Othello Station

by Rachael Wade

  Her eyes slowly peel open and settle on me like stone. A beat passes. “Yeah. I do.”

  “So why let any of this hold you back anymore? Why let this home,” I wave at it, grinding my jaw, “which is nothing but a stone fortress that houses a man who doesn’t deserve a second more of your time, keep you from this island? Why let it keep you from anything? Don’t give it anymore power, Mira. Tell it to fuck off.”

  “I want to,” she whispers, her bottom lip trembling as her eyes turn glassy.

  I step closer, unable to look away. My eyes burn with fervor as hers burn with tears. “Take back the reins.”

  My words, the fire in my gaze, and the gnawing desire buried deep inside her own chest send her snapping forward, away from the tree, away from the shadows, and out into the street. Her arm flies back with determination, and she chucks the first egg. The pitch is sharp and swift, and it smacks the front window with a heavy crack. She spins around and hauls ass for the carton, digging more eggs out. I hand her the one I’ve been holding, watching in shock as the monster in her—the one I taunted, the one I wanted to see—takes over.

  She silently stalks forward and chucks another, then another, each pitch harder, with more bite in the swing. The monster consumes her more and more with each throw. Each time she turns up empty, she returns and yanks more eggs from the hefty carton. Good thing I bought the two-dozen pack. I’m beginning to wonder if I should’ve gone for the forty-eight, now that I see her fury unleashed. I entertain the idea of joining her for a second, but as quickly as the eggs are disappearing, the last thing I want is to steal her thunder. Or lightning. Or however the fuck the saying goes.

  I’m beyond absorbed, watching Mira work out her demons like a true elementary school student, but I keep a vigilant eye on our surroundings to make sure no one witnesses the carnage. Mira manages to get another fistful of egg throws in before a shiny, silver Mercedes appears from around the corner, at the end of the road.

  “Shit,” Mira catches a glimpse of the car and runs toward me, tossing what’s left of the eggs into the plastic bag. “That’s him.” She yanks my sleeve and darts in the other direction, carving the path for a sloppy escape through a neighbor’s garden. Dogs bark and leaves rustle around our feet as we trample roses, cutting through the garden to the back yard. I’m expecting Mira to sound panicked, to see the worry on her face. But as she glances over her shoulder to make sure I’m on her tail, she’s smiling and laughing, with a spark in her eyes that’s downright sexy. She’s having a grand old time, and I’m suddenly damn proud of myself.

  “Keep going!” I shove her forward, steadying her balance by planting my hands on her hips, and she bursts into another fit of giggles as she leads me out of the back yard and onto another street. A few seconds pass and she slows, working to catch her breath.

  “We’re safe,” she pants, leaning on her knees for a moment. “That was perfect. Kinda wish I could’ve seen his face, though.”

  I come to a halt next to her, lifting the plastic bag in the air. “Well, we have enough left over for breakfast tomorrow,” I say, voice winded. “You’re a cheap date. We should do this more often.”

  “You said this wasn’t a date.” She smacks the bag with her knuckles. “And when did I say I’m having breakfast with you tomorrow?”

  “I’m telling you. Right now. You are.”

  “Getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you? We haven’t even had dinner yet.”

  “You want dinner now?” I straighten up, rolling my shoulder out.

  “Maybe.”

  “You really just want red velvet cake, don’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Come on, then. Let’s go see what we can find, before the stores close up for the night.” I mosey up to her and extend an arm, inviting her to link mine with hers. She accepts and we begin our mission to find the perfect slice of red velvet cake. The sun has set, the cold has turned bitter, and my perfect day with Mira is almost over.

  ***

  The smell of coffee awakens my senses. I roll over and search for her, my white dove. I’m met with nothing but a heap of blankets. I pull myself up, still unable to open my eyes. The coffee’s aroma teases me, calling me from bed. I rise up like the Frankenstein monster I am and shuffle blindly into Mira’s kitchen. It’s only then, when I hear her voice, that my eyes crack open.

  “Well, good morning,” she giggles, glancing over her shoulder. She’s frying something on the stove, lifting a brow at me as I come up behind her. I latch onto her like a stuffed animal, dropping my forehead to the back of her shoulder. “You look like a fussy child. Did someone forget to take their happy pill?”

  “I’m very happy,” I grumble against her skin, kissing, then nibbling on her shoulder. My hands slide down to her hips and I press my erection against her ass. “Come back to bed.”

  “I’m making breakfast.”

  “Breakfast after.”

  “Grant, I’m still torn up from last night. Have you seen this?” She pulls her hair to the side, revealing her shoulders and the five bite marks I left on her throughout the night. They’re beginning to bruise. We didn’t sleep much. “You’re a barbarian!”

  “You loved every second of it,” I mumble, placing a kiss on each mark. My eyes drop down her body. I cannot keep from touching her. A baggy grey sweater hangs loosely over her frame, revealing the perfect portion of creamy, silky skin. Her back and shoulders are exposed, as is the top of her chest, and her bare legs are begging for me to grope every inch of them.

  “Ugh. You’re so in love with yourself.” She jabs me and rolls her eyes. “I’m not getting back in that bed with you until I’ve had breakfast. I’m starving. Here.” She juts her chin at the coffee pot. “Pour us some and I’ll get the plates.”

  “Fine,” I pout, like the grown man I am, and mosey over to collect the coffee pot. I pour us both a cup, leaving mine black. Mira loads hers up with cream and then hands me a plate. I’m surprised to find wheat toast and eggs over easy. “I’m shocked. More than just carrots and kale in the fridge, ay?”

  “I know. I went all out at the grocery store this morning. You were passed out cold.”

  “Must have been my tough workout last night.”

  Mira leans against the counter and brings a plate of her own to her chest, picking at her eggs. We stand there quietly, enjoying our breakfast. “So, I was thinking.”

  “About?”

  “How it’s your turn.”

  “My turn for what?”

  “Your turn to tell me something.”

  I hold up my fork. “Nope, not yet.”

  “What? How do you figure that?”

  “Because you never finished telling me about your history with the asshole on Bainbridge.”

  “There’s nothing more to tell.”

  “If you want to hear some of my baggage, then you have to finish telling me yours. A deal is a deal.”

  Mira reaches behind her to pick up her coffee. “What else do you want to know?”

  “How did you meet that winner, anyway?”

  “Oh, you know how the story goes,” she drawls, taking a little sip of caffeine. “Sad, lonely, new girl in town wanders into the first neighborhood pub she sees and falls for the first guy to throw her a compliment.”

  “A moment of weakness?”

  “An epic moment of weakness,” she corrects me, setting the coffee back down to return to her plate.

  “We’re all entitled to them once in a while. We can’t get things right all the time.” Acid churns in my stomach, telling me to eat my own words. I swallow hard, forcing down a bite of toast.

  “Yeah, well.”

  “Why were you sad and lonely in the first place? When you first moved to town, I mean.”

  “I was just…lost. I left everything I knew in Portland. I had to, or it would’ve killed me.” She shovels another bite of eggs into her mouth and lets them sit there. She’s having trouble getting food down now, too. Maybe this isn�
�t the best conversation to be having over breakfast. Still, I wait. I’m intrigued. I want to know what brought this dove to town and into my arms. I want to know everything.

  I set my plate on the counter. The sourness in my stomach is winning out.

  “Leaving Portland was supposed to be a positive thing,” she continues, after forcing the eggs down. “And it was, at first. Until I got involved with him. Right away, he wanted to buy me things, wanted to spoil me—and I let him. He set me up in an apartment on the island. Said he hated the thought of me being in the city. He wanted me close by, so he could see me whenever he wanted. I’d never experienced that kind of luxury in my life. It was overwhelming.” Her head lowers as she shakes it in disgust. Disappointment washes her face. “It didn’t take long for me to realize how stupid I’d been.”

  “He kept you like a pet.”

  She sets her plate down, too, sighing heavily. “I really don’t want to talk about this. It’s over. That’s all you need to know. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Okay.” I reach out and run my fingers over her knuckles as they grip the edge of the counter.

  She breathes deeply and lifts her head. “So. Your turn?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me more about your dad.”

  The acid churning in my stomach intensifies. There’s a sour taste in my throat, now, matching the bitterness stewing in my gut. This is definitely the wrong conversation to be having right now. What was I thinking, agreeing to this? I stutter, trying like hell to backtrack somehow. “He passed away. It was awful, obviously. That’s all there is to know.”

  “What was he like? Was he like you?”

  “No.” The word comes out sharp as a guillotine. “He was better. Much better.” My eyes harden, focusing on the windows in the bedroom. Mira seems to notice the distance that blooms there, following my gaze outside, where the comforting blanket of grey covers the city below.

  “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “We don’t have to talk about this, either.”

  “Good.” I snap out of the haze and gulp down some coffee, turning to place our plates in the sink. “You work today, right?”

  Mira blinks, hesitating at the abrupt change in subject. “Oh, um…yeah. I do. Not until later this afternoon. I have the evening shift.”

  “I think I’m going to go for a run and then get back to the hotel. I have some work to get done.” I turn on the faucet, pouring some dish soap onto the sponge. I start washing the plates, scrubbing them quickly. Not only do I have work to get done, I need to get to my vitamins. And my blood pressure cuff. I haven’t logged my numbers in days.

  “Oh, okay. Well, we still have most of the day off. We could hang out until I have to go in for my shift, if you want.” Her shoulders go stiff as she stands by the sink, watching me clean the dishes. I scrub and scrub, determined to make the plates spotless. “How about we go to your place for a change?” My fingers fumble over the sponge, dropping it in the sudsy sink water. My jaw clenches and I forget to breathe.

  “My place? Why?”

  Mira’s body goes from tense to completely still. She opens her mouth to speak, but it takes a second for her to find her words. “I don’t know, I’d just like to see it?”

  “Your place is closer to the hotel. No use in going over to my part of town today.”

  “I just thought we could do something different, that’s all. If you don’t want me at your place, that’s fine.” She clears her throat and finally moves, turning for the bedroom.

  My hand catches hers, grabbing her softly by the wrist. The words come up dry, escaping the sour bile in my throat that threatens to kill them dead. I don’t know why I’m saying this. I don’t know what I’m doing, at all. I only know I don’t want her to go. And I definitely don’t want to hurt her. I cannot hurt this dove. I just can’t. “I want you at my place.”

  “Grant, it’s okay. You don’t have to—”

  “I want you at my place,” I repeat. My tone is curt, less patient than I’d hoped, but I get her attention and that’s the most important thing. “We just can’t stay long, okay? I really do have to get back to the hotel because all of my things are there and I have a project I have to get started on.”

  “Okay…” Mira eyes me cautiously, then drops her gaze to our hands. She studies the connection for a moment, watches as I rub circles into her wrist. “That’s fine. I’ll go get ready.”

  “I’m going to finish these.” I nod to the dishes and gently release her wrist, reaching over to kiss her forehead. She allows me to kiss her, but she’s still tense. Still uncertain. Her guard is back up, and it’s all my fault. I put it there. Just after I’d helped bring it down a little.

  She wanders into the bathroom and I release a deep sigh as I resume washing the dishes, drying them to perfection. I return to my coffee, sipping it slowly, wondering how I’m going to make it through this one. It’s time for me to walk the walk, just as I encouraged Mira to. But I’m not ready.

  I’m not sure I’ll ever be.

  ***

  My heart is in my throat. I don’t know what I’m doing on this train. I glance down, where Mira’s hand is linked with mine.

  And I remember.

  I’m on this train to make this girl happy. Everything about this picture makes absolutely zero fucking sense. And yet here I am on the Lightrail, with this stupid swelling sensation in my chest while this girl holds my hand. It slipped into mine easily—too easily—as we boarded. I’m counting down the stops, now. Othello is getting close.

  “You okay?” Mira looks up at me, eyes wide and curious. I don’t have a clue how to answer that. What a loaded question.

  “Yeah, why?”

  She shrugs. “You’re miles away.”

  “Just starting to get tired. Been a long day.”

  “We can take an old-man nap at your place if you want.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  “Nah. Me, you, and a bed sounds heavenly right now.” She sighs and it turns into a yawn, resting her head on my arm. I want to turn and pull her closer, press her against my chest, but I don’t. I’m far too uneasy about bringing this girl to my place. Add to that the fact that I cannot, for the life of me, place why that desire is there in the first place. She’s just a girl. A pretty receptionist with weird hobbies and an even stranger dedication to her work place.

  Nothing about Mira suits me. She isn’t my type. She’s got far too much sunshine for my liking. And really. She’s a groupie who rummages thrift shops in the middle of the night. The girls I usually fuck get their nails done and go to tanning salons. Their biggest aspiration is to look like the next celebrity dingbat to grace the covers of those trashy entertainment magazines.

  The Lightrail announces the Othello Station stop. My fingers drum softly on my pant leg as I ready myself to exit the train doors. Mira stands next to me, quiet and stoic. I’m not worried about her seeing my place. I don’t have laundry all over the bed. There are no condom wrappers littering the floor or unwashed dishes in the sink. My place is spotless. Always. Everything is concealed, no baggage visible to the human eye. But I know what awaits me on the inside. And the girl standing next to me is far more perceptive than any other girl I’ve ever brought to my place. Not that I’ve brought many to my place. I usually go to them. And then I’m gone. My apartment is my haven. A sacred place. I don’t play in my own backyard. Especially now.

  “Grant?” Mira’s voice calls to me as the train doors slide open. “You coming?”

  I blink and break myself from my thoughts, stepping out into the damp air to join her. “Yeah.” She lets me carve the path toward the apartment building, following me as I cross the street. She looks around in admiration as we enter the building. It’s a far cry from her building’s vintage charm. Everything about this place is clean, sleek, and modern. It’s a chic, urban oasis in the midst of the city’s hustle and bustle. “Let’s take the stairs,” I say, pointing as I pass right by the ele
vator. “This thing takes forever.” She nods and continues to follow me. I lead her up four flights of stairs until we reach my door.

  The moment I crack it open, a breath escapes the apartment like a tomb exhaling for the very first time. It’s only been a few days since I’ve stepped foot inside, but it feels as if ages have passed since I crossed the threshold. I’m instantly quietly as I enter, and Mira follows suit, wordlessly padding into the apartment behind me.

  “Well, this is it,” I finally say, eyeing the space for anything that might be out of place. I never miss a thing. Just as I thought, everything is perfect. “Not much to it.”

  “It’s so…” Mira gawks, turning slowly in a circle.

  “Tidy?”

  “Sterile.” She lifts a hand to touch the shiny, marble kitchen counter.

  “I keep things clean.”

  “You mean, your maid does, right?”

  “Marsha. She’s the best housekeeper in town.” She’s also great in the fucking sack, but that ship has definitely sailed.

  Mira’s mouth finally closes. She continues to take in the space, wandering from one corner of the apartment to the other. She looks at my living room as if it’s an ancient artifact. “I’m not sure if I should sit down or not. Should I?”

  “Why shouldn’t you?”

  “I’m afraid to touch anything. It’s like… a museum. I might break something important.”

  “You’re being dramatic.” I roll my eyes and nod to the black leather couch. “Have a seat. Want something to drink?”

  “Sure.” She gingerly sits on the couch, her knees closed tightly as she rests her hands on her lap. She’s poised to perfection, and entirely too fucking uncomfortable.

  “Mira. Relax, will you?” I’m officially the biggest hypocrite on the goddamn planet right now.

  “I’m trying!”

  “Well, try harder. Turn on the TV if you want.” I watch her as her eyes drop to the remote on the coffee table. She stares down at it like it’s glass. “Fine. I’ll do it. Hold on.” I move to the kitchen, catching my reflection in the stainless steel of the refrigerator. Flashes of my face that day, the day my mother called me, pound my mind. The memories swamp me, full of visions of me, curling up in the fetal position here on the kitchen floor, like the weak, spineless man I am.