I Am Grey

by Washington, Jane

  “Every relationship is a choice,” he returned calmly. “Choose me, Mika, and I’ll choose you.”

  My breath was gone: depleted, drained, stolen. I wasn’t sure which description would better fit the sudden cry of my lungs for air. My palms were clammy. Maybe I was panicking, or maybe I was overwhelmed. I wanted to cry, to jump out of the truck and refuse the lifeline he was handing me.

  “I don’t understand,” I whispered.

  “I want to be there for you.” He sighed, pulling the truck into a spot outside one of the portside restaurants. He pulled on the brake and turned off the engine, turning in his seat to face me, his eyes travelling over my face, searching for something in my expression. “I want you to call me when you’re upset, or angry, or anything. I don’t want you to have to wait for an appointment. I don’t want you to feel like you have nobody, or nowhere to go.”

  “Like …” I could feel my brow furrowing, could hear the stumble of confusion in my voice. “Like a … friend?”

  He pulled back—a short, almost sarcastic laugh falling from his lips. His hands were in his hair, his head falling back against the headrest. For just a second, he closed his eyes, retreating back into himself, but then he was right there with me again, his blue eyes pulling me in, his hands on either side of my face, drawing me closer.

  “Yes,” he muttered, his attention shifting to my lips for a breath, before refocussing. “I want to be your fucking friend. What do you say?”

  “Buy me dinner.” Was I smiling? What the fuck? “And I’ll think about it.”

  I jumped out of the truck before he had a chance to respond, but he was around the hood and standing in front of me in an instant. His hands were against the side of the truck, hemming me in on both sides, trapping me as the door clicked shut behind me. I could feel the cool surface against my back. He was looming close, and awareness rushed through me yet again.

  “Answer me.” It was a request, but it sounded strange. He wasn’t accustomed to requesting things. “I really need you to answer me.”

  He was handing me the power by stripping his away. He was removing himself from the role that I could have used to damage myself. I recognised that now. He had taken away my ultimate path to destruction.

  But …

  Nothing had changed. I could still smell that cool ocean scent that seemed to cling to him, I could still feel the heat of his body looming over mine, and his eyes still lured me in. I still wanted him. Needed him. Hated him.

  “We can be friends,” I finally said, and I knew that it was a lie.

  We would never be friends—we weren’t meant for that. I was an open flame and he was pure oxygen. He wanted to breathe life into me, but he would only ever ignite me. Sure, some might consider that life, but I was pretty sure that would be the end of me. He wasn’t moving. He was watching, breathing slowly, his head bent to meet my eyes. Was he making sure that I was telling the truth?

  When he finally spoke, his voice was rough. “Let’s get you some food.”

  He backed off me quickly. I followed him into the restaurant, passing through the shop-front that was almost entirely covered in vine foliage. A tiny sign poked out from the greenery, announcing the name of the place. Sain Maison. I caught up to him as he reached the glass doors, a vine falling from the overhang to brush against his shoulder.

  “We can go somewhere else,” I muttered, my hand on his bicep. Just touching him had my face growing hot. I wanted to slide my hand around to his chest, but I forced my fingers to draw away.

  He grinned, his face transforming into something else completely. Something bright, a glimmer of humour hiding there. I was sure that it was at my expense.

  “We could,” he said, pushing the door wide and pulling me through, “but we won’t.”

  The lights inside were low, even though it was barely sunset outside. It smelled like fresh bread and spices, and my mouth was watering instantly. There was more greenery along the interior walls—climbing, vertical gardens below narrow skylights, with lights set between the leaves, a muted golden glow shining softly through. Small, four-person booths were built along each of the walls, some looking out through the front garden onto the street, the twinkle of water visible in the distance. Two huge, antique chandeliers dropped from the ceiling, with the main bar taking up the middle of the room. It was an island, lit with beautiful, patterned lanterns that were hung all the way around. There were several people sitting at the bar already, and a few couples tucked away into the booths.

  Jesus this place was beautiful. And fancy. Way too fancy. Nicholai hadn’t exactly struck me as the wealthy type.

  “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” A woman appeared, her voice a soft exclamation of surprise. One of her hands was at her ear, tucking away a silky strand of blonde hair. She let her fingers linger there as her lips curved up in invitation at Nicholai. I was utterly invisible.

  Didn’t he have a girlfriend?

  “Change of plans.” He seemed oblivious to her attention, as if he had lived with it his entire life. “Can we get a booth, Meg?”

  “Absolutely,” she cooed, her eyes staying fixed on his. She reached over to her greeter’s stand, taking hold of a set of menus, before she smoothed out her skirt and took a few steps away, smiling in invitation before she turned for us to follow. She exhausted me. Nicholai waited for me to choose a seat before he slipped behind the table to sit opposite me.

  “Just water,” he instructed Meg, before she had a chance to go through whatever her usual routine was.

  She nodded, her eyes finally taking me in, before she turned quickly and headed to the bar. She had walked significantly slower to the table. She was probably in a rush to get back to Nicholai. The phone in my pocket started to ring, and I pulled it out, laying it on the table in surprise. It didn’t usually ring, unless Jean—

  “Oh shit,” I whispered, quickly answering the call and pulling it to my ear. “I’m so sorry, I forgot—”

  “Save it, Grey, we have bigger problems than training right now.” Jean sounded panicked.

  “What happened?” My mouth was dry. Was I in trouble? I didn’t like the idea of Jean being upset with me.

  “There was a fire.”

  “What?” Now my mouth was numb, and I was struggling to make my way out of the booth.

  “I came to meet you, and your RV was on fire—I couldn’t call you earlier because they were already here, trying to put it out. The cops wanted to question me. They’re talking to your aunt and uncle right now.”

  I finally managed to find my feet, but now I had to pause and lean on the table. Nicholai was already beside me, and his presence alone was enough to draw my eyes up to his, where they stayed, holding on.

  “They’re … there?” I managed.

  “Listen, Grey … I don’t know how to tell you this, but your aunt … she doesn’t want you to come back.”

  “Why.” It should have been a question, but it wasn’t. I was just saying a word, going through the motions of a conversation that was expected of me.

  “She didn’t tell me why, she just said that it was very important you didn’t turn up while the police were here.”

  Jean was telling the truth, but she was also lying. I could hear it in her voice. She knew why. I also knew why.

  “I need a lift,” I muttered, the phone still pressed to my ear.

  “Don’t—” Jean began, even though I had been talking to Nicholai.

  “Come on,” he said, striding for the door. He walked past Meg without a glance, so I followed suit.

  “You know you can’t, Grey, please don’t make things hard for yourself.” Jean was still talking.

  “I understand, thank you for telling me,” I said, my voice unemotional. I hung up the call, pushing my phone back into my pocket.

  Nicholai was holding my door open. I brushed past him, stepping up to the passenger seat. He rounded the truck quickly, jumped inside, and started the engine.

  “Where am I going?�
�� His eyes had darkened, settling on me.

  “Please take me home. My RV caught fire, the police are there and my aunt and uncle are waiting for me. They need me there.”

  His hand was on the gearshift before I had even finished talking, and we were pulling out of the lot.

  “You go to that place often?” I asked.

  “Why are you asking about the restaurant?” he shot back, a little too quickly. “You just found out your RV was on fire. Was it that guy?”

  “Probably. So, you eat there often?”

  I could hear the short sigh from his seat, but he allowed the subject change.

  “Yeah.” He paused. “It’s my dad’s place.”

  I hadn’t been expecting that.

  “Are you close with your dad?” The question wasn’t deliberate, it was more of a spill. I felt the need to wipe it up, so I continued. “Do you ... talk much? I mean obviously you do, they know you at the restaurant.”

  He cut a glance to me, and I could tell that I was encroaching on subject matter that he didn’t want to explore, so I wasn’t at all surprised by his short answer.

  “I love my dad, we get along fine.”

  “It’s because of her?” I asked. “The girl you lost? It was your sister, wasn’t it?”

  He was working his jaw, the tension in his arms and shoulders becoming visible.

  “Yes.” One word: short and clipped. The conversation was over.

  Or not.

  “She died the way those girls in the photos did, didn’t she?” I pressed. “The photos on your computer. I don’t know a lot about sadistic perverts, but I figure they get off on making women feel vulnerable, and me discovering those photos put me in a vulnerable position, but you didn’t get off on it. You got mad—really mad. So, I discovered something personal. And then you mentioned her ... so I discovered her, didn’t I?”

  He pulled the truck over to the side of the road and turned to stare at me. We were just outside the trailer park, but as I glanced toward the parking lot, I realised it was full. Police cars, the fire department: everyone had come to the party. I turned back to Nicholai, almost reluctantly, but it wasn’t the tension or the reluctance to have the conversation we were having that I found in his face. It was shock.

  “What?” I asked, emotion beginning to creep into me.

  I had managed to stay perfectly numb up until this point, but Nicholai’s reaction was trying to force an answering reaction out of me.

  First it was confusion, and then it was panic. Not panic over Nicholai, but panic over the fact that someone—most likely Duke—had set fire to my RV. No … not my RV. Fred and Shel’s RV. They hadn’t wanted me before, but this incident might very well have provided the exact ammunition they needed to hate me. To cast me out completely, to drop the facade of caring for me at all.

  “I’ve told you before,” he replied, reaching over the space between us, his hand molding to the shape of my jaw, his thumb slipping up over the slope of my cheek. There was no barrier between us all of a sudden, and it had my mouth drying up. “Sometimes you speak ...” His thumb slipped lower, to the side of my mouth. “And your words floor me. Nobody else has ever been able to do that.”

  “It seemed obvious to me,” I replied, my voice softer, huskier.

  His eyes darkened, his thumb dragging over the curve of my bottom lip, pulling it slightly away from my teeth. “It wasn’t obvious, you were just paying attention. You were seeing the tiny little connections between seemingly unrelated facts. Most people don’t see the world like that, but I like that you do.”

  “That’s a nice thing to like about somebody,” I managed, though speaking dislodged his touch against my lip.

  His thumb was back at the side of my mouth, his eyes darkening further. He drew away from me, dropping his hand to his lap.

  “I’m not nice,” he said bluntly. “I care about very few people, you just happen to be one of them.”

  “Because I remind you of your sister.” Saying the words made me feel a little sick, and he laughed derisively.

  “No.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “I saw something in you that I had seen before, in her. A kind of detached panic, like you didn’t even realise you were freaking out, but you were. I’ve seen that look in many people, many girls just like my sister, but you were different. You didn’t have anybody. I couldn’t let you walk out of my office without telling myself that I would do more to help you than any of the others. I needed to promise myself that you wouldn’t be alone, that I could save you somehow. But then things got messed up, I have never wanted to break my own rules before, and now I want to break them every single fucking day, every single fucking second.”

  He leaned back, gripping the steering wheel again. “I’m sorry, you should go to your aunt and uncle. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

  “Okay,” I muttered, slipping out of the truck and closing the door behind me.

  My legs were unsteady, and the emotion was starting to crash through me.

  Shock, again.

  Want.

  Need.

  Panic.

  18

  Spyglass

  I stood inside my own boundary of possibility, right at the edge of the tree line. The leaves brushed my cheeks, the bark scratching against my back and arms. The short island of shrubbery and palm trees wasn’t exactly designed for a person to stand in, and so it didn’t serve as a very accommodating space. Still, all I needed was to remain hidden. I had given up feeling comfortable a long time ago.

  I could see my aunt and uncle standing by a charred metal skeleton, glimpses of what had been before glinting through the burnt mess, a distinctly horrible smell lingering in the air. They were unmoving. Silent. They didn’t try to approach the skeleton, or force their way through to salvage anything—not that I really thought there would be anything to salvage.

  The police had left a few hours ago, and still, Fred and Shel waited. Probably for me, even though they had asked for me not to come. So why hadn’t I stepped out of the trees yet? I couldn’t seem to move, couldn’t seem to force myself to take the step.

  “We can’t do this with her anymore,” Shel finally said, her voice low. She seemed almost hesitant, as though she knew I was listening.

  “Then we won’t.” Fred wrapped his arm around his wife, drawing her in against his chest.

  She started crying. “She was our responsibility. Katy wanted us to look after her.”

  “Katy wasn’t—” Fred began, but Shel interrupted.

  “She was my sister, and she trusted me with her daughter. I failed.”

  “We tried, sweetheart.”

  “We failed.”

  I wanted to step out, then. To tell them that they didn’t fail, that I wasn’t irretrievable, that I hadn’t been the one to set the RV on fire. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I was hurting, and they were the ones who had hurt me. I didn’t want to be the one consoling them. That decided, I leaned back against the tree behind me and crossed my arms, hugging myself tightly against the looming chill.

  Where the fuck was I going to go now?

  What the fuck was I going to do?

  I waited another hour until Fred and Shel left, and then I pushed out of the trees, making my way over to the charred skeleton. My backpack was still hanging from my shoulder, so I shrugged it off now and pulled out a notebook and a pencil. I ripped out a clean page and started to write.

  For my family,

  You didn’t fail. This wasn’t me.

  I love you.

  I’m sorry.

  Maybe I was able to console them after all. I quickly shoved the note beneath a rock and left it like that on the little concrete platform beside the RV, and then I moved around to the back, where a bucket sat beneath the rear storage compartment. It was blackened, but its contents were still intact. I had moved my little bonsai there days ago to give it more sunlight. I dusted off the soot and pulled it into my arms, hugging it as I turned from the lot. I was stran
gely glad that I was never going to go back to that place, to the bottles of milk in the fridge and the little porthole window. The tree-lined path and the train tracks.

  I wanted to put it all behind me. I could have easily fixated on Duke, on getting my revenge, on taking his home away from him, the same way he had taken mine from me, but I was tired and upset, and had bigger things to think about. Like where to sleep. I thought about the lighthouse, then, and started walking instinctively. It seemed fitting that I would gravitate there. Didn’t it exist as a guide, after all? Wasn’t I just another ship in the night, trying not to drown?

  I walked to the train tracks and turned in the other direction, back towards town. It must have been nearing midnight, but I didn’t check the time. I might have been afraid, in another life, but in this one I didn’t care. It was just darkness. I belonged in this light-sucked space, this was my territory. I felt sorry for anyone who came across me, not the other way around.

  I wasn’t sure exactly how long it took me to reach the main streets, and from there how long it took me to get to the lighthouse, but I felt a significant sense of accomplishment when I finally arrived. I brushed my free hand along the weathered side and then set the bucket down by the lighthouse door, positioning it as though it was meant to be there, before I straightened and cast my eyes back toward the shops and restaurants along the strip. I could see the restaurant Nicholai’s father owned. It was unique in its ivy-choked hiding place. I had lived in this town for such a long time, but I had never known the restaurant hiding behind the vines. It blended in too well, becoming just another speck on the landscape I had become accustomed to viewing.

  I wondered how long it had been there, and then began to cast my mind back in search of an answer. The vines might have been familliar, or I might have been projecting my current awareness onto my past recollections. It was difficult to tell. My mind was an unreliable thing.

  A muffled voice jolted me from my thoughts, and I turned at the sound of people approaching from the other side of the lighthouse. A girl and a boy, it looked like. They were huddled together, passing boxed wine between their hands and laughing quietly. I started away from the lighthouse, moving around as they did—though on the opposite side. As they passed and walked towards the beach, I went the way they had come, toward the cliffs. There were no shops up there, only houses dotted along the edges of the bluff, and a worn little trail through the grass that led to the big resort on the other edge of the town.