by J. C. Allen
“Yeah?” he asked, looking up from one of the sheets of paper that had been on the desk.
“Thanks” I said. “For everything. You really are the best friend a guy could have. Even if you were half a second away from kicking my ass.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving me off. “I’m the best fuck a guy could have, too, but that ain’t for ya to know. Save the sentimental BS for Eve. We got a job to do.”
I smirked at that, nodding.
“Oh, and Derek?” he said just as I got to the door.
“Yeah?”
He finally gave me a real, genuine smile back.
“Keep yer goddamn head on straight, would ya?”
4
Eve
In a city in which the safest place felt like Derek’s apartment several floors up, the second safest place felt like Matty’s house.
With Tara and the other girls as a sort of alarm if anyone entered who shouldn’t and Matty plus all of the Savage Saviors ready to throw down with any intruder, I felt as protected on a ground level location as anywhere else I could have. It was probably safer hear than a prison cell, a police headquarters, or a politician’s office.
While Derek kept his guns hidden—I presumed he had guns, he’d never even told me if he had them—Matty had rifles, pistols, and all sorts of weapons hidden throughout the house. He’d explained it as “perk of bein’ on a ground level, like a damn peasant” but I just saw it as Matty’s nature—nice and sweet in person, but ready to kill at the drop of the first sign of danger. Even if he didn’t have his guns, he’d have his fists, which looked like they could cave in a man’s skull.
Nowhere and no one I could have possibly been at or with could have protected me better.
And I hated it.
I hated that Derek wasn’t here with me. I hated that I had just encountered quite possibly the worst person in my life in my brother and I’d had to fend for myself.
And I hated that I had these feelings, thinking that it was so unbecoming of a woman who had gotten called the things she had to want that very man back.
Hatred coursed through my veins like cholesterol after one of Matty’s bacon-infused meals. Hatred became the new oxygen, the sort of thing that I sought to suck in constantly. Hatred was what kept me going, and, in a sick twist, I hated that too.
If the thought in my mind from earlier in the day was one of confusion and therapy, tonight’s was just a bunch of self-loathing. Hatred for my circumstances. Hatred for my weaknesses. Hatred for my inability to grow in any fashion when given the opportunity, no matter how dark.
Sure, Tara had told me to take it easy when I got back and to just let time do it’s thing, “like a rich virgin John who wants to spread his wallet more than yo’ cheeks.” The metaphor had made me laugh. But laughter lasted just a few seconds, maybe a couple minutes if a good comedian was on the TV.
It was like any other breakup from my childhood. First came unbearable sadness and tears. Then came anger. Then came gradual acceptance. And then, eventually, came a return to normalcy.
But… I sure didn’t see how I’d ever come to accepting this. Not when Derek had done so much to save me. Not when without him, I’d either be a broken woman, on the verge of wanting to die, or already dead. Not when everything that I thought had done right had suddenly seemed to crumble before my very eyes.
These feelings of disgust and self-pity lasted much, much longer.
“Girl!”
I shot up from the table, not realizing I had sulked over my dinner pasta for quite some time. Underneath me, a bowl of pasta lathered in alfredo sauce had gone lukewarm, while across from me, Tara, dressed in a light gym shirt with no bra and just her underwear on, had devoured hers so quickly it was like she was in a food eating contest.
“I know you’re feelin’ terrible, girl, but that ain’t mean you get to skimp on the calories! Goodness, the boys are gonna love a girl with a little curve to her!”
“I’m not interested in the boys,” I said with a grunt.
“Oh, Lord,” Tara said, realizing what kind of a mood I’d gotten myself into.
It was only supposed to be this way, right? If I’d started in the morning feeling hungover miserable, and then confused, and then slightly relieved by therapy, and then enraged by Chuck, didn’t it make sense I would come down to a morbid, humorless depression of sorts? I was, after all, quite good at letting depression have its way with me—now I’d just added a shade of anger to it.
I don’t know what I’d do if I saw Derek coming right now, but I’m not sure I’d do anything other than curse him out. What was the equivalent of calling a girl a cunt to a man? An asshole? It didn’t do justice. He knew words could hurt me.
And yet, I’d be lying if I said having the good Derek back—the one I’d come to know for the first couple of weeks of what we had—wasn’t something I wanted.
In the distant rumble, I heard a motorcycle pull up. I didn’t think anything of it, assuming that Matty had returned from the shop for a quick bite or to get something else done—perhaps he had even brought back a man to enjoy himself with.
“You gotta eat your food, girl,” Tara said. “Look, I ain’t sayin’ force yourself to eat it, but maybe it’ll make you feel good! Give you energy!”
If I hadn’t sounded so self-parodying, I would have said something along the lines of “I don’t want energy and I don’t want to feel good.”
And then, of all things that could have happened, the doorbell rang.
“The hell?” Tara said. “Matty better not have sent one of his boys over early, I swear, if boys besides Matty come into this house, this is a house of business, and let me tell you… YOU!”
I jumped at the sheer venom at Tara, who had gone to answer the door. I had never heard her sound so violently angry to someone.
“You got a lot of fucking nerve showing yourself here. Give me one good reason why I ought to not take away your ability to have babies, right now. Hmm?”
A Falcon? No. Tara would’ve screamed…
Oh.
I know who it is.
I found myself moving toward the door quickly and in a hurry before Tara turned a potentially bad situation into a consequential one.
Sure enough, standing there with his head bowed, his shoulders dropped, and pleading in his eyes was Derek.
“I swear to fuckin’ God, Derek, if you don’t respond to me, I’m—”
“Tara,” I said, my voice not nearly having the strength I wanted it to. “Let him talk.”
Tara looked at me, exasperation and desperation in her face, as if she just wanted me to give the OK so she could uproot Derek off the ground with a swift groin kick. I honestly was not particularly looking forward to this conversation so soon, especially since it was not even a full twenty-four hours since the fight, but I would have looked forward even less to Derek rolling on the ground in agony in front of Roost’s place.
“Fine, but you best stay in this house and don’t let him come in, Eve,” Tara warned. “Let Roost worry ‘bout his damn AC bill. That boy, that one right here, he ain’t earned the right to come in. You deserve better, if you ask me. No motherfucker—”
“Tara,” I said, stopping her cold. “I’ll make the decision for myself. I can handle it.”
Tara got the point, grumbling some more as she moved into the kitchen. I wasn’t naive enough to think she had moved out of earshot. In fact, I fully believed she had kept herself within it. But at least now Derek and I could maintain some fake semblance of privacy.
“Tara’s right, you know,” I said, immediately deciding to start off on the harshest note possible. “You have some kind of nerve showing yourself here after what you did last night.”
“I know,” Derek said. “I’m sorry.”
He took a breath. At least he had said the right thing to start.
But boy, he needed a long way to go before I even began to think about considering a relationship again.
“I know that nothing I say
here is going to make right what I said,” he continued. “There is nothing I could say or do that would absolve me of what I had said. To call you what I did, it was… I was drunk, yes, but that is not an excuse in the slightest. I let myself get carried away by feelings I should have had a better grip on.”
“Why didn’t you have a grip on them?”
I was in such a state that I was willing to question everything he said to me, which was probably for the best. So long as Derek understood I wasn’t taking flack from him, I was going to push that boundary as far as it could go.
“I don’t have an answer for that,” he said. “I’ve never been good at stopping to detach in the moment. After you left, I got on my bike and drove… I drove off.”
“Real fucking stupid move.”
“I know.”
I bit my lip before I said more. As much as Derek needed to show real sincerity and humility, I didn’t want this to turn into a “burn him at the stake” moment.
“I’m not good at these kinds of things, Eve,” he said. “I know that no matter what gets said here, you need time to forgive me. And for what? I’m not even sure. I know I don’t deserve you back after my words. I don’t deserve a relationship because I’m not the kind of man you could have. Sure, I’m great when I’m good. So is every other man in history. It’s the ones who can control themselves in those pressure-packed moments that distinguish themselves, and I failed. I’m no great man, Eve. I’m a man who got thrown into a role he never wanted and has handled it the best he can—absolutely poor, but subjectively as well as I can. I can only promise you that I will do better.”
I never unfolded my arms, nor did the serious expression on my face ever morph, but inside, I could see and appreciate the sincerity with which he spoke.
But this was quite easy for him to do now, in a contrite state, begging for me back. It was easy for me to see him doing it without stress in his life, when the day came that the Black Falcons were gone, Chuck was gone, or we had moved on. We?
But in times of stress? When things got tough? Could he control himself?
I needed proof of it.
“I am so, so sorry,” he continued. “I want you back, but I recognize that it won’t be as easy as just saying that. I just… I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to sound like there’s a checklist of things to do—”
“There’s not.”
He sighed.
“That’s fair. I just… know I want you back.”
Be strong, Eve.
Yeah, maybe you want him back… but you need to be guarded and careful. You got hurt too badly last time.
“I appreciate the honesty,” I said, never letting my arms unfold, as if guarding my heart from the things that he might say to me that could hurt. I let out a sigh, as if pushing out the self-doubt from my chest. “But I’m not ready.”
Derek bit his lip but said nothing.
“You hurt me really, really bad,” I said.
It took quite a degree of effort not to show too much emotion, not to show him that my impulsive side wanted to take him back so easily. But unlike… unlike his weakest moments, I did not want to submit to that so easily.
“I just came from a world in which everyone wants to hurt me. My boss wanted to kill me. My employers harassed me. My family, or what’s left of it, either wants nothing to do with me or wants to actively hurt me. I want to believe that you’re the exception to the rule, that you’ll protect me, Derek. But after what you said? I need some time and space to think about it.”
I sighed, shaking my head.
“Show me that the Derek I knew the first couple of weeks is the real Derek, not last night. That…”
“I know,” Derek said. “That was inexcusable. It was a part of me, and I want to show you it was but is not.”
“If only it were that easy, Derek,” I said.
It’s simple, but it’s not easy.
“If Matty throws me out at some point, so be it. I’d rather be homeless and independent than here but feeling pressured by your worst impulses.”
“Eve.”
“Derek, this isn’t the place to argue,” I said.
He took a quick breath, and I decided to go quiet, letting him say whatever he was going to.
“I was just going to add that Roost isn’t going to kick you out,” he said. “If anything, I’m in his doghouse and you’re in his mansion, metaphorically speaking.”
“Clearly,” I said, giving half a glimmer of a smile before returning back to my serious face.
I wasn’t sure how to feel that it felt good to smile at Derek and to see a small smile form in response.
“Well, that’s good to know for my safety,” I said. “Derek, maybe this will work out. I don’t know. I’m too heartbroken right now, honestly.”
“Understood,” Derek said, nodding.
A silence came over us as the other waited for the other to speak, as if one of us would find the courage to speak up. But what more did I have to say? I had expressed my pain. I’d expressed what I wanted from him.
I couldn’t express anything else without it being disingenuous. Time might help… or it might reinforce the sober realizations I’d had about Derek. Forgiveness might make us closer as lovers… or it might make me realize we functioned better as friends. A peace in the streets might allow us to enjoy each other… or it might allow me to see that, given a variety of options without the threat of rival clubsters, I wanted someone else more than Derek.
Even if, in certain moments and certain flashes, I wanted him, I couldn’t say I needed him.
At least his arrival had quelled the bitter anger I’d had before he showed up. Was that a point in his favor?
Perhaps.
“I guess I’ll get going,” Derek said. “It was… it was nice seeing you, Eve.”
“Yeah,” I said.
I was half a second away from saying “you too.” Because… it was. It was quite nice seeing him.
But I didn’t need to be in the game of planting false expectations and hopes, no matter how painful and unfair it felt.
Derek had wanted that, I could tell, because he looked like a deer shot in the heart when he gazed back at me. But he had to do better than one conversation. I had to see it.
He turned his back on me finally and I gently shut the door. I pressed my back into it and let out a long exhale.
“Girl, you whup his ass?”
I let out a short laugh, reminding myself I was no longer talking to the composed Derek Knight but someone much more… less dignified at times, let’s say.
“He knows how I feel,” I said. “And that’s what matters.”
“Alright, if you say so,” Tara called out. “If you ever need me to introduce my foot to his nuts, you just say the word. Homeboy’s gonna be walkin’ around like someone squeezed his nuts into a mason jar. He won’t…”
She rambled some more about hurting Derek, which was more entertaining than anything else. Well, I wanted it to be entertaining, but I just found myself even more confused than before.
What did it say that I enjoyed seeing Derek, even if our conversation wasn’t the smoothest? Did it make me weak to smile at him that one time? Conversely, was I too cold and too bitchy for him to want to keep making it work?
I’d hoped that conversation would have clarified some things, but it only left me more confused than before.
5
Derek
That went one notch above as poorly as possible.
The only reason—the only, only reason—it wasn’t the worst was because Eve didn’t throw you on the street or say you’d never get back together.
But boy… that was painful.
I hadn’t even left the house yet as those thoughts settled into my mind. I sat on my bike, staring at the door, hoping for… I didn’t know what. I guess if someone asked, I would say I was waiting for her to come out so I could take her on my bike and drive her back to my place to make amends, but that was too Hollywood.
Real life didn’t work like that. If she came out, she would have stared at me, asked me if I’d hit my head on the street again, and shooed me away. She might have been polite at first, but the politeness wouldn’t have lasted forever.
Or maybe she would have accepted you and took you back. Maybe.
But probably not.
Instead, I found it much more likely that I was just needing to collect my thoughts. Driving drunk on the bike was about the dumbest thing I had ever done in my life to myself—and that was really saying something—but driving distracted, with the weight of what had happened, was a decent clip behind but closer to dangerous than safe.
I sighed.
It’s going to take time. Roost said as much.
I just wish time was a few days, not…
I knew it was going to take weeks, maybe months. I had said some pretty terrible things. Would I even still want Eve at that point?
C’mon, future Derek. You better love Eve like you do now. Don’t just give up. That’s the easiest way out.
Show you love her. If it takes time, hell, not like you’re seeing anyone else. Not like you’re in a mental state to see anyone else.
Finally, after some time had passed, I ignited the bike and slowly kicked it out. Even when I’d exited the driveway, I paused for just a few more beats, hoping that the sound of the roaring engine might compel Eve to come out of the house and come to me.
It wasn’t to be, because real life didn’t imitate art—and when it did, it usually had unintended consequences art didn’t have the space or time to cover.
“Damnit, Derek,” I said.
Listen to Roost. Let it play its course. Be strong. And don’t you dare touch a single bottle of liquor or order a single drink until Eve makes it clear what she wants.
I revved the engine and charged ahead… and looked back one more time. Just in case.
Nope, No Eve.
I didn’t deserve to have her. But at least this wasn’t quite the end.
The drive home felt strangely lonely, even though I’d made plenty of rides on my bike without her in the time that we’d become intimate. It just felt like I should have her arms around my stomach, pulling close. It almost felt like a phantom limb of sorts, where I imagined more than once her behind me and lifted my arms up to give her space—space she didn’t need because she wasn’t there.
