Trashy

by Cambria Hebert

  The car was just driving along behind me. It wasn’t tailing me. It wasn’t driving erratically. There was no reason for me to believe I was in danger.

  I came to an intersection up ahead. On impulse, I braked and swerved into the left turning lane. This wasn’t my road; it wasn’t my turn or my neighborhood. But I could go down this road, then loop around and catch this main street again to take me on to my apartment.

  My blinker seemed incredibly loud as I made the turn onto the street.

  The red car followed.

  As it turned, I got a better glimpse at the vehicle. It was a two-seater sports car. The dark shadow of a single driver in the front made my pulse spike.

  “Shit,” I muttered. “Don’t panic,” I told myself.

  Then I laughed.

  I was totally panicking right now.

  I went down the street, passing darkened houses and businesses already closed for the night. As I neared the back of a lit-up gas station, I glanced up to see the car still just behind me. It was closer than it had been on the main road. Close enough that if I slammed on my brakes, he would hit me.

  Impulsively, I swerved into the parking lot of the gas station, my tires making a loud screeching sound on the pavement. As I furiously spun the steering wheel and pointed my car into the front of the lot, I glanced out the back window.

  The red sportster halted completely, having overshot the turn into the lot. The car reversed and then turned to follow me.

  Okay. He was totally following me.

  I hit the gas, ripping through the lot, a nearby car blaring its horn at me as I sped, but I didn’t slow down. Instead, I pulled out in front of an oncoming car and back onto the main street. My place was only minutes away. Maybe if I sped and drove crazy, he would back off.

  And if he didn’t…

  Well, then I’d get pulled over by the cops and that would totally scare him away.

  I made it out onto the main road and through a nearby light without any sign of the other car. I breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back into the seat, relaxing just a little. My arms and legs began to shake from the adrenaline that had flooded my body.

  Maybe it was just some asshole wanting to scare someone for fun.

  I looked up in the rearview mirror again.

  The red car was zipping through the light, several car lengths behind me.

  I pressed down on the gas pedal, increasing my speed and ripping down the street. Up ahead, the final light before I arrived at my building turned yellow. I sped up even more, refusing to get caught by the red light.

  “Come on. Come on,” I muttered as I tore down the street, staring at the light, willing it to stay yellow.

  Just as I approached it, the light switched from yellow to red. I glanced behind me. The red car was almost caught up.

  “Fuck this,” I muttered and went through the light.

  Just before I turned into the parking lot of my place, I noted the red car sitting down the street at the red light.

  How much longer until it turned green?

  I wasn’t going to wait around to find out. I ripped through the parking lot and prayed there was an open spot near our apartment. I cried out with relief when I saw the vacant spot just up ahead that was right in front of the stairs leading to mine and Harlow’s place.

  My front tires hit the curb with a jolt when I slid into the spot. I grabbed my keys and bag and burst from the car and slammed the door. After making sure no red car was waiting, I took the stairs two at a time while fumbling with my keys.

  The sound of a car engine purring grew closer, and I hopped from one foot to the other as I turned the key in the lock. When I heard the latch click home, I forced myself so hard into the apartment that I stumbled and almost fell.

  I recovered quickly, jumped up, and slammed the door. The distinct sound of my keys and keychain banging against the outside of the door made me freak out all over again.

  I’d left my keys hanging in the lock!

  I took a deep breath and tried to calm my racing heart. I reached for the door handle and turned it, cracking the door once more. The glare of headlights out in the parking lot made me squint as my stomach turned in knots.

  I pushed my hand through the crack and pulled the keys inside with me and then slammed it closed.

  After I bolted all the locks, I crept over to the window in the living room. The white blinds were closed. Using a single finger I slid one of the slats up just a little and leaned over to look out into the night.

  The red car was sitting at the curb.

  Horrible memories of the night I was attacked in this apartment assaulted me. I wasn’t going through that again. Especially because this time I knew the man outside was here for me.

  I didn’t know exactly what he wanted, but I had enough experience with him to worry.

  The slat fell back into place, and I rushed for my bag, dumping all the contents out onto the floor and fumbling for my cell. I was calling the cops.

  Clutching the phone as I called up the emergency number on the screen, I crept back over to the window. I don’t know why I moved like I was sneaking. It wasn’t like he could see me in here.

  Just before I hit SEND, I peeked back outside.

  He was driving away. Like a snail, the red car inched its way out of the parking lot and around the corner, out of sight.

  Clutching the phone, I collapsed onto the couch. He was gone.

  The silence of the room pressed in on me. Suddenly, I was sorry I told Harlow to go stay at Cam’s tonight.

  I knew I could call her, but really, I didn’t want to have the conversation that would go along with that call. Instead, I snuggled down into Adam’s jacket, keeping the phone close by, and prepared myself for a very long night.

  12

  Adam

  “What are you doing here, Tiff?” I asked, not in the slightest mood to argue with my newly crowned ex.

  “Thought I’d come by and see if your shark of a lawyer told you the divorce was final,” she replied. “But I can see you already heard.”

  I sighed. I was sorry she saw that, but in my defense, I did wait until everything was finalized to act on anything I felt for Roxie. “Sherman isn’t a shark and I think you know that,” I said, not bothering to respond to her jealousy.

  “Why weren’t you in court today?” She sniffed.

  “I was trying to avoid a conversation like this,” I muttered.

  “I don’t know why I expected more from you,” she said. “I should have paid more attention to your track record.”

  I ran a hand over my head and bit back a nasty reply. I was no saint. Some people might even call me a serial marrier. I couldn’t really explain why I’d felt the need to get married so many times. I didn’t have a shitty childhood. I wasn’t afraid to be alone.

  My parents were happily married, still together, and didn’t pressure me to find a relationship like they shared.

  Maybe I thought marriage was the way to prove I truly cared about a woman. Maybe deep down I was searching for that one person, the one that would complete me.

  Or maybe I just liked to be in relationships.

  I never really bothered to sit down and analyze my past choices or mistakes. Reliving the past felt sort of like throwing up last night’s dinner and eating it again.

  “Look, Tiffany,” I said, stepping closer to her. She was a beautiful woman. Long blond hair, graceful long limbs, and a sculpted, smooth face.

  But she isn’t Roxie.

  “I am genuinely sorry we didn’t work out. I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve tried to make it right. I haven’t left you with nothing. I bought you a car, paid your security deposit plus six months of rent on your new place. You can start over, find a guy who—”

  “Isn’t in love with someone else?” She finished.

  “Yeah,” I said, letting her have her anger. “You deserve better than me.”

  That seemed to take a lot of the fight out of her. Maybe I made this
harder than it had to be. Maybe instead of denying how I felt, instead of trying so hard to make it work with her… it would have been kinder of me to just walk away.

  “Well, I won’t argue with that.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  I reached out and pulled her into a hug. She wasn’t soft and curvy like Roxie; she didn’t melt against me like she wanted to get closer. Not a single stirring of desire could be felt in my gut.

  Tiffany surprised me by hugging me back. I half expected her to push me away, but then again, her anger was really just a front for the hurt I caused. Maybe she needed a hug… and the apology I just gave her.

  When I pulled back, I grinned down at her ruefully. “So did you come here just to bust my balls?”

  She gave me a little wicked smile. “You deserved it.”

  “Yeah. I did.”

  “And maybe,” she said quietly, “I came to say good-bye.”

  “If you ever need anything, Tiff, you can come to me. I mean it.”

  She nodded. “Yeah, I know. You’re not all bad, Adam.”

  “I hope you find everything you’re looking for, Tiffany.” I meant those words. I really wanted her to be happy.

  “I hope you do to,” she replied and tilted her head to the side. “Although, I think you already have.”

  I made sure she got to her car okay before I went back inside. I glanced up at the stage and remembered Roxie’s final dance, the dance she did just for me.

  Tiffany was right. I had found everything I was looking for.

  Roxie was it for me.

  13

  Roxie

  I dozed off and on all night, but every noise I heard had me jolting awake. When the sun finally started to rise, I fell asleep on the couch, still wrapped up in Adam’s jacket.

  A few hours later, I woke up feeling stiff and severely unrested. I hated getting up in the morning. It was my least favorite part of the day. I liked to sleep in late, hit the snooze button, and sleep longer. Morning was not my friend, but coffee was.

  As I trudged bleary-eyed into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee, my fuzzy brain reminded me that when I became a nurse, early mornings might be a must. I stood in the center of the kitchen, grouchy and brooding, while the coffee dripped into the pot. When there was enough for a cup, I snatched it out of the base and dumped it into a clean, white mug.

  After adding a little vanilla creamer from the fridge, I cupped my hands around the cup like it was my savior and breathed in the sweet, strong aroma.

  I felt sorry for people who didn’t have coffee in their life.

  It was tragic.

  After a few hearty swallows, I sighed. Feeling slightly less disgruntled, I went and peeked out the blinds. No one was outside watching me. There was no red car. In fact, in the light of day with a comforting cup of coffee in my hand, I was left wondering if perhaps I had imagined it all.

  I almost wished I had, but I knew better.

  Craig wanted something. This wasn’t the first time we’d broken up. We’d ended our relationship on several occasions. Sometimes it only lasted an hour. Sometimes a couple weeks. Once it lasted six months. Then I went back to him.

  If only I’d been strong enough to not let him get to me. If only I’d realized then that loving someone didn’t mean having to be with them. It was entirely possible to love someone from afar. And sometimes it was safer.

  If I had stood my ground and not let him sweet talk me back into his life, then I wouldn’t be having all these thoughts right now. I wouldn’t be flinching every time the phone rang or waiting for him to show up in random places.

  The truth was those six months we’d been broken up had been painful. I never felt free of him. I never felt relieved or like I was better off. I had missed him. I almost mourned our relationship and what could have been. He was my first love, my only love. The first few months we’d been together had been unlike anything I’d ever known.

  He was my entire world.

  When I wasn’t with him, I counted the minutes until I was. He made me feel beautiful. He made me feel special and wanted. The chemistry between us was undeniable.

  Until things started to change.

  But even after that, it was hard to let go of what we had because there was this part of me that always thought it would come back. That if he loved me like that once, he would again.

  I was naïve.

  I was innocent.

  And during those six months, I did everything I could to move on, to forget about the hurt he caused me, to forget about how much I loved him.

  It wasn’t easy, and then he started coming around again. He’d show up at my job. He’d leave presents on my windshield—things he knew I loved.

  I was foolish because I thought he was the only thing that could take away the hurt. The hurt he inflicted. When he put his arms around me and I laid my head on his chest, that little bit of hope, that piece of my heart that he would always own, made me overlook the truth.

  And so I went back to him.

  Things were good.

  For a couple weeks.

  And then they were worse than ever.

  But instead of spiraling down into a bleak hole, I realized something.

  During those six months apart, something inside me had changed. Something hardened. I was no longer the innocent girl I was at seventeen. I was jaded. I was cynical.

  Around that time, I met Harlow. She was my first friend in years. My only friend in years. One of the downfalls of being with Craig was when he became my entire world, there was no room in it for anyone else.

  Yeah, I got out of the tiny town I grew up in. I thought I was moving to better, more exciting things and that Craig and I would be on an adventure.

  I ended up with no friends, no family, and a guy who tried to control my every move. And the adventure I thought I was getting? It came in the form of a stripper pole.

  Not in a million years did I ever think I’d be a stripper.

  It was just another example of how my life had somehow changed—how I changed—and I’d not even realized.

  But I met Harlow. She was hell-bent on being independent, on taking care of herself. I wanted to be that way. When I heard she needed a roommate, I knew it was my chance, maybe the last chance I had at getting out.

  I knew Craig wouldn’t let me go that easily, but after several months of living here and settling into my friendship with her and making plans for my life, I started to fall into a pattern of security. The night he showed up at the bar and Adam treated him to a punch-fest that led to him being hauled away in handcuffs, I thought he’d finally gotten the point.

  I thought he’d leave me alone.

  Then the phone calls started. The voicemail messages pleading for me to call him back. I ignored him. This time around, the pain wasn’t as bad. The mere thought of him didn’t make me ache. Like I said, I was harder, more jaded. I’d gotten back with him that last time, but there was a large part of myself I hadn’t let him back into. It was almost as if, when we got back together, I realized it wasn’t him I missed. It had been the memory of what we’d been all those years ago.

  Maybe he sensed I wasn’t coming back. Maybe he sensed he no longer had me under his thumb. It was making him desperate. Instead of calling, he was following me. The best thing I could do was ignore him. Pretend he wasn’t even there. If he wanted to follow me, fine. I’d go about my life and let him see there was no place in it for him. He’d get bored. He’d move on. He’d shack up with one of his many “side items,” and she would take over the position of being bullied by him.

  I felt sorry for whoever she was.

  I lifted the cup to take another sip of my coffee, but none flowed past my lips. I yanked the mug away and looked down. It was empty.

  I shuffled back in the kitchen to get another cup and wandered into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror.

  My reflection made me wince. I took another swallow of coffee, hoping it would fortify me for the sorry
sight I made.

  My eye makeup was rubbed around my eyes, making me look like a raccoon. My cheeks were pale and sunken, my lips looked chapped, my eyes were bloodshot, and my contacts felt entirely too dry.

  I won’t even tell you how bad my hair looked.

  I wasn’t an unattractive woman, but right now, I was downright hideous. After I pried the coffee from my hands and peeled off my clothes (carefully hanging Adam’s jacket on the door), I got into a steamy hot shower.

  I groaned out loud when the hot spray hit my back and tense muscles. After standing there for a long time just letting my body relax, I got to work with shampoo, deep conditioner, body scrub followed by moisturizing body wash, and a hydrating mask on my face. By the time I was done, the water was cool and the bathroom was filled with steam.

  Once I was dry, I smoothed on my favorite coconut lotion and combed out my hair. Instead of covering up with my towel, I hung it up and pulled Adam’s jacket around me and padded into my bedroom.

  I laid the coat across my bed and looked at my fluffy pillows longingly. It was going to be a long day. After I dressed in cutoffs and a tank, I went back in the bathroom to blow-dry my hair and pull it into a high ponytail. I was too tired to do anything else with it.

  I no longer had chapped lips (thank you ChapStick) or raccoon eyes, but they were still bloodshot and itchy. I took out my contacts and tossed them in the trash. After using a few eye drops and letting my eyes rest for a few moments, I put in a brand new pair. I just didn’t feel like myself without them. My signature violet eyes were just so much better than my brown ones.

  Since it was almost time to be at the club, I decided to stop on my way there to grab something to eat. Once I cleaned up the coffee and made sure the pot was off, I brushed my teeth and headed out.

  It was hot, the air was thick and muggy, and the sky was overcast and gray. As I climbed in the car and started the engine, I couldn’t help but anticipate seeing Adam today. I wondered if things would be different between us after that kiss. I wondered if he’d kiss me again.