Never Better: A Dark Obsession Novel

by Charlotte Stein

“Good. Now tell me which hand I’ve extended.”

  It had to be a trick question. Had to be. He hadn’t done anything, after all. Everything she was looking at was right where it had been a second ago, she was sure of it.

  But she went to ask him anyway. “What? What do you—”

  “Here, I’ll do it again.”

  He did, and this time his meaning was completely clear. She wasn’t looking at his hands, but it was still obvious which hand was moving. In fact, it was so obvious, she actually found herself grinning again. And the word when it came was full of surprised triumph. “Left.”

  “Uh-huh. Now which?”

  He moved again.

  Again, she saw it.

  “Left.”

  “And now?”

  “Right.”

  “And now?”

  Faster this time. Slighter.

  But still, she caught it.

  “Left.”

  “Perfect. Now tell me how you did it.”

  “Your shoulders move when you extend your hand.”

  He nodded—once, abrupt. “Yep. And that’s pretty much all there is to it. When you meet someone, or when you’re talking to someone, don’t watch their hands. If you watch their hands they’ll know exactly what you’re doing when you go to avoid a touch or a shake. They might even anticipate it. But if you watch their shoulders, you can move freely. Their lack of awareness is your closest ally. It’s your best friend.”

  “But then how do you—”

  “How do you avoid it? Never step back. Never. Stepping back is something people expect. It’s the number one thing people do when they’re afraid or startled. So instead, you step to one side. Come on, come a little closer and stick your hand out to me.”

  Again, she obeyed without really thinking about it. She stepped towards him, and put out her hand in a way she was sure has been too fast and too clumsy. She was a little nervous and little too eager, and it really should have resulted in disaster.

  But it didn’t.

  The second her hand started to move, he went right. And even though she knew how he did it now and understood everything he said—even though she’d seen him do this very thing before—she still marveled over it. She still said in a voice that sounded far too breathless, “Jesus Christ. It’s like your feet have wheels.”

  “I promise, no wheels are required. Only practice.”

  “Pretty sure practice is never going to make me that graceful.”

  “Then try some distraction. People easily forget or overlook things if you shift their focus away from yourself. So, you sidestep, and as you do it you gesture at something.”

  She frowned, considering. “But what am I supposed to gesture at?”

  “Well, that would be my other tip. Start getting more aware of your surroundings. First thing you do when you walk into a room—catalogue anything interesting.”

  “So like maybe that thousand-year old coffee machine.”

  “That would definitely work. In fact, why don’t you try it? I’ll go to shake your hand and you—”

  She didn’t even wait for him to finish. On the word shake she saw his shoulder move in what was now a pretty familiar way, and sidestepped. And she would have been proud of herself for doing it too, if nerves hadn’t made her too clumsy. The move she made was too big. It was too jagged.

  She almost rammed right into one of the chairs they were still surrounded by.

  Then stumbled, as she tried to correct her mistake.

  “Fuck. Fuck,” she snapped.

  Even though he was already there, to soothe her. His hands spread out over the air in front of him, as if petting an animal that wasn’t there. And when he spoke, his voice was even softer. “Hey, hey, take it easy.”

  “But I fucked it up.”

  “Sure you did. It’s the first time you’ve tried it.”

  “Yeah, but I bet you didn’t fuck it up first time you tried.”

  “I fell over a stack of crates and needed three stitches just above my ear.”

  “You did not,” she said, but then she saw his expression. Still unmoving, in a way that made her realize something else about it—it was an excellent gauge of the truth. “Seriously?”

  “Nobody is born good at this stuff, honey. It’s all just repetition.”

  “So, I do this a thousand times, and then I get good.”

  “You do it five, and you’ll see an improvement.”

  She eyed the chair she’d almost knocked over. “I sincerely doubt that.”

  “Then I’ll show you. You ready?”

  He did it again the second she nodded—a little too fast for her liking, truth be told.

  Though man, did it ever work. She seemed to clock the shoulder twitch and move in the same moment, not quite fluid like him but still fast and definitely more careful. This time, she didn’t get anywhere close to any of the chairs. And she didn’t stumble or forget to say something to distract him.

  “Hey, have you seen the stain that looks like a dog?” she blurted.

  But the best part was: he just went with it.

  “I have seen that. Pretty weird.”

  “Yeah I thought it was pretty weird, too.”

  “Looks like it’s been here a while.”

  “It does. In fact, I was just thinking that, and oh my god I did it. I totally fucking did it. I even want to carry on this completely irrelevant and stupid conversation about the dog stain,” she said, a little too breathlessly. A little too excitedly.

  Not that he seemed to care in the least.

  He just rolled right on. “Uh-huh. And that’s where you’re at a huge advantage.”

  “Because I know how to discuss irrelevant shit?”

  “Because you’re good at talking. See, I can do the sidestep and the shoulder watch, and I’m always aware of everything in the room. But I gotta be real careful what I draw attention to. Choose the wrong thing, and I’m out of words before they can pick up the thread. Then it’s just two people staring awkwardly at a dog shaped smear on the wall.”

  “I don’t know about that. I think the stain talk was at least fifty percent you.”

  “Nope, I was just following your lead.” He paused there, and looked at her again in that considering way. Though she still couldn’t quite tell what he was considering. Or what conclusions he was coming to. The best she could do was label how it made her feel when he did it: warm and good. And when he finally spoke, his words backed up that reaction. “It’s like I said—you make it real easy.”

  “Thanks,” she said, then paused just long enough to get her blush under control before barreling on with what she really wanted to say. “And not just for the compliment. For the other stuff, too.”

  “You don’t need to thank me for that. In fact, I’d prefer it if you didn’t.”

  “Maybe we could just pretend to shake hands then, instead.”

  “Or we could do it for real.”

  “You up to that?”

  “Are you?”

  “I am now, yeah,” she said.

  But she didn’t realize by how much until she held out her hand. The move was just so easy to make, it almost startled at her. She found herself looking down at her own hand, so freely offered, with something like wonderment. And especially when she saw him hesitate. Somehow, in the last five minutes, she’d become more resilient than him. She’d created her own forcefield that quickly.

  While his seemed to waver just ever so slightly.

  Though, he soon recovered. In fact, he recovered so fast she wondered if she’d really seen anything at all. Maybe he just hadn’t expected her to agree so easily. Maybe the light had been in his eyes.

  He did seem pretty unfazed when he swallowed her hand with his.

  And his tone, when he finally spoke, was just as breezy as you please.

  “Well, I better get going.”

  “Sure. Yeah. Totally.”

  “Got an early morning.”

  “Oh yeah, me too.”

>   “Take care.”

  “You too,” she said.

  Then she just watched him stroll away, as if nothing had even happened.

  Chapter Three

  She didn’t really expect the things he’d taught her to have any kind of long lasting effect. Really, all he’d done was show her how to avoid a handshake, with a smattering of cautious compliments and a side of considering looks. It wasn’t anything big, when she fully thought about it. Or, at least, not as big as she’d imagined, when she’d first thought of asking him for advice.

  Yet as soon as she walked through the door to their apartment, she knew something was different. Both Tate and Letty looked up from late night takeaway, but neither immediately fussed around her. There were no concerned glances exchanged. No how did it goes?

  Instead, Letty looked as if the sun had come out all over her dimpled face.

  Hell, so did Tate. He broke into that easy, aw shucks grin of his.

  “You seem…” he started.

  And Letty finished. “Almost relaxed.”

  Lydia shrugged, as casually as she could.

  But when she did, she felt what they were describing.

  There was a new laxness through her limbs. A lack of strain through her back.

  That meeting and the bus ride home should have put a rod of iron through her body.

  But they hadn’t. “Yeah, I kind of am.”

  “I guess it went good this time then, huh?” Letty asked.

  And she nodded.

  “It went…okay.”

  “Less fraught than before.”

  “Sort of, yeah.”

  Now Letty was practically grinning. “Sort of is good. Sort of is better than plastic chair circles and socks with sandals and people staring. Right?”

  “Oh god, yeah, definitely. Multiplied by a million.”

  Silence fell, then. And she knew why, too.

  Here was where she was supposed to explain.

  To give reasons for her tiny bit of progress.

  There was just one problem:

  She couldn’t. It was impossible. A stranger gave me tips on avoiding human contact just sounded fucking insane, even to her. And the more she thought about it, the more insane it became. He hadn’t done anything, really. He had just been soothing somehow, in a way she didn’t know how to describe.

  But thankfully, Letty seemed to get the problem.

  “You don’t have to talk about it, honey.”

  “No,” Tate agreed, around a mouthful of Chinese food. “Not even a little bit.”

  “Just come and sit and stuff your face full of deliciousness.”

  “Oh you totally should do that. We got the good crispy things.”

  “Yeah, and the weird red sauce that somehow tastes like potatoes.”

  She went over the table, then. Though not because the food sounded good.

  It did, but it was more than that. There was that easiness, again. That relaxedness.

  As if one talk with Forcefield Guy had left a blueprint inside of her:

  How to escape this nightmare in six easy steps.

  And though she still couldn’t eat much, she ate more than usual. She managed a whole egg roll, and at least a quarter of a portion of rice. Then to cap it off, she found herself actually asking Tate to pass the salt. As if his utter massiveness had suddenly stopped being a problem.

  In fact, it was a full two hours before anything weird or uncomfortable happened. And even then, it didn’t go the way she expected it to. Tate went to put a hand on her shoulder, and it was him who froze in horror. It was Letty who made a sound of protest, at the sight of his blunder. Her friend reached for him, to pull him back. To stop him, before he could make sudden contact.

  While she just sat there not moving or saying anything or even reacting.

  For a second, she almost laughed at the absurdity of it.

  At which point, she knew.

  She had to ask the guy for more.

  * * *

  She intended to play it really cool. To start talking about something else first, before neatly segueing into what she actually wanted. She even had a topic all picked out—the coffee, and how absolutely foul it was. Maybe she could get him laughing about it. Make him comfortable, just in case that hesitation she thought she’d seen had been real.

  But as soon as she was close to him in the pool of light from the dance studio door, something just went wrong.

  Those black eyes met hers, and that fizzing feeling tripled.

  Suddenly, she was bouncing on the balls of her feet.

  Then came the words, in one big dumb rush.

  “So you got anymore tips on how to be more like you?” she asked, and immediately wanted to take it back. Partly because it sounded so weird, but mostly because of what happened when she said it. His expression actually sagged—just a little, but a little was a lot on him. It made him look older than the twenty-eight she’d pegged him at. It made him seem like five thousand and twelve.

  And that impression only got bigger when he answered her.

  “You don’t want to be more like me, honey.”

  “My new found peace of mind says otherwise.”

  “That little demonstration gave you peace of mind?”

  He had been looking at everything but her, up until that point—the elm tree that stood three feet from them, the scrub of grass she was still on, the stretch of sidewalk between them. Like when she’d first seen him, across the circle of chairs. But as soon as she said those words, he couldn’t keep it up. The illusion of indifference cracked clean across its perfect surface. That gaze met hers, searching, searching—as if he could hardly believe she was telling the truth. As if he didn’t want it to be the truth.

  But she was only too happy to contradict him. “It gave me something.”

  “Yeah, I think it’s called the wrong idea.” He glanced away again, face now expressionless. “Look—what you really need is to get back to the person you were. That warm-hearted girl you mentioned who could talk to anyone. Becoming like me is a backwards step.”

  “It didn’t feel backwards. It felt great—to be that in control.”

  “There are plenty of places that can help you get back control. That can help you be in control. And almost none of them come with an emotionally closed off price tag.”

  “Maybe I don’t think being emotionally closed off is a price.”

  “Well, you should. It is. And it’s a heavy one. Lucky for you though—you don’t have to pay it. Just go here, you’ll get exactly what you need.”

  He took out a leather flip book from the inside of his jacket, as he spoke. The kind with a band around it, and a tiny pencil slotted into the top. Then as she watched, he jotted something down in tidy little block capitals. An address, she knew, before he even tore it off and held it out to her.

  Though it was only after she took it that she realized what the address was for.

  “You think I need self-defense classes?”

  “I think you need a qualified person to show you this kind of thing.”

  “A qualified person. Right. Right. Of course.”

  “Just someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  “Yeah, that makes total sense. That makes way more sense than what I was suggesting.”

  “I mean, just look at me.” He spread his hands, as if to underline how obvious the problem was. Then just in case it wasn’t clear, he added, “I have no clue where to even start with something like this.”

  “Totally, yeah. God, I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

  “You were thinking you’d found a solution.”

  “Probably. But I should have realized it was completely stupid. And rude to even ask you—I mean you have your own problems and your own shit to deal with, and I just barged right up to you, expecting more.”

  “No, no. You didn’t barge at all, you didn’t—”

  “And now I’m taking up a ton of your time, again.”

  “No reall
y that’s not what—”

  “I’m just prattling on and on…”

  “I didn’t think—”

  “Thank you so much for everything, but I better just get going now.”

  He went to say something more, then. She knew he did. His lips parted around the words; his hand almost sort of reached out for her. But of course, he was never going to go the whole way. He was never going to grab her. And even if he had, she wasn’t sure she could have stopped herself from walking away. Frustration was filling up her body, like a fever. It was straining the limits of her skin.

  If she stayed one more second, she knew she was going to burst.

  She couldn’t let him see her burst. It would look too much like sobbing, and his reaction would probably be too much like pity or guilt, and neither of those things seemed palatable.

  He hadn’t done anything wrong. She never wanted him to feel like he’d done something wrong.

  So she kept going. She kept walking and did not look back.

  * * *

  The problem with the class he’d recommended was evident before she even got through the door. She stopped at the huge glass window that spanned the front of the building, and just couldn’t go any further. The room was way too bright and happy. The people inside too golden and gleaming. They all had bouncy ponytails and velour tracksuits; one girl had juicy on her ass.

  And the stuff they were doing…

  It didn’t look anything like the thing he had shown her. There was no rhyme or reason to it, no beautiful restraint. Nobody was patiently explaining anything, or showing them where they should move or what they should watch for. In fact, she was pretty sure that was the instructor in the corner, examining his nails. Every now and then, he would look up and shout a few words.

  But it didn’t seem like anything good.

  More energy, she thought it sounded like.

  As if this was a spinning class, for perfectly fit people.

  Instead of self-defense for girls who could no longer sit with an open space behind them.

  Hell, she could barely stand with an open space behind her. She watched the deliriously happy women jumping around for about thirty seconds, before that prickling sensation started up. Small at first, but then sharper and sharper, until she was sure there was someone there. The guy’s brother, come to exact some terrible vengeance, she thought, then clenched her hand around the pepper spray in her pocket. Every muscle in her tensed, as she got ready to turn and confront him.