by Rachel Leigh
His eyes find mine, as I get closer. “Party tonight?” I ask him, as he stands there with the ax hanging at his side. He uses his free forearm to wipe the sweat from his face, leaving behind a trail of dirt. He doesn’t even mind that he’s filthy and sweaty. Why would he? It’s not like I am anyone who he would ever try to impress. Yet, here I am, finding myself wanting to affect him. It’s so wrong, but no one needs to know but me. If I ever shared my thoughts of Knox with another soul, I’d be considered a predator.
“Nah, just taking care of some of this wood.”
“Doesn’t Blakely have people who do that for her?” I know she does. I see them out here all the time, keeping the yard completely free of twigs or anything else that makes its way into the perfectly landscaped yard.
“Yeah, but I asked her to save this for me, so I could burn it. Figured if I didn’t get it out of here, sooner or later, someone else would.” He steps closer, looking down at my rainbow-colored skin. “What are you up tonight? Painting?”
I rub my arm, completely forgetting that my body looks like an abstract painting.
“A little bit.” I look back at him and see his smile. He is always so happy. Even when there is nothing to be happy about. Like, right now, he’s splitting wood in the dry heat, and he doesn’t complain.
He tosses the ax to the side, and it sticks perfectly into a piece of wood, then goes to speak, but I cut him off, “I should go.”
“Why did you come out here?” He surprises me with his words.
“I, umm.” I press my lips together and search for the words. “I really don’t know.” It’s the truth. I have no fricken idea why I am standing here right now, and I’m feeling pretty stupid for it.
“I’m glad you are. But, if you walked all those hundred yards, shouldn't we at least have a drink?”
“You’re only eighteen. Besides, don’t you have better things to do than split wood in the dark and have a drink with your teacher on a Saturday night?”
“Splitting wood is therapeutic, and age is just a number, isn’t it?
“Not in the eyes of the law, and you don’t come off as someone who needs therapy.”
He takes another step toward me, and I step back away from the bright light and into the darkness. His body’s close enough to still make out every perfected inch.
My stomach ties up knots, and that unwanted giddiness returns. “One drink,” I say, ignoring the voice in my head that tells me to walk away. The one that reminds me that he is too young—for me, and for a drink.
I look over at his house in the distance and see Val walk past the kitchen window. She doesn’t spot us, but it’s a reminder that no matter how much I want Knox to be a man, he’s just a boy.
“One drink sounds good to me.” He stands firmly in place. His hands at his sides.
“My house?”
“Nah, Blakely has the good stuff. You said one drink, might as well make it a drink to remember.”
He doesn’t know that I’ve already tapped into her wine cabinet. I should feel guilty, but for some reason, I don’t. I’m not sure if it’s because I know that everything she owns was given to her, or if it’s because I’ve started to lose the ability to feel. I need someone or something to show me how to feel again. To love again. To fall in love with life again.
I follow behind Knox, looking over at his house and behind me, just to be sure no one sees us.
He steps to the side so that I can enter the house then slides the door closed behind us. The mess on the counter from last night has been cleaned up. Everything sits perfectly in place. You’d never guess that a drunkard was in here, raiding the cupboards the night before. You’d also never guess that a nosey neighbor was in here, shuffling through the closets and drinking the most expensive wine in the wine cooler.
“You clean up well.” I trace my finger over the countertop and point my finger to show that not a single crumb was left behind.
“I can’t take credit for that.” Knox pulls open the door of the refrigerator. “Esme stopped by shortly after you left. Cooked me a five course breakfast and cleaned up the house.” He pulls out a couple bottles of beer, handing one to me. I take it from him but contemplate whether I really want to do this. Having a drink with Knox is highly inappropriate. Then again, I’m not exactly the queen of good choices.
He twists the top off his beer and tosses it on the counter.
I tsk at his behavior, grabbing the metal top and pressing my foot down on the garbage can. “Watch how easy this is.” I toss the top in and smirk.
He grabs my beer from my hand and pops the top on it, throwing it in the garbage before the lid’s closed, then hands it back to me. “Better?”
“Much.”
I guess the decision has been made.
“Would you mind if I clean up really quick? Won’t take me long.” He takes a long swig of his beer.
“Have at it. I’ll just sit here, nursing this.” I hold my beer up.
Once he’s gone, I take a sip, swallowing down any negative feelings that are creeping up on me. It’s just a drink. Knox might be underage, but he’s more mature than most guys his age. He works. He’s home on a Saturday night, which is actually very odd for him. Not to mention, he is a straight-A student, who is going places after graduation.
It’s fine. This is fine.
Before I even realize it, I’ve already finished the entire bottle. I don’t drink beer often. Malcolm always frowned upon women drinking beer, said it was a man’s drink. Women needed something fancy in their hands, something that didn’t make them look like they just stepped out of a bar, another thing he frowned upon—married women going to bars.
It’s crazy how much I missed out on in the last five years because I chose to be the wife of a narcissistic millionaire whose most prized possessions are the women who he owns.
“Jorge, I don’t think I can do this. Do I look okay?”
I run my fingers down the shiny red gown, pressing my fingers to my lips, to see if the matching lip stain is still intact.
“You look absolutely stunning. These girls have nothing on you. Mr. Lavigne is a lucky man to have your company this evening.”
“What if I make a mistake? Mr. Rossi will be so upset.”
Jorge takes my hand in his. “You were the highest bid for a reason, love. They all want you. Only you.”
In one swift motion, I sweep the counter with my arm, as rage ensues, not even realizing what I’ve done until the bottle crashes into the front of the oven door. Brown pieces of broken glass scatter at my feet.
Knox comes running into the kitchen, one arm still hanging free from his white t-shirt. “What happened? You ok?” He looks down at the destroyed bottle.
“I’m so sorry. I’m such a clutz. I bumped it with my elbow and the thing went flying.” I bend over and begin picking up the larger chunks, tossing them in the trash can.
“Here, let me help.” He squats down at my side. The dampness still on his skin from his shower. The scent of cedar and jasmine fill my senses, and I catch myself watching him— inhaling him from afar, instead of helping with the glass.
I jerk my gaze away quickly and pick up a tiny shard of glass. “Ouch.” I shriek in pain, yanking my hand back. A bead of blood pools on the surface where my skin was punctured, a tiny sliver of brown sticking out of it.
“Oh shit.” Knox jumps up so fast that you’d think I just cut my finger off. He pulls open a drawer and takes a stack of, once neatly, folded towels. Grabbing one, he rushes to the sink and runs it under water then returns to my side.
“It’s ok.” I laugh. “It's just a little cut.” I use the fingernails of my thumb and index finger to pluck the tiny piece of glass out and reach over to drop it in the trash can. Knox grabs my hand, pulling it close to him, and presses the cold towel on it.
“I’m ok. Really,” I assure him. His hands are still pressed firmly against the towel.
“You sure?” he questions with sincerity. I look up and our
eyes catch, and for a moment, I’m mesmerized. Lost in them. Seeing something more than just a boy, I see a man.
I break away, the gaze and my hand, using my free hand to apply pressure. “Absolutely sure. Thank you for this.” I raise the towel. “It’s just a little puncture of the skin. I think I’m going to survive.”
“There are band aids in the top drawer of the bathroom on the right.” He points down the hallway. “I’ll get this cleaned up.”
I nod my head and stand up. I pull the towel away, and the cut is barely even noticeable. Just a ring of blood around it, blending with the array of colors on my fingers.
After I’ve scrubbed the paint off my hands and arms, I look in the mirror and notice a long streak of yellow paint, sweeping across my left cheek, stopping in the middle of my nose. “Oh my god,” I mumble under my breath. I grab the towel and use the clean side to dab at the paint smear. This whole time I’ve been wearing a sunbeam on my face. I want to cry in embarrassment but laugh at the same time. Every encounter I’ve had with Knox has been a disaster.
I toss the towel into the sink and press my palms against the marbled vanity, looking closely at my reflection to be sure that I got it all. I look directly into my eyes and want to scream at the girl looking back at me. I want to shake her and tell her to get her shit together. To tell her to quit being so damn scared all the time. Scared to live. Scared to fail. Scared to succeed. I want to tell her to do what needs to be done: put Malcolm away, so he can’t touch you. Find your dad and get closure. Put the pain of the past where it belongs, so that a future is possible.
I pull away and push those thoughts down. Because this girl who appears to be strong is nothing but a weak and broken soul. One with a future that leads down a dark path back into the arms of a monster.
11
Knox
I sweep up the remaining pieces of glass, pretty sure that I got them all. Ms. Hyland rounds the corner, and I smile when I see that she caught the paint on her face. I could have told her, but I thought it was too damn cute to wash off. It was a nice reminder that she is human and makes mistakes just like the rest of us.
My eyes find her finger, wrapped up in a small band aid. “Better?”
She presses her lips together to refrain from laughing. “It was no big deal. Like I said, just a small cut.”
I may have overreacted, and it wasn’t the blood that got me. It was her pain. Even if it was small, it was there, and I didn’t like it.
“Thanks for cleaning this up. I can’t believe I was so clumsy.”
“Don’t even worry about it. You’d be surprised at how many bottles I've broken in my short life.” I sweep off the dustpan with the brush and set them on the countertop. “I know the deal was one drink, but that hardly qualifies.”
“Actually, I should probably get going. It’s getting late.”
“What?” I draw out, “No. Come on, don’t leave me hanging alone on a Saturday night.”
“Trust me, you’re in better company alone than you are with me. I’m not much fun.” She leans over the counter, pressing her elbows down and resting her chin in her hands.
“I happen to enjoy your company. So, humor me. Stick around a little bit.”
She takes a moment to think, her lips pressed in a firm line. “Ok, a little bit longer.”
“Yes.” I make a fist and tug my arm back. I open the refrigerator and grab a couple more beers.
“No more beer for me, though. It’s obvious what happens when I drink.” She holds her finger up and grins. “I’ll just have a glass of water.”
I open up the glass china cabinet and pull out a stemmed glass and fill it with ice and water for her and we walk into the living room. She stops in the entryway, and I know exactly what’s going through her mind. I imagine her standing there in her silk gown, naturally beautiful and tempting.
I can see the color rise in her cheeks, and I know she’s remembering what happened, and the feel of my touch, as I watched goosebumps trail her arms with each stroke against her skin.
“This way.” I nod my head toward the other living room. One that has a television. She follows behind in tense steps. Hopefully, not regretting her decision. We walk into the room that has a large suede sectional couch, a wall size television with a fireplace in the corner. A full size bar with a wine chiller is in the opposite corner, and the room has a killer surround system.
I grab the remote and flip through the channels, stopping on Big Bang Theory. She walks over, taking a seat on the couch. Her legs bent directly in front of her and her back as straight as a board.
“How about a glass of wine? You seem tense.”
“Are you sure all of this is ok? It doesn’t seem right that we’re invading Ms. Porter’s house like this.”
“Is that the problem?” I laugh. “Listen, Blakely is my best friend in the world. I practically live here when she’s not home. She knows this. Hell, I even have a closet full of clothes upstairs.” I pull at my fresh pressed white t-shirt to show that I do, in fact, have extra clothes here.
It’s true. Ever since her parents moved to God knows where, I’m here all the time on the weekends. Mom even knows where to find me if I’m not at home or with the boys. This is like my second home. It works out great because it gives me an escape and gives Blakely some company, while Jasper is away.
“Come with me.” I take her hand and pull her up, grabbing her ice water. I lead the way over to the bar and dump the water down the small built-in sink. “Red or white?”
“Red, please.”
I open the chiller and pull out two bottles, holding both up. She points to the sweet stuff. Once I have the top popped, I pour a glass and watch as she takes her first sip, hoping for a smile, or any reaction that says she’s not being held here against her will.
“What?” She scoffs with a pinched mouth on the rim of the glass, as she tips it back.
“Just making sure it's to your liking.”
She brings the glass down. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Good.” I walk back to the couch and plop down comfortably. I grab my beer in the cupholder and take a swig. “So, tell me about yourself.” I say, as she takes a seat on the opposite end.
“What do you wanna know?” She turns toward me, tucking one leg underneath the other. Finally taking on a non-robotic form.
“Everything.”
She looks down at her legs, as I begin tracing my finger on her calf. “There isn’t much to know, really. I moved here a few months ago to take this position, and here I am.”
“Come on, Claire.” Her eyes shoot up at the use of her first name. “Do you mind if I call you, Claire? I mean after all,” I hold up my beer and look toward the glass in her hand, “I think we’ve moved past Ms. Hyland.”
“I suppose I’ll let it slide. But, come Monday morning, I’m Ms. Hyland again.” She teases, tipping her glass back and taking a long swallow, as she continues to watch me, sending a flirtatious vibe that I’m totally digging.
I slide down a little closer and watch, as she tenses up again, but instead of moving away, she slides closer.
What feels like minutes, turns into hours, as we sit here stone cold sober talking about life, school, our disgust for half of the human race. She seems to have let her guard down slightly and is making an attempt at getting comfortable around me. The more time I spend with her, the more time I want. She’s smart, she’s intriguing, and she’s actually pretty funny. I think what draws me in the most is that she’s mysterious. There is something about her that has me wanting to know it all. Anytime I ask her about her past, she quickly changes the subject.
I return from using the bathroom and find her laying down on the couch, her legs straight out in front of her and her arms crossed over her chest, as she stares up at the vaulted ceiling.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I ask, picking up her legs and taking a seat, letting them fall back on top of me.
“Why are you hanging out with me at,” she
grabs her phone by her side, ‘three o’clock in the morning on Saturday night, or Sunday morning?” She scoots herself up, leaving her legs thrown over mine.
“I went out for a while. Got bored and came home. You happened to find your way over, and here we are.”
It’s the truth, sort of. I was at the fight. After watching Dane and Marco, I wasn’t feeling it anymore, so I left. I twiddled my thumbs for a little bit at home, then looked out my window and saw her light on. I had to think of a way to get her attention without being forward, so I started splitting wood. Sure enough, it worked.
“Regrets?” I ask.
She pierces her lips together, then shakes her head. “No, not at all.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask whatever you want, it doesn’t mean that I’ll answer,” she deadpans.
This girl reminds me so much of Blakely that it isn’t funny. She doesn’t put on a show to make others like her. Doesn’t take shit from anyone, and doesn’t do anything that she doesn’t want to do.
“Why do you always look so sad?” I put my hand on her leg and begin to gently massage her lower thigh. She watches each movement with lust filled eyes.
“I guess I haven’t found anything here to make me feel otherwise.” Her eyes stay glued to my hand, until she lifts her gaze. Meeting mine. It’s taking everything in me not to throw myself on top of her right now. I may not be as experienced as someone her age might want, but I’ve got experience, and I definitely have the ability to make her feel something.
“What about right now? What are you feeling?” I inch my hand up slowly, working my way up her thigh.
“I’m feeling like this is a bad idea.”
My heart beats rapidly in my chest, and if I keep going with this, she’s going to feel something growing rapidly into her leg. “Then why aren’t you stopping me.” I slide my hand up further in a massaging motion, as my fingers brush against the bottom of her shorts.
