Six Feet Under (Mad Love Duet Book 1)

by Whitney Barbetti

  “I don’t care how many times you stood at that sink and did dishes while looking out over the garden. The moment he hit you inside that house, it stopped being yours.”

  “My name is still on the lease.”

  “Like that means anything.” I took one last puff and dropped the cigarette and snuffed it out. “You can stand at that sink and think about that garden, but when you turn around and see that table, you’re going to see the moment when he threw you into it. You can’t make a prison into a home.”

  She looked thoughtful for a moment but didn’t deny my implication. “You sound like you know something about that.”

  What should I have told her? I wasn’t immune to physical violence, but the scars from that never stuck with me as long as the scars from emotional neglect. “My mom preferred absence to violence.” I couldn’t believe I’d told her that.

  “I’m not sure which is worse.”

  I nodded, but I already knew.

  When we walked back into Six’s house, the house was darker than when we’d left it, save for the bathroom across the guest room being lit. I’d already known Six was home when I’d seen his car in the driveway. But part of me expected—and dreaded—seeing him waiting for me.

  But since he wasn’t, I slipped down the hallway and deposited Brooke’s suitcase into her room. I tucked myself into the master bathroom, avoiding looking at the Six-shaped lump in the bed.

  My nails were caked in mud, my body reeked of it, so I hopped into a hot shower and scrubbed hard at my skin, ridding the evidence that Six would’ve seen had he been awake.

  I dawdled in the bathroom, sure that Six would be awake and waiting for an explanation on the other side of the door. I brushed my teeth twice, flossed, and then plucked errant eyebrow hairs. I must have spent an hour on inconsequential shit before I finally sucked it up and whipped open the door.

  But Six’s body hadn’t moved. The bathroom light cast a small glow over the bed, but his face was placid, his eyes closed. I’d dawdled for nothing.

  I switched off the light and padded to the bed, sucking in a deep breath in anticipation of him questioning me.

  But still, he didn’t. Not when I pulled back the covers, not when I slid into the cool sheets, not even when I pulled the comforter over me and tugged a little since he was such a blanket hog.

  He remained completely still, his breaths even, and I felt myself drifting into sleep so fast that it seemed like I’d been asleep for mere minutes before I was being shaken awake.

  “Mira. Wake up.”

  20

  My thoughts were muddy, stuck like my boots, when Six asked me, “Where were you?”

  I didn’t even have a moment to come up with a reply, before Six asked me the same question again.

  I didn’t have the mental clarity to spin a lie that he wouldn’t see through.

  “We went to her old house.”

  “Thought so.” He threw the blanket off and switched on the lamp.

  Groggily, I blinked through the sudden light, trying to see him. There was a wide expanse of muscle and skin and the traditional black sweatpants he wore to bed.

  “Why did you go without me?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have let me go.”

  “How do you know?”

  I rubbed my eyes and gave him a faint smile. “Can we do this tomorrow? I’m exhausted.”

  “No. I don’t want you to have time to lie to me, Mira. And one of the few times I can get any kind of honesty from you is when you’re exhausted.” His voice was even, low, but his face was angry.

  “What do you want me to say?” I asked, feeling the anger bubble up but I was so tired that I didn’t even have the energy to host anger at that moment.

  “You went without me. Kept it a secret from me.”

  “Like I said. You wouldn’t have let me go.”

  He laughed, short and quiet. “‘Let.’ What a funny word from you.”

  “Huh?” I pushed my hair away from my face and reached for the comforter, but he tugged it out of my reach.

  “I don’t ‘let’ you do anything. I’m not your master. Sure, I’d like for you to do things, like fucking clue me in. But I don’t ‘let’ you do anything. I just ask for you to communicate with me, which, for some reason, is like pulling teeth.”

  I sighed. I didn’t have the strength to argue this. “Can I just go back to bed?”

  “You went to her old house, for what?”

  “To get clothes. She didn’t bring enough with her. It’s not a big deal.”

  “If it wasn’t a big deal, why didn’t you tell me about it?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have…” I stopped myself from using the word ‘let’ again, because that seemed to be especially triggering for him, “wanted me to go.”

  “Why wouldn’t I have wanted you to go?”

  “I don’t know, Six.” I let out a breath and gave up any hopes of getting the comforter from him. I rubbed my palms roughly across my face. “Because you like to do that stuff yourself.”

  “So why didn’t you ‘let’ me do it? Why did you take it upon yourself to go, to put yourself and,” he lowered his voice, “her in potential danger?”

  “There was no danger—he wasn’t there. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Then why didn’t you at least talk to me about it first? Why the secret? I thought we were past the lying, Mira.”

  “I need a drink if I’m going to listen to this.” I knew, the moment the words formed in my mouth, that I shouldn’t have said them. But my lucidity was lacking.

  “You don’t solve your problems with alcohol. Grow up. Talk to me. Just be fucking honest.” That time, he raised his voice.

  “I don’t know—okay? I don’t know why I didn’t consult with you first. I just wanted to get it done, without any hiccups or headaches. Does that satisfy you?”

  “Not in the least.” He walked across his bedroom to the closet and it was then that I noticed the suitcase that sat in front of the bi-fold doors. I looked at it, confused for a moment. My hand still ached from the suitcase I’d carried, and seeing another, but very different one, on such little sleep, screwed with my head for a minute.

  “What’s that?” I fought really hard to keep my voice even.

  “A fucking suitcase.” He grabbed a long-sleeved shirt out of the closet and yanked it on.

  “As opposed to a nonfucking suitcase?” I asked. But the humor was lost on me, because in my mind, suitcase was repeating so quickly that it’d slurred into one long sound.

  “Oh, now you’re being cute?” He shrugged his jacket on and gave me a harsh look. “I was counting on you being here when I got home. So we could talk.”

  The suitcase, and the fact that his hand was on its pull handle suddenly clicked. “You’re leaving?” Me, I added silently.

  “I have to be gone.” He paused, and I waited. “Cora.”

  That one word told me everything. Lydia’s daughter, whom Six hardly ever talked about. It’d been a while since he’d said her name.

  Six shook his head angrily. “I wanted to talk it out, explain things to you. But I can’t. I’m too angry right now.” His eyes met mine across the room, and I could see the anger clearly reflected in them.

  “You have to leave right now?” Somehow, the sight of him, holding the suitcase—its explanation lost in his anger, had flipped the tables. Now I was the one interrogating him, trying to find answers. I was the one worried about losing something, losing him, and it hit me like a barrel of bricks on my chest. He took a step forward with the suitcase and glanced at his bedroom door, and my eyes widened.

  “Do I need to leave? Your house?”

  “What?” He shook his head. “No. Look.” He rubbed his hands over his head, and his suitcase tipped over, clacking on the floor. “This—it’s just not what you’re thinking. I have to leave, but I don’t want to leave.”

  I didn’t feel reassured by that. “How long?”

  He sighed then, and f
rom the look on his face, I knew that the answer wouldn’t be one I’d like. “A few months. At least.”

  “But, do you have to leave right now?”

  “I think that’s the best.”

  “For whom?”

  “Me.” His eyes met mine steadily. Three loud heartbeats rang in my ears as I tried to accept his answer. “Sometimes, I get to be selfish. I’m allowed that.”

  When I didn’t say anything—because I just fucking couldn’t—he shook his head.

  “Fuck, Mira. This isn’t what I want. I don’t want you sneaking off behind my back, doing shit you know I’d be upset about.”

  “So, you’re leaving me then? You know that if you’re not here to babysit me, that only gives me more opportunities to go off and do more stupid shit that would only piss you off.” My bottom lip trembled, and I bit down on it, hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood. “That makes no sense.”

  “I’m not leaving now because I want to. I’m leaving now, at this moment, a full ten hours before my flight leaves because I’m angry. And I don’t want to be around you when I’m angry.” His jaw clenched, the shadow of a beard darkening in the shadows of the room. His eyes were tired, but he looked at me without an ounce of fatigue.

  “You booked a flight already? How long has it been booked?”

  “A few days.” He was being evasive, and my chest was tightening.

  “A few days? Jesus.” I paced the room, briefly. “You made it sound like this was just decided,” I pointed at the ground between us, “today. But you’ve known a few days?”

  He pursed his lips. “You’ve been busy. Between Brooke, and your sudden move into my house, we didn’t have the time or space to talk about it.”

  “How about yesterday? When we sat at the kitchen counter and you made me a sandwich? Could you not tell me then? How about on our way to Brooke’s? No time to say, ‘Oh, hey babe. I booked a flight. Gonna be gone a few months.’” I threw up my hands and stepped toward him. “That took me, what, a few seconds at most?”

  He rubbed his lips together, but his eyes still looked angry. Up close, they looked angrier than I’d ever seen before.

  Well, that was fucking fine, because I was angry too.

  With my hands on my hips, I set my jaw. “Look who’s being fucking honest and communicative now, you asshole.” Needing to channel my own frustration, I kicked the base of the suitcase, sent it sprawling across the room until it banged into the wall. My toe hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pulse of my own inadequacies, echoing off the walls of this room and beating into me.

  “Real mature, Mira.”

  I bowed and then sneered at him. “But you don’t like me because I’m mature, do you? That’s not why you’re here.”

  “I’m here because I live here.”

  “Shut up,” I said, and wished I found humor in our conversation. But I was too keyed up, too restless. Six was leaving. For a few months. We’d never been apart that long. “The point is that you had plenty of opportunity to tell me you’d be leaving. For her.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “For her? Don’t make it sound so salacious. She is a child. She’s my dead best friend’s daughter. I’m pretty much all she has.”

  “Right.” I crossed my arms over my chest. My thoughts, the voices, were competing sounds in my head. “She’s so important to you, but I haven’t met her. She hasn’t met me.”

  “I can’t follow your train of thought, Mira. Are you upset now because you’ve never met her?”

  I felt my own immaturity then. “No, I’m upset because you got mad at me and now you’re leaving, you bastard.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  But he was. “That’s not what that,” I pointed to the discarded suitcase across the room, “says. You’re choosing to leave now, because you’re mad at me. Even though you’ve got ten hours until your flight. You’re leaving me, now.”

  “Jesus,” he said on a long sigh and picked up his suitcase. “You want me to stay until my flight? Fine,” he bit off. He ripped off the jacket he’d slid on, tossed it on the bed beside me.

  “No, you wanted to leave. So, fucking leave.” I bundled up the coat and threw it hard against him, but he didn’t even flinch. Despite what I said, I didn’t want him to leave. I wanted him to stay, to tell me that he was wrong. To tell me that everything was fine.

  But he wasn’t wrong. And this wasn’t fine. And he was leaving.

  A few seconds past between us before he spoke, his voice level, quiet. “I don’t have the energy to do this with you.”

  “You don’t have the energy? You woke me up for this shit!” At the next tremble of my lips, I began building blocks in my heart. “Just leave. That’s what you want!” I stalked toward him and then balled my fists and stopped my feet. I wasn’t going to hit him. That’s what I promised myself. But I couldn’t believe it, not down to the depths of who I was. My hands were built for defense, and in that moment, I felt powerless.

  “It’s not what I want.” He stepped toward me, so close that I had to crane my head back to see him. My fists were still curled, so I stepped away from him. He reached a hand out to touch me and I jerked away. “It’s not what I want at all. Because I love you. I don’t want to leave you.”

  “Don’t say that right now—not when you’re mad at me. I don’t want it.”

  His eyes were hard, and I wanted indifference, but all I got from him was anger. Indifference, I could work with. Indifference would make this easier. Or at least that’s what I told myself. “You don’t want me to love you right now? Too fucking bad.” He walked into the bathroom and I watched him methodically pack his toiletries, his contacts, his toothbrush.

  I watched it all, watched him pack up the pieces of his life, and just stood there, dumbly. He was actually doing it. This was real. In a minute, he’d walk out the door. And I didn’t know when I’d see him again.

  That thought nearly brought me to my knees.

  “Please, don’t leave,” I said, but it croaked out in a whisper. He didn’t hesitate, making me believe he hadn’t actually heard me. “Please,” I whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

  He sighed and braced his hands on the counter. “I’m not leaving you, Mira.”

  Words meant so little when actions spoke so loudly. And Six’s actions were not those of someone who was staying.

  “Don’t go. We can talk and figure it out.”

  “I’m not leaving you because I’m mad at you.” He left the bathroom, but only took a step into the bedroom. I could see the defeat plainly on his face, but he still gripped his bag in his hand. “I think we both need a good night’s rest, and I don’t believe we can get it here, together, not tonight.”

  “But you’re leaving for a few months. This is our last night together for a while.”

  “It is.” He came closer, and I backed up until my knees hit the end of his bed and I sat.

  “I don’t want you to leave.”

  He let loose another heavy sigh. “I love you—and I know that scares you.”

  But his love didn’t scare me. My love for him did.

  “But you can stay here, with Brooke. It’ll give you more space. I think even Brooke would be more comfortable if I was gone.”

  “I can find her somewhere else to stay—” How quick I would throw her out if it meant keeping Six.

  “No.” He shook his head. “She belongs here, with you. I won’t be gone forever.”

  But forever could last for seconds, minutes, days, weeks, months. “I don’t want you to leave.” I felt like an echo in an empty cavern, for how little difference it made.

  He looked like he wanted to leave now, before he could see how it wounded me. He glanced at the door, so I did too. And I wanted to barricade myself in front of it. Once he was gone, I wouldn’t be able to chase him across the city like before. He’d be out of reach. In every way.

  “Don’t panic.” He set one of his bags down by the door but held the rolling one st
ill, and turned to me, exhaustion etched into his face. His mouth was in a line, but whatever picture I made had endeared him enough to come toward me. He crouched at my feet. “This is not how I imagined my farewell to you to be.”

  I knew I could cry then, if I let myself. It burned behind my eyelids, between them. But the wall I’d begun stacking around my heart grew taller. “If you hadn’t woken me up, this is not how our farewell would’ve been.”

  He smiled sadly and placed his hand on my knee. “Neither of us believes that. If I had woken you up at six in the morning and told you I was headed to the airport, this wouldn’t have gone any better.”

  “So, it’s your fault either way.” I was trying to convince him to stay, without begging. “Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen, let’s fall asleep and fake fight before you leave for the airport tomorrow.”

  He shook his head, and I knew then that he was leaving still, hours before he needed to.

  “A few months?” I asked.

  “Yes.” He squeezed my knee. “I need you to do me a favor. You might see things on the news. About Cora. Ignore it. And trust that I’m taking care of things, all right?”

  I wanted to ask him, but I knew that he wouldn’t tell me anyway.

  “Eliminate her name from your thoughts, until I get back at least. And we talk it through.”

  “Until you get back.” Whenever that would be. I wanted to tell him again, that I didn’t want him to leave. But whatever was going on, Cora needed him more than I did. That was of little consolation to me.

  “I’m going to go now. But, while I’m gone, I want you to stay here. I’ll take care of everything. All you have to do is take care of Brooke, and,” his hand moved lightly over my skin, “yourself. Please take care of yourself. No more breaking and entering. Be safe, please.”

  It was hard to hear all of that when I was so fixated on the fact that he hadn’t let go of his bag. There was no doubt that he was leaving, and that this was only prolonging it.

  “Are you mad at me?” he asked when I remained silent.

  “Yes.” I could hardly manage a whisper.