by Nora Flite
“Sorry,” I said quickly, moving to slide my hand from his grip. He didn't let me, he held it firmly, tugged me against him.
“No more apologizing all the time,” he said gently, brushing hair from my forehead. My tresses had become a mess after our car romp. “You say sorry far too much.”
“Sorry,” I said quickly, covering my mouth, cringing. “I mean--”
“Shh,” Deacon chuckled, tilting my chin up for a quick kiss. My thoughts were stolen, I forgot to breathe for a long moment. He broke away easily, leaving me looking up at him through half-closed eyes.
He melts my brain like it's nothing for him.
Giving my hand a squeeze, he bent his head, a small bow that made me smile like a fool. “Did you have a good night?” He asked, standing, straightening his jacket.
Nodding, I folded my hands in my sweater, slightly pink around my ears. “Yes, but...”
“Hmn?”
“I—this,” struggling to explain myself, I glanced to the side, knowing there would be no answers in the shadows of the trees. “I'm fine with, you know, something casual. So, well, if you want to do this thing, where we see each other but there's no pressure, I...” It's not what I want, but I don't want to scare him off. “I know I don't have a job, I can't promise I can afford to stay out here, so with that in mind, if you'd feel comfortable not being too serious, I get it.”
Deacon tilted his head, watching me for such a long minute I found myself panicking, listening to the rising beat of my heart in the thick tension. His lips spread in a tender smile, one he leaned in with and touched to the corner of my mouth. “Leah, what are you trying to say?”
“I just,” I blurted, flustered, “I don't want to scare you off by calling this something it isn't.”
“What do you think this is?” He asked, eyes twinkling.
“I don't—I want to call it whatever you want to call it,” I finished, mumbling as I ran out of steam.
Looking amused, the southern boy bent down, taking my hands, rubbing his thumbs over the tops of them. It warmed me, sent a flicker of fire into my belly even after everything we had already done that night. “I want to call it what it is. We're dating now, aren't we?”
“Dating?” I asked stupidly.
“Yes,” he said, grinning. “Dating, like boyfriend and girlfriend. Unless that's not okay with you?”
“No!” I gushed, biting my tongue nervously. “I mean, yes, yes, I'm okay with that.”
“Good.” Lifting my hands, he kissed them both, one after the other. “Then, you should get some rest, Leah. Your new boyfriend is sleepy as well, it's getting late.”
Getting late? Something about that set off a warning bell in my brain, but I just nodded, waving gently after him. He spun like a dancer, graceful and smooth, walking back down the path into the darkness. I was smiling again, unsure if I had ever stopped.
Turning, I skipped up to the front step of Vanessa's apartment, tugging on the knob, confused when it didn't open. Didn't I leave this unlocked? Retrieving the spare key, I slid it in, pushing through into a pitch black living room.
“Hello, Vanessa?”
A sinking feeling rapidly filled me, my fingers snapping the lights on. Twisting in place, I called out again, but heard no response. With a slow walk, the sort someone would take to the gallows, I moved into the kitchen. On the table, I saw my note, but it was no longer alone. Beside it was another square of crinkled paper.
I read the message Vanessa had left me in scrawled writing, hasty, hinting at emotional frenzy. Shaking, I crushed it tight, sinking to the floor when my strength gave out. Again and again, I read the message, until I had to say it out loud to convince myself it was real.
“I want you to get your things... then get out of my home.”
Vanessa was kicking me out.
****
In my purse, where I had left it carelessly by the couch, I found my phone. It was packed with voice mails and texts from Vanessa. In a numb state, I scrolled through them, listening to her increasing panic, her boiling anger, reading the words that called me a terrible friend.
The time read after ten, but I didn't need to know that anymore. I'd messed up, hadn't come back in time to help her like she had made me promise. How did I lose track of everything? The answer was obvious, but I couldn't muster the energy to be angry about it. I'd been selfish, forgotten all about being here when my friend needed me. Instead, I'd allowed myself to get wrapped up so deeply in the electric kisses and deft fingers of Deacon Day, I didn't even notice how late it had gotten.
Sitting down, I cradled my head in my hands. Now what do I do?
I was sure Vanessa meant it, she really wanted me gone. Everything inside of me felt like it was moving, cutting into me as if I had eaten rusty metal. At one point I moved into the bathroom, my mouth tingling with the threat of vomit. Calm down, calm down. I repeated those words so many times.
On a desperate whim, I attempted to call Vanessa. The ringing went on, never ending, so I was sure her phone wasn't shut off. Her voice mail chirped at me, told me to leave a message. Instead, I closed my phone, pressed my arm across my eyes.
I don't know what I can do. If I leave, where do I go? My mind filled with the unsettling images of the people I had seen around Hollywood, bodies crammed into corners, dirty hands holding small cardboard signs. Is that really what I'm going to look forward to?
Looking down at my palms, I saw my scratches, already fading. Turning them over, the backs of my hands reminded me of how Deacon had kissed me there, tender, sweet. No, I can't give up yet. I have options, just think, Leah.
Frowning tightly, I grabbed my laptop from where it sat on the floor. The screen glowed bright enough to make me wince, a beacon that promised potential.
I know selling a car was pretty easy, I bet buying one can't be any worse.
Browsing around the internet, I found listing after listing of vehicles for sale. Squinting at the prices, I pressed on until I came across things more in my range. I knew exactly how much money I had left, and looking at the cheapest cars I could find, cars that were beaten up but promised to still be drivable, I did the math bitterly.
If I buy this, I'll have fifty dollars to my name.
Rubbing at the bridge of my nose, I went back and forth, fighting my instinct that screamed not to spend any money, never ever. Yet the decision seemed made for me, I needed a place to live, I needed to appease Vanessa, get away from her until she could, maybe, forgive me. And, without her around, I needed transportation. I needed... independence.
The hour was late, I knew I wouldn't hear back till tomorrow, but I opened an email, began to type a message to the seller of the car I had decided on. I wonder if I could just ask... No, no, there was no way I could let myself ask Deacon for help. I couldn't ask anyone, but especially not him.
Remembering how he had held me close, how he had told me we were clearly dating, it filled me with glee, anxiety mixing inside to create a heavy ball. I won't risk messing this up. I'll do this, sleep in my car for now, and then when I finally find some work I'll find an apartment. Vanessa might even forgive me before then.
Even though I was terrible at keeping them, I made myself promise that everything would be fine.
****
The call came the next morning, it didn't wake me, since I hadn't actually slept. Initially, I hoped it was Vanessa, but the voice of a strange man spoke to me instead. He asked about my email, talked about the car I wanted to buy. I listened, slumping on the couch, too exhausted to really pay attention.
Purposefully, I had looked at people selling their cars in the nearby area, knowing I'd have to walk to the place. Scribbling down directions, nodding as the man kept talking, even if he couldn't see me doing it, I agreed to meet him in an hour.
Feeling terribly guilty, hoping she didn't feel taken advantage of, I hurried to use Vanessa's shower one last time. It was impossible to know the next chance I'd have easy access to such a thing, grim as that
was.
When I was cleaned up, my wet hair tied off my neck, I dressed in a green tank top and the only fresh pair of jeans I had. I should have done laundry when I had the chance, but how could I have known this would happen? Maybe her fluctuating anger, or her explosive mood swings should have warned me of the potential danger in betraying her. In retrospect, I thought I'd let myself get too confident that her and I had mended everything.
Was I being tested by her without knowing it?
Collecting all my belongings, shoving them tightly into my backpack, I shouldered my laptop strap. Here I was, running away all over again. There's nothing else to be done about it, she's pissed at me, she won't answer her phone, and she wants me to leave. The concept of fixing everything, somehow, was enough to keep me from slipping into true depression. Vanessa has to forgive me, she just has to.
Surprisingly, that thought-thread led to Owen, all the times I had forgiven him, accepted his apologies through my hot tears for things he had done to me that should have been unforgivable.
Yes, she has to accept my apology, she just has to.
Brooding about Owen, I wondered why I hadn't heard from him in some time. I was grateful for the break from his constant calls, his emails, his texts. But, it still struck me as strange for him to have gone silent for so long.
Don't wonder what he's up to, you have far more important things to focus on.
Heading out the door, my neck prickled at the sound of it shutting behind me.
The day was bright, sunshine filtering down from a clear blue sky, a setting that hardly fit my morose mood. Nervously, I kept checking my phone, hoping Vanessa might call me back. Deep down, I was wishing she'd contact me before I went spending the last of my savings, that she'd forgive me and this could just go away. By the time I'd reached the address the man had given me, I had checked my cell fifteen times, finding nothing.
He was waiting for me, a short, older fellow with a baseball cap, surely designed to hide a bald spot. “Hey there,” he said, reaching out for a friendly shake. My grip was hesitant, I slipped my hand into my pocket when it was over with. “I'm Jeremy, nice to meet you.”
“Leah,” I said, glancing sideways at the car he had parked by the curb. It looked exactly as it had online, a beaten up, faded black Taurus. But, it had all its mirror and tires, that was a plus. “So, this is it, then?”
“Yeah.” Jeremy walked around the vehicle, pointing out the dents, bumps, stuff I didn't care about. I was sure, with my nervous driving and the new world of parking on a busy street in California, that I'd soon scratch it up more on my own. “She's a good car, but I only have space for one here, and it's time to move on to a bigger one for the family.”
“Oh, right.” Nodding, my eyes flicked to the small house behind him, noticing the toys in the scant front yard. “Got it. Anything I should know about it?”
Jeremy shrugged, opening the door, turning the engine on. It kicked over easily, not hinting at any troubles, but even if there were some, I wouldn't have known what to listen for. “I'd get the brakes checked at some point,” he admitted. “But she's fine, good on gas, small enough to fit most places.”
All of that sounds good to me, especially the gas part, I thought, recalling the left over fifty bucks I was going to have when this was done. “How much did you say you wanted, again?” I asked, fingers crossing in my pocket as I asked for what I knew was less than he'd mentioned online. “Two grand, right?”
Laughing, he wrinkled his eyebrows at me, tucking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. “I said twenty-one hundred, actually, but here. I'll take two grand if you write me a check right now, how's that sound?”
Perfect, that sounds perfect. “That's fair,” I said, trying to smooth my relieved smile. That'll make my left over cash a flat hundred, I can make that work for a bit. Digging into my purse, I slipped out my checkbook. The process was quick, I scribbled on a few papers, he signed the title to me, and in the end we shook hands once more. This time, my grip was much firmer.
As scared as I am, I feel kind of good, like I finally made a decision for myself. It was the same exhilaration I'd had when I'd sold my car a week ago, using some of the money to buy my one-way ticket. Sell a car, buy a car, like I can't make up my mind.
Taking the key, enjoying the feel of it in my palm, I slipped into the driver's side. The ignition clicked, a strong vibration rolling through me as the car started.
Yes, I thought, pulling out onto the street, giving the man a quick farewell-wave, yes, everything will be just fine.
That was the moment my phone rang.
Driving, fumbling with it, the combination was enough to distract me from the number. I was already answering it, pressing the cell to my ear without registering the risk of such a blind move.
“Hey there,” the voice said, falsely sweet and friendly.
It was Owen.
-Part 2-
Deacon Day
Chapter 18.
Lathering my face, I squinted at myself in the mirror before I made the first swipe with the razor. The water in the sink was creating music, my throat humming along to the tune in my head. Cool sorrow, fall away, fall away... The image of the band T-shirt, stretching tight over Leah's body, rippled through my brain, forced my eyes to close.
“You look pretty happy.” The voice came from my right, I knew it was Carlo. Not bothering to look his way, I scraped at my skin again.
“Do I?” I asked, nonchalant.
“Yeah,” he mused, leaning on the door frame, close enough for me to catch a glimpse from the corner of my eye. For a long minute, he just watched me, in no rush to comment further. Then, he folded his arms, his voice full of concern. “What if she prefers the hair on you?”
Flinching, I nicked myself with the razor. Shooting a glower at Carlo and his smug smile, I wiped my neck down with hot water, sighing. “Come on, give me a break.”
“Sorry, sorry,” he laughed, waving his hands quickly. “You're right. And I'm sure she'd take smooth over scabs, so I'll stop bothering you.”
“Who do you think I'm doing this for, exactly?”
“Come on,” he said, lifting his eyebrows as high as he could. “It's plainly for that Leah girl, how oblivious am I supposed to be?”
Washing the razor off, I focused on getting the rest of my face cleaned up, using it as an excuse not to respond. The idea that whatever was going on was obvious, to anyone, filled me with a heavy discomfort. “I just needed a shave, it's not a big deal.”
“Are you seeing her again today?”
Turning the sink off, I dried my face with a soft towel, enjoying the feeling. “Maybe. This afternoon is Vanessa's fashion show, I'm sure she'll be there.” Glancing over, I found my roommate watching me thoughtfully. “What, what are you thinking about?”
Carlo linked his hands behind his head, stretching until I heard his back crack. “So, you know how much I adore you, and how much I think you're sweet and stunning and a great kisse--”
The towel I threw hit him in the face, cutting him off quickly. “Nice honesty, but just tell me already.”
His smile was crooked, but those dark eyes were warm with genuine unease. “Fine, fine. I've known you for a long time, Deacon. I've never seen you move this fast with a girl.”
Tensing my jaw, I rubbed a hand across my forehead. “What do you mean?”
“I heard you guys the other night,” he said pointedly.
Freezing, I felt my expression giving me away quicker than I would have liked. “It—that wasn't...”
“Calm down,” he said gently, forming the towel into a ball in his hands. “I'm only saying, this isn't how you do things. Didn't you spend a year 'courting' Bethany, as you called it?”
“Please don't talk about her,” I mumbled, shutting my eyes as my pulse jumped.
“Sorry, sorry, I'm only saying--”
“I know what you're saying, Carlo.” Inhaling slowly, I let myself smile at him, studying how the bridge of h
is nose was creasing. “It's okay, really. I'm... you're not wrong. This is going fast.” Shaking my head, I leaned against the sink, saw myself in the mirror. Very fast, really, I thought somberly. “I guess she's sort of pulled me in.”
Carlo squeezed the towel harder, knotting it up. “But why, what is it about her?”
Folding my arms, I saw her face in my mind, tears streaming down before I brushed them away and kissed her. “I like making her smile,” I whispered.
“What?” He asked, clearly baffled.
“Nothing,” I said, throwing him a shrug so high it brushed my ears. “I didn't say anything, check your hearing.”
In answer, he threw the towel back at me, but I caught it before it slapped into my face. The grin I displayed for him was wide, bright, I added a deep bow to make it more extravagant. “Nice try, you almost had me.” Hanging the damp cloth on the shower, I squeezed past him and out of the bathroom, smirking harder at his eye roll.
“All I'm trying to say,” he called after me, “is think about what you're doing. You've known her for, what, a week?”
“Yeah,” I admitted, slowing to a halt in my bedroom doorway. “Something like that, actually.”
“Do you know anything substantial about her?”
My fingers squeezed the knob, body shifting so I could look into my room. The painted canvas still sat near my mattress, colorful and emotive as the first time I'd seen it. “Yes,” I said quietly, “I know some things.”
The sound of the door closing was sharper than I intended.
Stepping up to the artwork, I crouched on my carpet, peering closely at the textured image. I'd spent a lot of time doing that yesterday, especially after Leah had stormed out. Remembering the look on her face, the bite in her voice, while I just stood there like an idiot holding the peanut butter sandwiches...
It wasn't a pleasant memory.
