s light was messing with my eyes, I saw a bit of a blush creep into the base of his cheekbones.

  “Good idea,” I joked back, still staring at his cheeks.

  He swept a hand through the thickest part of his short dark hair while he looked around the store. A moment later, his eyes shot back to me, squinting with curiosity. “So what brings you into Rewind? Are you looking for an iPod? We have the new camera Nanos and colored Shuffles. They’re awesome to use for running … or for practices.”

  “Actually, I’m here about the sign,” I admitted, hitching a thumb over my shoulder. “I’m looking for a job. Do you know if it’s still available?”

  “Uh, yeah. Pam hasn’t hired anyone yet. Let me grab an application.” He slid around the counter, dipped out of view for a second, and then walked back out to me. “She’s looking for part-time, but she’s pretty flexible,” he said, handing me the paper with a pen.

  “Good to know. Is it okay if I fill it out now?”

  “Sure. Yeah.” He nodded and pressed his lips together. When I took a step toward him, he realized he was blocking my path to the counter and finally backed out of the way with another breathy chuckle. “Sorry. Let me know if you need any help,” he added, tapping the top of the glass case beside the register before retreating to the staircase.

  The volume of the music in the store dropped as I filled out the application. Halfway through the questions, the pops and heavy bass of the club track had morphed into guitar riffs and rock beats. I glanced up toward the loft and noticed him standing behind the DJ table. Headphones sat cocked on his head and his hands navigated the records.

  He glanced down at me and smiled. This smile wasn’t nervous like the others had been. It held a gleam of confidence that was untainted, not cocky at all, and damn if it didn’t kick me in the chest. He was hot. Honestly, I’d noticed it the second I backed away from his scared stiff body, but adrenaline and fear hadn’t allowed my mind to process it then. Now my mind was processing the shit out of it, recalling how solid his body felt, how sweet the blush in his cheeks looked.

  I jerked my face back to the application and stared at the education block. Senior year. It was half over and I was starting over again. Not exactly horrible, but not great. I hadn’t left much behind in North Carolina anyway, just a few enemies and a juvenile record.

  I tapped the pen on the page. Had I ever been convicted of a felony? No. Misdemeanors? A couple. The environment wasn’t to blame. I would have landed in the court system no matter where I lived. Had I stayed here it would have been days and nights hanging out at River Park and breaking into the ball field’s concession stand. The only difference here might have been the possibility of an accomplice.

  Tanner.

  Does he still live here? I could try the call the phone number I’d used daily when we were kids. I’d dialed that number the day before I’d moved to North Carolina. That call went unanswered. I’d left my forwarding number, but he’d never called back, and neither had I.

  There was also that one kid, Stripes. His parents owned a boat place. He’d probably gotten chewed up and spit out by his asshole brother. Then again, he’d made a lot of progress when we’d practiced. Maybe he was the one doing the chewing now.

  School on Monday would reveal who was still around.

  After finishing the application’s final section, I looked back up to the loft. The guy stepped out from between two bookcases with a few records in hand. As soon as he noticed me watching, he set the records on the speakers and disappeared down the back staircase.

  He reappeared downstairs and walked toward me. “All finished?”

  “Yeah,” I replied in almost a mumble as he reached in front of me and slid the application toward him.

  “Annisyn,” he said, smiling brightly at the words on the paper. His cheeks pushed high, creasing three tiny lines under both eyes. “That’s not a very popular name.”

  “Something wrong with it?” I asked, slightly irritated. After seeing that gorgeous smile, I was certain the statement was headed toward a compliment.

  “No, nothing wrong with it at all. I just pegged you for something … different.” His eyes drifted to my baggy jacket again, then down to my batman leggings and my calf-high leather boots. “Maybe Jordan or Brooke. Something nineties.”

  I rolled my eyes then found myself caught up in his. Something was there in their light shade of brown. Or were they hazel? I felt myself taking a step closer. Something was … “You look familiar. Have we met?”

  “Wow, I was seconds away from using that exact line,” he deadpanned.

  I smirked at his sarcasm and continued to stare like an idiot. I knew there was something there, more than the draw to his
body—the slope of his solid shoulders, the strong look of his hands, his lips, the … rest. He was easy to look at, but there was something more, something in his eyes.

  A moment later, I shook my head, stumped. “I may have seen you before. I grew up here and just moved back.”

  “Well, welcome home, Annisyn. I’m sure your old friends will be happy to see you again, as long as you don’t pull a knife on them,” he said with a soft, genuine voice, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and tipping his head the slightest bit.

  “I’m pretty sure they’ll expect it,” I joked truthfully. Tanner would.

  He smiled then tapped his fingers lightly on the application. “I’ll give this to Pam. I’m sure she’ll call you soon.”

  “Right.” I nodded then glanced over my shoulder through the bay window. The snow had stopped and I was warm enough to survive the walk home. Maybe it was the store’s heat, or maybe it was him. I checked the zipper of my jacket and backed up. When I got to the door, I said, “Maybe I’ll see you again. If I get the job, I mean.” Dammit. That made me sound all mushy for a little attention.

  He leaned an elbow on the counter and tapped on the application again. “Maybe sooner than that, fellow senior.”

  He was still in school. That made me happier than it should have. Despite being a loner, the idea of knowing one person was nice. Never mind that he’d lifted my personal info directly from my application right in front of me. Never mind that he kept staring at me and I had frozen at the door. What the hell was wrong with me?

  I cracked the door open and paused with a head nod toward the DJ table in the loft. “I really liked your house mix.”

  “Thanks.” His lips pulled into a smile that could crush any girl’s mind and make her do idiotic things. It was a smile that I wouldn’t easily forget. The moment I realized that, fear kicked me back into reality. Pushing the door open the rest of the way, I stepped out onto the sidewalk and didn’t look back.