by S. E. Hall
“I appreciate it,” my voice wobbles, “but I really just want to be alone. I love you guys, please don’t be offended, but I have to work through this by myself.”
“Alright. But, you change your mind, we’re one call, one text, away. No jokes, no shame… if you need any of us, say the word.” JT’s earlier ire is gone, leaving only a tone of concerned love. “Mean it, P. I said my piece, happy to do things your way now, so you need me, fuckin’ call.”
“I will. Promise.”
I think it’s over, for now, sighing in relief as they shuffle down the hall.
Should’ve known better.
“Brynny, we should take some of these flowers home; they’re too pretty to just leave here to die, and she’s not gonna water them,” Skylar whispers… to be heard.
“We aren’t touching any of the flowers. They’re hers. She can do, or don’t, whatever she wants with them.”
“Fine, just seems like a waste. What about this disturbing menagerie? We could find spots for them. Might make it a little less creepy if we spread ‘em out.” Sky’s talking about the many Charming Tales figurines Sutton’s had delivered. I can’t believe he noticed, let alone knew the name of, or where to find, my beloved mice collectables. And if Sky touches a single one of them, she’s dead meat.
“Leave her stuff right where it is and let’s go,” Brynny snaps… like a champ. Atta girl.
“She’s right, Sky,” JT chimes in. “If P wants to wallow, we have to let her. I’m just shocked she gave up so easily, took the cowardly way out. Would’ve thought she’d fight back. Like, if Sutton fucked up, payback’s a bitch kinda thing. Guess he really got under her skin, took the fight out of her.”
Fuckers know me too well, and exactly what buttons to push.
Today marks one week since I’ve seen, talked to, or held her. My Presley. A whole goddamn week. Seven never-ending days, and cold, restless nights.
I miss her.
Fuck, do I miss her.
In ways, to depths, I had no idea I was capable of feeling — ‘til I felt them. But even stronger than the aching, actual, physical pain to have her in my arms just one more time, is my concern. I’m worried about her. And not just because of recent events, namely our fight, or the fact she’s gone off-radar, barricaded herself inside her apartment, refusing to answer calls, texts, or the door. I’m worried about her… overall. Scared to damn death her perceptions and pain can never be changed or healed, and she’ll never allow herself true happiness — regardless of whether that be with me or not — she won’t ever be truly happy. And that, that’s unacceptable.
Knowing all I now do, hindsight plagues my every memory with her. Certain things she said, and more so, the way she said them. Her crazy outlook on relationships, rambling, nonsensical excuses, and biggest of all, the impenetrable wall she hides behind, built of defensive deflection and empty sarcasm. I should’ve seen it. Should’ve looked harder, invested more, asked the right questions.
But I didn’t. I was just another person in the endless list of those she was able to easily fool; because they didn’t take the time to become foolproof. And now… well, I’ve never felt a bigger fool.
It literally causes my chest to seize tight around labored breaths when I think of how long my precious girl’s been hurting; schlepping through a dull, grayed life, lugging around a cross that isn’t hers to bear. But I don’t know how to help her without further betraying her, or, as is the case, if she won’t let me help her.
“Sutton, are we gonna go in, or?”
“Shit, yeah.” I turn to Brynny and smile. “Spaced out for a second, Sorry. And thanks again for helping me with this. I just, can’t afford to mess this up; because after this one, I’m out of ideas.”
“I’m still not sure if this is a good one, but if you think she’ll like it…”
“I do. But, you got anything better and by all means, please sound off. I’m all ears.” I laugh, in absolute, admitted desperation. “I’ve called, texted, banged on her door, sent flowers, presents. What else is there? I’m not above writing a poem if you think it’ll work.”
She climbs out of the truck before delivering the blow over her shoulder. “I hate to say it, but, there may not be anything else, Sutton.”
I scramble out my side and catch up to her. “There’s always something else. I don’t care how big, small, or crazy an idea, I’ll try it. Because trying nothing, isn’t an option. I promised her I’d never give up or walk away again, and I meant it.”
Her sigh rings with reality; a reality I simply won’t accept. “Okay, so, we’ll try this and keep our fingers crossed. All we can do. And speaking of attempts, I was there when JT gave her the jar you made her. Very sweet, and original.”
“Did she think so? Did she like it? Open it? Understand what it was?” I stop gushing like a twelve-year-old girl long enough to take a breath, and give Brynny room to give me the answers I need even more than the breath I just took.
She snickers, though tinged with a shred of sympathy. “Yes, to all of the above. And I probably shouldn’t tell you this, I’d hate to give you any false hope, but she got real salty, real fast, when JT didn’t properly appreciate its significance.”
“Did that fucker make fun of it?”
“No, that’s the best part. He just asked why a jar was such a big deal, and she told him alright.” She laughs once more. “Oh, which reminds me; if you didn’t already put ride a camel and find a field of dandelions to make wishes all day in there. I’d find a way to sneak them in there, or make a second jar. If I was guessing of course, since I’d never repeat P’s secrets behind her back.”
“Ride a camel, you say?” I grin; never would’ve dreamed it of my Hot Shot, or that she’d reveal even the tiniest clue as to the romantic side of herself she keeps hidden. From everyone but me — I would have guessed something along the lines of the second one. Some people are dreamers, some realists. My Presley is both. “Thanks again, Brynny, for everything.”
“Don’t thank me yet; wait until I come up with something that actually works. For always.” She grants me a sweet smile. “You’re a good one, Sutton, a good man, person, and the best there’ll ever be for P. I’ve been sure of that since the very beginning. Only a blind, self-absorbed idiot doesn’t notice when they’re in the presence of a once-in-a-lifetime connection like the two of you have.”
“Not that I don’t absolutely agree, but, shoot me straight, Brynn. Do you really believe what you’re saying? That we have the kind of connection others pray to find? Should envy? So strong it can’t be broken, no matter what?”
She frets the corner of her mouth and hilts a shoulder, eyes finding the ground. “I do, and have never wanted to be right about anything more in my entire life,” she mumbles. “I want my cousin to have it. The alls and everythings, that she’ll only get from you.”
“Me too. God, me too.”
“Oh!” Her eyes fly to mine, now lively, as is her expression. “You could send her songs. Since she’s not exactly communicating with you, talk to her that way. P loves music, can’t resist it, deciphering and internalizing it, no matter how hard she tries.”
“Great idea; shoulda thought of it first. You’re really coming into your own lately, Miss Brynny, you know that? No wonder you got guys punching each other over ya.” I playfully nudge her shoulder. “The more I see of you, the more I see how much alike we are. So, it’s settled; we’re gonna have to stay best buds, no matter what.”
She giggles, the cute, shy kind. “I’d like that. We can help each other out, swap perspectives. Lord knows we’re lost on our own.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” I nod and laugh. “Alright, good talk. Now, let’s go get my girl her dog.”
“Settle down, little man, I’m trying to send your mama a song.” I pet what may very well be the most spastic puppy ever born with one hand, scrolling through music choices with the other. I’d sent her “Ain’t no Sunshine” by Bill Withers earlier and gotten no resp
onse, so this one needs to pack a punch.
Brynn, my partner in crime, had cut and run for this phase – some partner – so I’m sitting outside Presley’s apartment alone. Well, not all alone… but my company’s too busy licking his own balls to give me any advice or support, so not sure he counts. But for his sake, it really is imperative I text her the perfect song as an “opener,” to get her in the right mood before sending this poor mutt into “No Man’s Land.” He does, after all, have balls… and went to a lot of trouble of getting’ ‘em nice and clean for his intro.
“How about this one?” I ask him, hitting play on “Into the Mystic,” to which he cocks his head and whines. “Yeah, you’re right, doesn’t quite say it. Okay…” I search some more, finally choosing another. “Thoughts? Objections? You’re the one going in there, so bark now or forever hold your peace, pal.” He just sniffs his ass, so I decide for him and hit send on “Issues” by Julia Michaels before either of us can change our minds.
And because I know my Hot Shot better than the back of my own hand, we wait, giving her time to go through her routine. I smile to myself while picturing it, as if the choreographer. First, she’ll roll her eyes and huff, debating whether to ignore my text or not. Then while mumbling some smartass excuse, because she has to put up a good front for her harshest audience of all — herself — she’ll reluctantly open it, listening as I follow it up with another message… right… about… now.
Me: I’m out front of your place. I know you won’t see me, but I brought you something special I think you’ll want to see. And it’s VERY time-sensitive, so I need you to promise me you’ll open up and grab it ASAP if I set it on your doorstep.
And we wait some more. The pup starts to get antsy, so I give him a treat, which he gulps down without bothering to chew first, right as my phone dings with the first reply I’ve gotten from her since this whole thing started.
Hot Shot: Enough with the presents. Just stop. I’m not hungry, thirsty, or in need of a BOMB. (You should work on your descriptions. Unless it is a bomb, in which case, you described it perfectly.)
Me: It’s not a bomb. Or food. Or returnable. I’m bringing it to your door now, so get ready. I’ll knock and walk away, I swear, just say you’ll grab it quick.
“Think she’s gonna give in, buddy. Prepare to be irresistible,” I say to the dog, rubbing his head.
Hot Shot: Fine. But no tricks. Set it down and walk away.
“We have a green light, partner; let’s do this. Don’t let me down.” I scoop the little fur ball up in one arm, grab the carrier thing I bought, and head for her apartment. As I walk, and only for a split second, I consider changing things up once she opens the door, maybe try begging my way inside, but just as quickly refuse the idea. This is progress, and I won’t ruin it by pushing too hard, too fast. I’ve got to accept, and work within the confines of “Presley time.” Take what I can get, when I can get it, and build from there.
I give the pup one last head rub for good luck, put him in the crate, set it on her doormat as I knock… and walk away.
But not too far away.
She didn’t specify or stipulate where away meant, so hiding around the corner of her building isn’t in direct violation of any set terms.
It doesn’t take near as long as I expected for her to crack open the door and peek out, her wide eyes aimed up, no doubt scanning the area for me. Then she hears him, trying to make a break from his jail and yipping his “hello,” so she looks down, searching for my whereabouts immediately forgotten.
Phone out, ready and waiting like the mushy fool she’s turned me into, I get my perfect shot — a picture of her beautiful face, alight with surprise and happiness — the moment she sees him.
“Well, hello there you precious thing. Who are you?” She snickers, cooing in a baby voice I’m sure is as foreign to her ears as it is mine, squatting down and opening the carrier to rescue him. “Are you lost?” She stands, holding the excited, squirming pup up in the air to get a good look, then snuggles him close against her, laughing melodically as he slathers her in puppy kisses. “No, you’re not a bit lost. You’re home, aren’t you? Yes, you’re Castello, my sweet lil’ pound mutt, home at last.”
She already loves him. Dearly. I can hear it in her voice, see it in her smile… and that makes me smile. She now has a new, lifelong friend, the ideal friend, who’ll listen to all her woes and give her unconditional love – the things she needs, wants most, but won’t let me do. And he’ll never disappoint or betray her — everything I did do. It’s up to you now, Castello. Make me proud.
“Let’s get you inside, show ya around your new pad.” And just like that, they disappear behind the closed door.
I want so badly to be in there with them, but smile anyway, taking this small victory… she’s not alone anymore.
“That’s mighty nice of ya, but I can’t drink while I’m working.” I decline the beer, and everything else, being offered by the blonde standing in front of me. And no, I’m not being a presumptuous ass — it’s her third attempt/visit in the last hour.
Why I keep refusing even polite conversation with the sexy, smiling, nice blonde, who doesn’t appear to hate me, or want to drive me insane just for shits and giggles, I’m not sure. Except then I’m more than sure, and more than aware, I’m a glutton for a certain woman’s torture.
“What about after work?” Blondie purrs, sidling in closer.
I should ask her name, number, and suggest lots of things we can do together after I get off work… but I’m not going to. As cute, and non-combative as she is, she also might as well have two fucking heads and a wedding ring on; I couldn’t care less either way.
“After work I’m-” my phone vibrates in my back pocket and I snag it out with one hand, holding up a finger with the other. “Sorry, I’ve gotta take this. Thanks again, though.” I head for the back door, hollering to Roman that I’m taking my break before stepping outside and answering.
“Hey, what’s up?” My silent prayer as to why he’s calling — anything to do with Presley — just further reminds me of why the blonde’s advances meant nothing.
“What’s up? Well, lemme just tell ya. A lot, my friend, a whole helluva lot!” JT yells in my ear. “What extra-special kind of dumbass gets a girl who can barely take care of herself, a fucking puppy?”
My knee-jerk reaction’s a loud, full laugh, but the bulk of his words quickly set in and anger becomes my only emotion. “What the hell do you mean ‘can barely take care of herself?’ You referring to things like what happened at the party, ‘cause that shit would’ve bothered most, isn’t on her anyway, and is fucked up of you to say. Oh, and dead fucking wrong, man.”
“Easy there, killer, not even close to what I meant.”
“What did you mean then?” I’m still seething, and will be ‘til he convinces me otherwise.
“I meant, lately. Ever since y’all had your falling out, wellll, let’s just say P hasn’t quite been herself. Hey, hang on a second, Sutton. Ma’am, excuse me,” he speaks to someone else, who he better hope’s much older than him, or she’s not gonna like the ‘ma’am’ part, “which of these are best for puppy pads?”
I hear Ma’am then a giant peal of laughter… and somehow — kinda ashamed that I do, since it’s dumb-as-fuck at its finest — know exactly what’s happening right now. What a jackass. “J,” I yell to get his attention.
“What? Did you not hear me tell ya to hold on?”
“Oh, I heard ya, but you’re gonna want to listen up so I can to save you from further humiliation. Where are you?”
“At the store, thanks to you. Why?”
“No, I mean, where in the store?”
“Dude, I don’t know… an aisle. I got a list a mile long of shit to buy, after I find it, and I’ve yet to cross off one thing. So ya wanna get to the point?”
“First of all, you called me, so kiss my ass. And second, I’m just wondering if you’re actually looking for puppy pads in the lady pa
ds section. You are, aren’t you?” He doesn’t respond, a resounding yes, and I pinch the bridge of my nose, reining in a laugh. “Oh, that’s good stuff, Kendrick. Good, good stuff. Hey, are puppy tampons on the list too? If so, you still wouldn’t be in the right place; dog’s male.”
“I’ve never had a dog before, so how ‘bout you either tell me where to go, or shut the hell up.”
“Okay, I’ll help ya out, but it’s kinda complicated, so listen up. You’re gonna want to head for… the pet section, dumbass.”
“Yeah, I suppose that makes sense,” he grumbles. “The pharmacy’s right here beside me though, shouldn’t I stop there first? I need…” paper, I assume is “his list,” crunches in the background, “stuff for heartworms, butt worms, scurvy, mange, ear mites and parvo. Those sound medicinal, so, pharmacy, right?”
This is why people should stay the fuck off Web M.D.
“Wrong. So very, very wrong. None found in the human pharmacy section, none needed anyway, and did she really write butt worms?”
“No, Sutton, I made it up, adding things to the list for fun. Yes, that’s what she wrote!”
“Jesus Christ, what store are you at?”
“The B and K on Boulevard. Why?”
“Just keep your ass put; I’m on my way. Don’t move, buy anything, or call and talk to Presley. I’ll take care of it. Can’t have y’all killing my dog.”
Malakai and Roman were none too happy that I left work early, yet again, and I’m probably gonna lose my damn job, but shit always goes pretty smoothly at work whether I’m there or not, yet fucking haywire everywhere else in my absence. I mean, seriously, having the puppy OD on parvo vaccines just isn’t okay — couldn’t stand by and do nothing. Besides, I’ve got a nice lil’ nest egg saved up and don’t plan on staying a bouncer once I get my degree, so let the chips fall where they may. I’m taking care of what’s important to me, now, always, and no matter what — the owner of the dog in danger, and the poor mutt too of course.
