by Jo Raven
She shrugs, a small roll of her shoulders. Her short black dress clings to her curves, and despite feeling like roadkill, it sends a pang of lust through me and heats up my blood.
For fuck’s sake. After yesterday’s snafu, the last thing she’d want would be to screw around with me.
Get a grip, Shane.
“I’m fucking all right,” I tell her, putting as much conviction into my voice as I can muster. “You don’t have to babysit me any longer.”
She flinches, and I feel like a first class asshole, but then she nods and turns to go.
Probably can’t wait to get out of here. I bet she’s relieved she found out what a nutcase I am before…
Before what? It’s not like she ever wanted anything from me. I’m the one who can’t stop thinking about her, who went and kissed her and slammed her into the wall, like…
Christ, like those motherfuckers in prison.
So what’s this? I’ve gone from being scared shitless of sex to wanting to hurt her? Fuck her like… like I’d force her.
Fuck.
What’s wrong with my mind? She’s the one person I want to get closer to. She makes me feel good, and calm, and so horny I can’t fucking stand it. I want to kiss her, fuck her, make her come and hold her in my arms afterward. I want her to want me, to need me. Hell, to love me.
Oh Christ, I’m really gone. This can’t be happening.
I can’t let it.
So although every cell in my body wants to go after her, stop her from leaving, tell her I need her here, with me, I don’t. I don’t move from my spot until I hear the door close, and I know she has left.
Then I slide down the cold wall and hide my face in the crook of my arm for a long while, wishing I could change everything.
***
It’s windy, snowflakes swirling around me as I work unloading craters from a truck together with three other guys. The wind slices like a knife, and my bruised back is screaming at me, but my mind’s on other things.
Cassie. The kiss. The flashback.
The fact I’m getting worse instead of better and have no clue how to fix myself.
For a moment I wonder if it’s Seth. If the rift I opened between us when I punched him and told him I didn’t believe him back when I thought he’d betrayed the existence of our criminal record to Zane, if what I did is what’s driving me back to the past.
I don’t feel safe. That’s for sure. Anywhere. And for some reason, the feeling’s stronger here, at the construction site. The thought of coming to work this morning had me breaking out in cold sweat. I guess the accident I had falling from the scaffold affected me, too.
Scowling faces, hands reaching for me as I climbed…
Fuck. I shake my head as I carry another crater, a strand of hair that’s escaped from my ponytail annoyingly clinging to my face.
I fell. That’s what happened.
Stop seeing things, stop losing yourself in the past.
Hell, if just by saying it I could cure myself… I wish there was a magic spell to set the mess inside my head straight. Convince me the past is over and not repeating itself every night.
“Ho, Shane.” Ollie raises a hand in greeting as he trudges by, his face half-hidden under his yellow helmet. “You okay?”
I nod, shortening my stride. He was up there, on the scaffold, when I fell.
“Ollie. Wait up.” I put down the crate, wipe a gloved hand over my face, only smearing the sweat more. “Got a sec?”
He stops, gestures for me to talk.
Okay, here goes. “When I fell from the scaffold…” I swallow, my throat parched. “You were there.”
He frowns, heavy brows drawing together in the shadow of his helmet. “Yeah, I was at the top of the scaffold.”
“I know. Were you alone, or were there more guys up there with you?”
He scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, there were two more guys. Why? Everett and Josh, I think they’re called. Newbies. Come to think of it, it was strange they didn’t come over to see if you were okay.”
Two guys.
The darkness edges closer. “Does one of them have a scar on his face?”
“Scar? Nah, I don’t think so.”
Shit, my heart’s hammering fit to burst through my chest. “And you sure about their names?”
“Yeah, pretty much. Look, I gotta go, man. Boss is staring at me.” Ollie scowls. “See ya around.”
There you go, I tell myself. Two more guys were working on the scaffold. They didn’t push me. I fell on my own.
So what if they walked away after I fell? Assholes. That’s all. They aren’t Marco and Christoph. No way has my worst nightmare followed me out of prison here.
Time I believed it.
***
“… and then the three little piglets had a threesome as the wolf watched.”
I frown. “What?”
“Told you he wasn’t listening to a word I said.” Zane doesn’t look pissed, though. He looks worried. He runs his ink-stained hands over the shaved sides of his head. “Fucking typical.”
Ocean grunts, and I bet he hasn’t heard a word, either.
I’d laugh if I wasn’t so caught between going into full panic and talking myself down from it every five minutes.
I imagined the hands pushing me off the scaffold. I imagined the scar on the guy’s face. I’m going paranoid.
Awesome.
“What’s wrong, guys?” Zane leans back and folds his thick arms over his chest. “Spill. Who kicked your puppies? Tell Uncle Z.”
“Fuck off, Zane.” Ocean glares and pushes off the counter. “I’ve got work to do.”
“You do that, skipper.” Zane grins, looking pleased.
What the fuck ever. I swear I don’t get him sometimes.
Then that dark gaze swings back to me. “Now you, fucker. Ocean’s just going through a rough patch, but you… What’s up with you, huh? You’ve been down the dumps for a while.”
“I’m okay.”
“The hell you are.” His grin fades. “You’ve been drifting like a ghost for the past weeks, and I’ve waited as long as I could for you to tell me what the problem is. But you’re not talking or getting better, and I won’t wait until you’re back on the street before I demand to know what the problem is. Not this time.”
“I said I’m okay.”
Shit, I’d rather have a pissed off Zane snapping at me rather than this worried version of him—because I can’t talk about it, about the flashbacks and nightmares, the new-found unease about the construction site and the paranoia, much less about my past.
Not without coming apart at the fucking seams.
“You coming to my wedding?” Zane waits, eyes half-closed, as if my answer will give him a clue as to my mental state.
“I am.”
“Good.” He draws breath as if to say something more, but then seems to change his mind. Shaking his head, he turns to clean his tools, leaving me with a new thought spinning inside my head like a top.
Cassie asked me to be her date at the wedding, but I guess that’s over now, too.
***
Why am I so pissed at not going to the wedding with Cassie? I shouldn’t get so hung up on a date. What am I, fifteen?
So what is it? Is it that she’s been invited to the wedding, that she’s back in the group, not an outsider anymore—but I am? Am I so fucking petty?
Nah. I’m glad she’s back in the group. It’s just that… I was so damn excited she asked me to be her date.
Stupid, Shane, I tell myself for the millionth time. You knew it meant nothing anyway. You’re almost twenty, goddammit. Get over it. It’s just a party.
Though… given I didn’t even finish school, that I lost the last couple years of my life to prison and the streets, no wonder every party seems like a huge thing. That a date seems so fucking important. Haven’t been on many in my life. And it wasn’t just any date: it was a date with Cassie, and…
And what? What the
fuck will you do, Shane? Will you cry like a baby?
Son of a bitch.
I gather my stuff from the locker and think about hitting the gym—or the bar. Maybe the gym first, and then the bar. The thought of going to my bed has me breaking out in cold sweat. Fuck knows what new brand of nightmares I’ll have to wade through tonight.
The gym isn’t far from here, so I set out, pulling up the hood of my jacket, bracing myself against the icy wind. Passersby hurry past, clutching their bags of shopping, holding their hoods low over their faces. Children laugh, skipping alongside their parents.
Normal people.
Not like me.
Kicking the door of the gym, I stride inside, and of course I’m so lost inside my mind that I forgot Cassie works here now.
She looks up from the computer on the reception desk, her eyes going round. Before she can say anything or even stand up, I turn around and head right back out. Okay, coming here was a shitty idea.
Can’t stand to see the pity and horror in her eyes. Not today.
The bar it is.
***
After a few drinks, I head back to the apartment. My hand’s in my pocket, around my cell. Every few steps I jerk around, sure someone’s following me. The urge to call Seth, or anyone for that matter, is eating at my self-control.
And then what? What will I tell them? That I thought someone was following me, although there’s nobody behind me?
They’ll know I’ve gone around the fucking bend for good.
And they’ll be right. Reality isn’t very stable right now—it keeps tipping into the past, memory weaving a web around me. I think I smell the moldy mattresses and sour sweat of fear that filled the prison. I think I hear the shouts and groans of pain from the brawls. I think I see Marco and Christoph leering at me from street corners.
Fuck.
I hurry up the stairs, slam the door shut behind me, double lock, then check all the rooms, and still my heart won’t stop pounding.
Holy fucking shit. Wincing, I sink down on the couch and press a hand to my chest. I can’t catch my breath. Last thing I need today is a panic attack.
Had everything else already, fuck you very much, life.
I try to remember what the prison therapist told me one of the few times I was sent to see her. The times I barely remember, black holes that came and went after I woke up one day in a pool of my own blood.
Only I can’t recall what she said, not when my head is spinning and my stomach roiling and the certainty I’m gonna die here, alone, is filling my mind. I hunch in on myself, every shadow in the apartment growing and reaching for me.
Oh fuck, I can’t breathe.
I’m so far gone, I think the pounding I hear is inside my head, but then the doorbell rings, too, and stupid as it sounds, it cuts through the fog of panic.
Uncurling from the sofa, I stumble to the door and check through the peephole.
Cassie?
Is this real?
Still can’t catch my breath. My hands shake so badly, I fumble with the locks, but manage to unlock after a few tries, and cautiously open the door.
“Shane.” Her eyes are red-rimmed, and I frown. “Look,” she says, waving her hands about nervously, “I wasn’t going to come, because this is your place, and you have the right to be alone if that’s what you want, or with whomever you like, okay? Have the right to have your space, and I know I keep intruding in other people’s privacy, but I saw you at the gym and…”
I’m leaning on the doorframe, and I can’t for the life of me move back when she steps closer.
Nor would I want to. In her jeans and long coat, her long hair loose, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I blink to clear the black edging into my vision.
“God, what happened?” she whispers and reaches for me, then seems to think better of it and draws her hand back. “You don’t look so hot.”
I remember her hand on my hair, on my face, and God, I need her touch. It kills me I scared her off so much she won’t come near me.
“Cassie…” I push off the doorframe, intent on returning back inside, but everything spins, and I stumble sideways.
Her arms are around me in an instant, without hesitation, and my breath catches at the relief, the unexpected sense of safety and warmth.
“Don’t fall,” she whispers, and I hear so much more in those two words. I want to drag her to the couch, curl up with her, wrap myself around her and let her put me back together.
My breathing eases, my heart stops trying to hammer its way out of my chest as I clutch her to me, my face buried in her hair.
“Stay.” It takes me a moment to realize I’m the one who has spoken.
“My mom is waiting downstairs, in the car.” She pulls away, and I reluctantly let her. Her blue eyes seem colorless in the low light spilling through my door onto the landing. “But I don’t want to leave you alone.”
Then don’t. Please don’t.
She’s looking at me with concern, but not with pity, and it eases a hard knot of tension inside my chest. I couldn’t take it if she felt pity for me.
“Okay, how about this?” Her hands are on my arms and the need to pull her back to me is crushing me. “I’ll go drive Mom home, and come back here. In case you want to talk. Yes?”
“Yes,” I breathe. Yes, yes, yes.
She smiles and steps back. “See you later.”
“I’ll give you a key,” I say as she turns around and vanishes in the shadows.
To my place, to myself, and to all the horrors that live here, if you’ll keep coming back.
Chapter Eight
Cassie
Skipping down the stairs, because the elevator still has that out-of-order sign hanging on its door, I make my way out of Shane’s building and into the brightly-lit avenue. My car is parked on the curbside, my mom a faint ghost sitting inside.
I hated leaving Shane. He was so pale when the door opened I thought he was about to keel over, sweat running down his face, his eyes so dark and wide with fear. Can’t wait to drive Mom home and return, make sure he’s okay.
He’s been on my mind since that flashback he had. Well, more than usual. I hate being away from him in general. This is what I’ve come to realize these past weeks. I miss him when I’m not near. I worry about him.
And my night time fantasies have started revolving around a certain long-haired, dark-eyed boy.
Crazy, I know. I mean, I haven’t even seen him with his T-shirt off. I don’t think I’ve ever talked so much with a boy without getting him naked.
Haven’t ever talked so much to a boy, period. Not that Shane talks back much—but the few things he says stay with me.
Like asking me to stay tonight.
He hasn’t tried to kiss me again, I think as I walk around the car, shivering in my coat, snowflakes drifting around me. Does that mean he decided he doesn’t want me that way? Do I trigger something ugly inside his head?
I can’t get the thought out of my head—but neither can I forget the feel of his lips on mine¸ his denim-clad hard-on under my hand, his taste. The power in his hands, in his tall frame.
The terrifying flashback, the way he kept throwing himself on the side of the bed, trying to escape whatever horror held him in its clutches.
“Hey, baby girl.” Mom is wasted, her blond head lolling against the car window, hair disheveled and tangled. Her lipstick is smeared on her chin. “What took you so long? Thought you weren’t coming back.”
“You’re drunk, Mom.” I huff, half in fondness, half in exasperation as I drive off the curb and into the traffic. “Why didn’t Jerome take you home tonight?”
“Jerome is a dumbass.” She frowns, and wrinkles deepen on either side of her mouth. I hadn’t noticed them before. “He didn’t show up and won’t answer his phone. So I met this nice young man, Eddie, who bought me drinks and asked me to go to his place, but then he disappeared, so…”
So I’m driving my very drun
k, listless and despondent mom back instead. Something tells me I should be angry with her for doing this time after time to herself—giving herself out cheap, letting any man fondle her, fuck her and leave her just to pass the night.
But I can’t, because oh God, it sounds so familiar. So much like something I’d have done not so long ago. Something I almost did last week.
Jesus.
And I’ve changed for a boy who can’t kiss me without freaking out and who’s obviously dragging a much heavier burden behind him than I ever imagined when I found out both he and his half-brother spent time in prison.
I have to make up my mind that Shane is out of bounds for me. I can fantasize about him fucking me into next Sunday all I want, but what he needs right now is a friend.
Seth. God, I need to talk to Seth ASAP, find out more about Shane’s past. Can’t put it off any longer.
“Why don’t we go have a drink together? Mom and daughter?” She lifts her head from the window, giving me a hopeful look. “You could call that boy you’re lusting after and meet him there.”
Yeah. No way. “I don’t think so, Mom.”
“Oh come on. I’ll help you. We’ll get the young man out of his shell.” She winks at me, and it’s disturbing. “He won’t be able to resist two sexy girls together.”
“Mom, he isn’t like that. Believe me. It’s complicated.”
“Psh.” She waves a hand dismissively and returns to her contemplation of the street. “Men are all the same.”
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth grind together. I don’t trust my mom not to come on to Shane, try to grope him, flirt with him until he runs—or worse, has another flashback.
How sad is it that I can’t get through to my own mom, the only family I have left, and that I can’t trust her not to hit on the one guy I like?
The one guy I’d do anything for.
Shit, when did this happen? When did I pass the oh-he’s-so-hot and oh-he’s-so-nice stage to falling for him hard?
“I’ll take you to your bed,” I say, keeping my gaze ahead and my thoughts to myself, ignoring her plaintive protests. “And stay away from my boy.”
Yes, I know how that sounded, and God, for the first time in my life I know I’m in way over my head.
