Everett seemed surprised by this information. “Well she shouldn’t. I don’t even like her.”
I felt like I was intruding on something very personal and looked down at my plate, playing with my fork along the plate’s rim.
“But you have breakfast with her?” Suddenly a thought hit my mind. “Were you…with her last night?” Just saying the words made my stomach churn. Acid burned my throat. “Never mind,” I quickly added. “None of my business, sorry.”
“Do you want it to be your business?” He’d lowered his voice. The hairs on my arms stood on end. “And to answer your question, no. She’s a work colleague. She’s taking over some of my end of the school year stuff before I leave, so we met up to discuss things.”
I looked up, caught him leaning across the counter. His hair had flopped over one eye, but the other was trained on me. “You work with her? Every day?”
Everett leaned back and signed, working a hand through his hair. “I did. This is my last week of work.”
“For the summer?”
“For forever. I’m done. I cashed out my retirement.”
Our earlier conversation came back to mind. He was a ticking time bomb. “And you’re just going to live on the road? For how long?”
He took a bite of his lasagna. “For as long as I want.” He gestured to his house. “This is paid for. My car is paid off. I have no financial obligations.” Everett picked up his wine glass, smiled down at the pale liquid. “I’m free.”
I envied him. To have the passion, to live your final days the way you wanted. To not feel suffocated with emotions, emotions you purposefully deprived yourself of. To be free. I closed my eyes and imagined it myself.
“You could do it too, you know,” he murmured, interrupting my thoughts. I snapped my eyes open.
“What do you mean?”
“Go on the run. Leave your problems for a little while. Be carefree.”
I shook my head. “No.”
“What do you have stopping you?”
I thought about that for a second. The answer was obvious to me: nothing. So I lied. “I have to support myself. Being a broke college student doesn’t afford me the luxury of being carefree.”
“Broke, really? You spent all that money already? I find that hard to believe.”
I snapped my head up. “What are you talking about?”
Everett smiled behind the wine glass. “Your settlement.”
I breathed in through my nose to calm the anger that had turned my cold. “How do you know about that?”
Everett set his wine glass down. “Google. I told you I’d googled Morris Jensen.”
My hands formed fists. “That’s none of your business.” I pushed my plate away. “I can’t believe you invaded my privacy.”
“First of all – believe it. I don’t give a damn about anyone’s privacy. And secondly, I didn’t invade your privacy. All the details of your accident are on Google. As is your settlement information. You shouldn’t have told me your business if you didn’t want me to know.” He took the last bite of his lasagna and grabbed our plates, moving them into the sink. “Besides, I find it hard to believe you blew all that money. Your car is a junker. You aren’t superficial. You don’t dress in fancy threads. You don’t care about your appearance. If you’d spent that money, you’d have fixed that scar on your face first.”
The anger was escalating. “You are so…”
Everett looked over his shoulder. “Rude?” he prompted. He turned around to face me. “Yes. I am. I call it like I see it. And I see a girl who hides behind her hair, who doesn’t give two fucks about her looks. You think no one notices you. You think you can sit back and watch everyone else and they don’t get to watch you. But guess what, Parker? You are hiding in plain sight. I see you. I see the parts you don’t want anyone to see.”
He stepped around the island and cornered me again. My heart started fluttering manically in my chest and I stood up on my tiptoes as he invaded my breathing space. Everett narrowed his eyes on me. “You’re ice cold. You don’t let yourself feel. You don’t care about anyone, not even yourself.” His face came to the side of mine and I gasped, the heat of his face on mine causing tiny flutters that slid across my skin. “In here,” he said, pushing on the skin above my heart, “you’re ten below zero. And you’re closer to death than I am.”
He pulled back, looked at me with a mixture of anger and sadness. And then he walked away. “You can let yourself out, right?” he called over his shoulder. I heard his steps thunder up the stairs to the second story, so I did the only thing I could do. I walked out the door.
I sat in my car, parked in front of his street for several minutes. My mind tried processing all that had happened while my heart throbbed in my chest.
This was why I didn’t connect with people, why I stood on the sidelines and stared. I didn’t want this, to own any feelings. Especially feelings that hurt. I didn’t want pain. I didn’t want any of this.
After heaving a sigh, I turned the key in the ignition. Nothing happened. I tried again and still nothing. Everett was right about one thing: my car was a junker. It was built years before I was born, and then had been stripped and welded with parts from another car. It was a salvage title, and a huge pain in the ass at the most inconvenient times. It was one of the reasons I was annoyed all the time.
Everett was also right about something else; I had all that money. Sitting in my bank account, going nowhere. And I didn’t care about anyone, not even myself.
Thinking that caused a small prick of pain in my chest.
I tried turning the key in the ignition again. Not even the slightest noise came from the engine. I laid my head on the steering wheel, suddenly overcome with all that had happened this evening.
It pissed me off – Everett had pissed me off. Even with the scar that marred my face, people didn’t notice me. I hid in the corner, or in the shadows, observing. I didn’t live, not really. And Everett was dying. But he was more alive than I was. That’s what he had meant, when he’d said I was closer to death than he was. It was true. And that meant a lot of what Everett had said, though harsh, was true. Asshole.
It was annoying that someone who had only met me a handful of times had figured me out this quickly, had told me to my face what he’d observed. I was the observer of other people. People didn’t observe me.
So it was with that anger that I stepped out of my car and slammed the door shut.
That anger fueled my feet up the steps of his concrete walkway, up the steps to his front porch. That anger powered the knocks that my fist rapped against the door.
Everett took his sweet time coming to the door. When he opened it, he looked unsurprised to me standing on his porch. “Forget something?” he asked, sounding bored.
“Yes,” I said, stepping into his space. I put a hand on his chest and pushed him until he took a step back into his house. “You’re an asshole.”
“I am,” he confirmed. I was still pushing against him while he backed up into the house. Once I was fully in the house, I slammed the door shut.
And then I pounced. A breath later, I was in his arms, lips clashing against his. He supported my weight in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist. I felt my back hit the wall, but I didn’t care. My senses were full, overflowing with this, with Everett.
I felt him groan into my mouth and I brought my hands up to his hair, pulling on the hairs that curled at the nape of his neck. I pulled, hard, and squeezed my legs around his waist.
“Fuck,” he growled against my lips, pulling back and slamming me against the wall again. I took a breath when he’d released my lips. I didn’t inhale much oxygen before his lips fell onto mine again. His hands wrapped around my waist and he squeezed, hard enough for me to turn my head away and gasp for air.
“What is this Parker?” he asked, pressing his forehead against mine as he blew ragged breaths across my lips.
I struggled for air, but my body was lit up like a fire
work, waiting to ignite. “If you have to ask, you’re an idiot.”
I heard his soft chuckle. And then he pulled me from the wall and walked me to the living room. His lips caught mine again, keeping my attention on him and not on the room he’d carried me into.
I felt my back hit the couch cushions before he came down on me, pressing me into the softness. I felt like I was sinking, into the couch and into heady desire. It was scary, letting these emotions control me, consume me, but my body was stronger than my mind. So when Everett lifted my shirt off my head, I helped him remove his.
He breathed air in between kisses down the center of my chest. When he reached the button of my shorts, my body trembled. I reached a hand down to unbuckle them, but his hands stilled on mine.
“No,” he whispered. He pulled my hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles of one hand before laying my hands on my chest.
I heaved a breath and my entire body shook. It was like being on the precipice of hell. And I badly wanted to fall, to let Everett fall with me.
So I did.
My hands reached up and found his bare chest. In the darkness of the living room, I made out something tattooed along his ribcage, but it was hard to figure out what it was.
All thoughts left my head the moment Everett’s hand reached into my shorts, pushing pass the brief barrier of underwear and touched me. I couldn’t help it; I bucked.
His free hand grabbed my hip and squeezed reassuringly, while his other hand stroked me, stoking the fire that was burning me up. He was gentle at first, and I whimpered – wanting a million things, all at once. I felt my body climbing and I reached up, desperate to grab hold of anything. It ended up being his jaw. I pulled him down, curling my nails into his jawline as his lips descended onto mine. I felt the bite of his facial hair and suddenly, it was sensory overload. His fingers on me, inside of me, his lips gracing my jawline, his teeth nipping my earlobe, his free hand pushing and squeezing my hip. I descended into madness, into bliss, within what felt like seconds.
When my breathing slowed and my heart settled in my chest, I turned my face away. What the hell had just happened? I couldn’t dare look at Everett, so I swallowed hard, clenched my jaw.
There was silence between us, as if we both couldn’t believe this had happened in just a few moments. He’d essentially kicked me out and then I’d come back in.
I didn’t want to identify the emotions that swept over me. I sat up and found my shirt, tugging it over my head. I stood up and buttoned up my shorts, all the while keeping from looking at Everett.
My hands trembled on the button and I squeezed them into fists to still them.
“Parker,” Everett started, but I interrupted him.
“No,” I said, putting a hand up, letting my hair spill down and shield my face from his.
“No?” he asked. I felt his hand touch my arm and I immediately yanked it away from him. Regret. That’s what I was feeling. I didn’t want to name it, but it sat within me anyway, flowing in my veins, keeping my eyes from his.
“No,” I repeated. “This was a mistake. You. You aren’t good for me.” The words were hard to say, but they came unbidden from my throat. “You’re an alcoholic, you’re dying, and yes, dammit, you’re really rude.” The words, though true, weren’t why he wasn’t good for me. But I wanted my words to cut deeper than a knife. I wanted to hurt Everett. Because in making me feel all these things, he’d hurt me. He’d cut me deeper than Morris Jensen ever had.
I whipped the door open and ran.
I hadn’t slept. I’d fallen into my bed while the night replayed over and over in my mind. It was like walking through a nightmare, on repeat. And the feelings lingered. They weren’t drops that I could numb myself to. They were real, true feelings. I didn’t want them.
Around sunrise, I stood at the kitchen sink in the apartment, taking desperate bites of leftover, cold pizza. I used my fingers to push in the pieces that hung out of my mouth, trying to fit where there was no room. That was when I felt the first tears. They ran from my eyes so steadily that my hands were drenched, my mouth capturing some of the salty tears while I tried to swallow the pizza. The lump in my throat wasn’t from improperly chewed pizza; rather it was suffocated regret. I was using food as hate, punishing myself with my mistake.
I threw the remnants of the pizza onto the counter and hacked out what was in my mouth into the sink. What the hell was I doing? I used my hands, furiously pushing the pizza down the garbage disposal as the sobs wracked my body. I gripped onto the edges of the sink, hung my head, and let the regret pull me under.
Why did I always do this? Why did I purposefully hurt people? And why was it bothering me now? Pain was growing inside me like a weed. Ugly, twisted, the roots curling around whatever I let it touch. And I’d let that pain take root in someone else. Why? I couldn’t say. Maybe it was less lonely to know I wasn’t the only one hurting. He’d hurt me, so I wanted to hurt him.
I ripped off a few paper towels and mopped up my face before staggering out of the kitchen and collapsing onto the sofa. I threw an arm over my eyes to block out the sun that shined stupidly through the windows. Why hadn’t my roommates closed the blinds? Half the time they wandered into the apartment just as the sun was making its way across the kitchen. When I didn’t give them a ride from whatever hell hole they walked in to, that usually meant they were out until early morning. Carly and Jasmine were often loud and still inebriated at dawn, their legs unable to carry them to their respective beds. The sofas served more as beds than actual places to relax. It was usually why the sofa usually had a slight scent of booze.
I turned my face from the microfiber, gagging at the scent of stale, sweet-smelling vodka. As if I’d dreamt it, I heard the key being jammed into the lock on the apartment door, and high pitched giggles interrupting the calm of the morning.
“Which way does it turn?” The voice was loud and felt abusive to the air around me. Like the sound of a cymbal clapping in my ear. The giggles erupted again and I heard the sound of something falling in the hallway. Judging by the sounds of clattering, I’d guessed it was a purse. I heard, “Shit!” yelled in between laughter and the sound of something heavy collapsing against the door.
I knew my roommates well, better than they knew me. After all, my favorite hobby was observing other people. I didn’t engage in reckless behavior – my incident with Everett not included – I didn’t do anything that was fun but also dangerous. I didn’t just toe the line of caution. I hid under it.
So when my roommates fell into the door while it swung open I just watched. I’m sure some would see my behavior as odd, bordering on creepy, but I was fascinated by human nature. And my current view featured lots of legs and wild hair.
Jasmine caught my eye first. She towered on her hot pink heels. Her white shorts were short enough to be seen as beach wear – at least for me – and covered in stains. Her pink and white sequined tank hung off of her like it had been stretched within an inch of its life and finally gave up. Her bright white teeth flashed against her tan skin as she fell onto the floor on her back, heels cracking against the wood floor. Her long blonde hair was a mess of tangles all around her. I barely made out the sparkle of a tiara that was worn haphazardly in the giant mane of hair.
Carly was doubled over, holding her stomach as the laughs rolled off of her body. She flung her purse on the floor as she laughed so hard I half expected her stomach to slide out of her mouth and onto the floor. Where Jasmine was my polar opposite in personality, Carly was the in-between. Her current outfit of flip flops and jeans were something I would have chosen myself, more for comfort than style. But Carly compromised with Jasmine on the top – a deep v-neck tee that was orange. Not the kind of orange you’d see in the produce section, but more like in the tropics. It too was covered in stains.
I watched them quietly from the couch until Jasmine rolled onto her stomach and pushed the hair from her face when she spotted me. She squinted at me and propped herself up on h
er elbows. “What’s wrong with you?” she slurred. She looked like a drunk princess, with the tiara crooked on her head and her makeup smeared.
I wrinkled my forehead in confusion. I was lying on the couch like a normal person while she looked like she’d been dumpster diving, and there was something wrong with me?
Before I could answer, Carly turned her attention towards me and cocked her head to the side. “Are you okay?” she asked, walking closer to me. It was then that I remembered the tears that had come on so suddenly. Self-consciously I turned my face away from her scrutiny.
“I bet she stayed up all night studying instead of partying with us, Car,” Jasmine said, dismissing me instantly. I’d never been more thankful for her incorrect assumptions. Jasmine groaned and placed her hands on the ground as she pushed herself to standing. She wobbled a bit before grasping the column that separated the dining area from the kitchen and pulled her shoes off. “I’m surprised I didn’t ruin these,” she said loudly.
Carly collapsed on the end of the couch, just next to my feet and let her head fall back against the cushion. “That was so fun,” she said, eyes closed. I watched her lips tilt up in a small smile. She sighed.
Jasmine wobbled into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “Here, Car,” she said, grabbing a bottle of orange juice. “Drink this.”
It was my bottle of orange juice. And instead of pouring the juice into glasses like a civilized human, Jasmine lifted the bottle as if she was going to drink directly from the opening.
“Hey,” I barked, relaxing into the annoyance I felt. I embraced the annoyance. “That’s mine. If you want some, ask. And if I say yes, use a glass.”
There was complete silence. I looked at Carly who was staring at me like I had multiple heads attached to my body.
“You grew some balls, Park?” Jasmine asked, holding the jug of orange juice halfway to her mouth.
I was normally closed off, avoided confrontation like the plague. And yet, I’d just told Jasmine off for the first time since I’d met her.
Ten Below Zero Page 7
