17. In the Thick of It
Idon’t know how long I’m outside—probably not long—when the back security door clangs against the concrete wall and hurried footsteps approach where I am curled up. The overhead flood light comes on and the brightness makes me feel physically and emotionally exposed. I scrub at my face, wiping away the tears, as Luke appears around the corner.
His voice cuts through the air. “What’s wrong?”
Standing quickly, I make a show of brushing off my pants. “Nothing. I thought you were gone.”
Frown lines deepen on his handsome face as he stares down at me. “Oh, so you’re just curled up in a ball outside the store for fun? Fuck, Carmella, I thought you were dead or something. Are you hurt?”
He’s changed into a white button-down with little cacti all over it and tan pants. His hair is slicked back and curls slightly at the ends. The gold jewelry is back. Relief that he’s still here and disappointment that he’s leaving flood me. It’s fine. I don’t want him to see how much of an idiot I am, anyway.
“No. I’m fine.”
Ducking my head so he doesn’t see my shame, I skirt around him. “I’m tired. I’m going to go inside and lie down. Have a good evening.”
Pulling open the back door, I head down the hallway and out onto the darkened show floor. Zigzagging my way amongst the many beds, I come to the one I call my own. It sits bare and white, similar to all the others except for the blue comforter rolled up and tucked away. I’m living in a furniture store and there isn’t a single person who gives a shit. The thought knocks loose and lands in the middle of my mind. A mockery of a home surrounds me. Fake kitchens and living rooms. Complete pieces that belong somewhere, but have nowhere, so they pretend to belong, just like me.
Somehow, comparing myself to standalone pieces of furniture is probably the saddest thing I’ve ever thought about next to being a Jane Doe on a cold metal slab. Also, a potentiality for my life. Wrapping myself up in the comforter, I flop face-first into the pillows I tossed on the mattress and drag the blanket over my head.
I’m a failure. A sharp stabbing pain eats away at my chest, making it feel as though it’s caving in. The tears come hot and quick as I give myself over to the grief.
Sobs muffled by the pillows consume me as the silence of the show floor settles around me. The bed shifts and squeaks. Freezing, I suck in a breath and hold it. Luke’s presence falls over me as the bed dips under his body weight. Releasing the deep gulp of air, I try to quiet the fit that grips me, but the pillow is smothering. Gasping, I turn my face to the side and curl into a ball.
“Talk to me.” His voice is soft, but not gentle.
Crying about Tommy to Luke after making such a fuss about having a boyfriend and needing my freedom or venting my thoughts about how I am a failure for living in a furniture store when it is, in fact, Luke’s home seems really shitty and ungrateful. The words bottle and stick in my throat.
Slowly, the blanket inches down. I don’t fight him as he pulls it from me. The look on Luke’s face is the darkest and calmest I’ve ever seen, and it’s not because of the shadows we sit in. The promise of violence and blood stirs in his expression. It chases away all his handsome charm and brightness. He looks every inch his thirty-four years, if not older. And meaner. Luke looks like someone I wouldn’t want showing up on my porch at night. The soft blue comforter slips lower, revealing my upper torso, before he drops it.
For the first time, I think back to what he said about being fifteen and on the streets, what those early years must have been like alone for him. I wonder if he felt much like I do now. Sometimes, the things he says resonate with me so intensely, like he understands even without me explaining. He must know then. I take in a shaky breath and pull myself up into a sitting position, wiping my face.
“I’m just an idiot. Okay?” I say. An idiot that might be in some real trouble here soon if the cops find me.
He raises an eyebrow. “No, not okay. You’re not explaining anything.”
I sigh, wrapping my arms around my chest and squishing myself, attempting to relieve the raw ache in my heart. “You’re right. Tommy doesn’t care about me.”
Sighing, Luke runs his hands through his hair. “Tell me what happened. Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s that?” He points to my arm.
There, under the maroon-colored straps of my shirt, purple bruises stain my skin. One is clearly the size of a fingerprint.
“Oh. We were fighting, and he grabbed me, but honestly, Luke, I’ve got bigger problems than Tommy right now, and I don’t think I can talk about all this.”
Frustration bubbles up and hot tears track down my face. The police are looking for me. Gloria. I’m going to end up in jail or back on the streets and no one can stop it. The desire to scream works itself up my chest. And behind that scream are all the things that I have left unsaid.
His eyes flash in the darkness as he shakes his head. “Why were you fighting? I need you to explain why you are so upset, caramel drop. I’m not going to let it go this time because I’ll make myself crazy wondering. Why did he grab you?” A box of tissues appears in my lap and for the life of me, I have no idea where Luke materialized it from.
I’m a shit person.The knowledge that I shouldn’t tell Luke about Tommy because it’s unfair is thick on my tongue, but also, he’s the only one I have to talk to now. I don’t want to carry all this shit alone. The world grows bleak when you survive without anyone who cares.
I word vomit on Luke, and it isn’t fucking pretty.
Starting at dinner, I bitch and moan over Tommy’s crap behavior and about how I had to listen to his utterly irrelevant bullshit when he knows my situation, and then how he made me pay. I skip the blow job portion—pretty certain Luke doesn’t want to hear that. I know I’m being a bitch, but the rage simmers again.
Tossing back the comforter, I wear a path in the carpet from pacing in front of Luke as the words spew from my lips about my aunt and her hatred for me. The lies she told the cops about the money and how I made her scared for her life. Fucking ha! All my fear and pain come hurtling toward the surface.
The only thing I could think to do was leave or kill myself because I couldn’t take being with her one more day, and now I’m going to go to jail for it. She has me cornered and I’m terrified.
I even tell Luke Tommy is taking Sarah “the whore”to a party tomorrow and how I’m supposed to be cool with it because he lied for me and didn’t tell the cops where I was. Well, guess what? I’m not fucking cool with any of this shit. It”s not that I’m jealous. I’m just furious that I didn’t catch on sooner. I finish by slapping my hands against my thighs. Tears coat my face and my chest heaves with the roller coaster of emotions. Just as quickly as the rage came on, it’s sucked out of me and my head drops.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, I realize what a hot mess I am. I must be the biggest red flag he’s ever encountered. For sure, he is going to kick me out now—no one wants to deal with this much of a mess. The sobbing starts back up again and I’m too kicked to pick up any of my pride as I stand before him. Desperation and insecurity rocket through me and my gaze searches for his. Dark eyes meet my blue ones. My nose runs and my lips are sticky and dry. “Am I really so awful that I’m this unlovable? What did I fucking do to deserve any of this?”
Luke’s face crumples as he shakes his head. Rapid breathing mixes with my hiccupping sniffles in the silence of my tirade. Standing, he reaches for me and tucks me into his arms. Soft fingers weave into my hair as Luke presses me into his chest. “You didn’t do anything to deserve this. You aren’t unlovable. There are a lot of shitty people in your life, and that’s not fair. I’m so very sorry.”
We are quiet for a long time as we stay locked in each other’s embrace, Luke’s warmth thawing the coldness that’s taken up residence in heart. I soak up every drop of his affection, letting it be a balm to my ragged emotions. His voice drags overhead. “Sooo, starting with the easiest problem. Your unofficial ex-boyfriend is a cheating drug dealer and you don’t want me to hurt him? Because I want to hurt him. In fact, it’d make me happy.”
I sniff and bury my face in his shirt, inhaling the scent of clean laundry, smoke, and lemon oil. “He sells weed and pills, so not like a real drug dealer, and no, it’s not worth you getting in trouble.”
Luke’s chin rests on my head. “Caramel drop, if you’re slinging pot and pills nowadays when everyone can get their cards or see a doctor, you’re a fucking wannabe. How old is this idiot, anyway?”
“Twenty-three.”
Luke sits down, coaxing me into his lap, where he once again wraps me in his arms. Tossing the blanket over us, he tips my face up to look at him. “Listen, you and me, we got the same problems. When you go so long without love, you believe bad things about yourself. The voices in your head tell you… all sorts of terrible shit. I battle those same demons. Neither one of us asked for it. Neither one of us deserved it when we were little. For what I’ve done with my life, I probably deserve it now, but you don’t.” I shake my head, wanting to argue with him.
“Shh, let me finish,” he demands, laying a finger over my open mouth. “I may be a nasty shit for brains, but any woman of mine is always going to have a roof over her, food to eat, and a safe place to rest. And any person I call a friend, which includes you, if they ever get into a tight spot, they can call me and I’ll come running. I made the choice to be a loyal friend, even when it sucks. If you won’t even try for the people you claim to care about, then as a person, what good are you really? Caramel drop, don’t go looking for stability in a good-time guy. You won’t find it and it will leave you empty.” He brushes his fingers across my cheek, wiping the escaping tear or two.
“You were a good-time guy, weren’t you?” I ask.
His eyes narrow on me. “What makes you think that?”
I snag the box of tissues and clean up my face. “No offense, Luke, but you look like the type of guy who would hook up with my friends.”
“No offense, sugar, but I might have fucked some of your shitty friends. You’ll have to introduce me to be sure.” His eyes crinkle as he winks at me. Charming. I lightly punch him in the stomach. His mouth curls up into one of his devastating smiles as he laughs. “You think I’m kidding, but I’m not. I used to get around.”
“Eww.”
Luke tips back his head in a full belly laugh. “You say eww now, but wait until you see how good my dick game is. You’ll be singing a different song.”
My face flushes with embarrassment and a dash of shame as my clit picks now to let herself be known with a warm tingle. I bite my lip and shake my head as laughter trickles from me, unbidden.
It’s cut short when another thought forms and apprehension swirls in my stomach. “There is something else I need to tell you. You could get in trouble messing around with me.”
He blows out a heavy breath. “I fucking knew it. You’re underage, aren’t you?”
“What? No. No, I wish. That would be easier to fix.”
“Well, that’s good. Except now I’m worried.” He draws out the word as his brow knits in confusion. “If this is about being arrested, I know it’s scary. But the best thing for you to do right now is make some money, get it put back, and lie low until you are ready to surrender. Then I’ll bail you out. Just keep your head down and power through. It’s your first offense as an adult, right?”
I nod.
He pats my leg and drops a light kiss on my lips, making them tingle to match my clit. “It will be alright,” he says.
I feel a flush of guilt for not telling him everything sooner. The desire to word vomit again rolls up. I fear that once I do, he’ll understand the overwhelming hopelessness of my situation and he’ll wash his hands of me.
“I’m under a conservatorship. The court awarded it to my aunt after I turned eighteen.”
There, I said it.The only thing worse than my aunt being a shitty person is the court-approved power she has over me. The reason I worry about being arrested, about her finding me, about not making it out of White Cove is because once I’m taken into custody, they will give me back to her if they don’t ship me off to some mental facility or prison.
Luke frowns at me and tips his head as the confusion grows. “What exactly does that mean?”
“It means that my aunt has control over my life even after I became a legal adult. I can’t work a job without her permission, and the money has to go to my care, a.k.a. her pocket. I can’t date unless she approves it. Can’t marry. Can’t have kids. Can’t live on my own, have my own bank account, or access to my own funds. No college. No future. She stole my life, and the court agreed with her.”
With every passing sentence, Luke’s face grows more horrified. “But how? She just holds you captive? How is that legal?”
I sigh. Exhaustion swamps me and my shoulders slump. “It’s a long story. Just know I tried to fight her. I had a lawyer, and she wasn’t even sure how we lost the case, but we did. My aunt had evidence proving I was mentally unstable, and they questioned my ability to care for myself.”
“You are perfectly capable, Carmella, and if the court can’t see that, then they are the mentally unstable ones. What in the actual fuck?” he snaps and squeezes my arm like he wants to strangle someone.
His outrage on my behalf is very sweet. My lips perk up in a halfhearted smile.
“Am I capable, though? Look at my life. I wound up here half because of Gloria and half because of my own stupid choices. My aunt”s lawyer was exceptional at painting a picture of a broken, emotionally disturbed girl suffering from her dead parents and foster care trauma. It also didn’t help that my aunt had all the police reports from every time we physically fought. She would pick a fight, but I would swing first. It took me a couple of times before I figured out her game.”
Luke’s eyes flash with the promise of murder and his body turns hard under me. “And that’s all it took for the court to say you couldn’t be responsible for your own life? If that’s the case, where’s my conservatorship?”
I flinch. “No.” Heaving a sigh, I scoot off his lap. Crossing the show floor, I flip on the light and return to the bed, sitting criss-cross next to him. “When I realized I couldn’t lash out, I started turning that pain inwards.”
I gesture to my wrist, and the faint silvery scar lines are barely visible. He grabs my arms and peers at them. “I can barely see them.”
“I know. I tan well and the cuts were never deep. I made sure I marked myself where people could see. I wanted someone to know I was hurting. Gloria found them and shipped me off for a week of inpatient care. She thought she was getting rid of me until they launched an investigation into my home life because of the things I told them. They couldn’t prove anything, which made me look like a liar, and Gloria brought me home.”
I hate this ugly bit of my history, how cringy and costly my childish emotion-fueled mistakes were. Picking at the blanket on the bed, I avoid Luke’s gaze. “Gloria laid off me for a time, but it always got worse so I’d cut again, show it to anyone who would listen, and end up in more rounds of inpatient care. Therapy and medication were shoved down my throat. Some of those pills and the rage I felt had me ranting like a crazy person about all these abuses I’d suffered but couldn’t prove. And this became the cycle for a while. That time in my life was dark. I went a little crazy for a couple years, being a kid still and trying to—I don’t know—get help… find my way… find love… get away from Gloria.”
Luke nods. “And I’m sure that police reports naming you the assailant when you and Gloria fought didn’t help convince anyone of your story.”
Humorless laughter falls from my lips. “It definitely made it easier to say I was crazy and detain me. My aunt filed to take control of me on the day I turned eighteen. While I was out having drinks with Tommy at the beach and talking about college, she had already put months into building a case against me with evidence that I gave her. So yeah, sometimes I wonder if I am actually able to care for myself.”
Fury burns in his eyes as he takes me in. “I got a lawyer friend. When you are ready to fight this, we can go see him.”
Blonde curls slip across my shoulder as I shake my head. “I don’t want to fight it. I already tried and lost. Luke, I can’t even pay another lawyer to pick up the case. All I want is to slip away and become someone else. What she has done now—making me a wanted felon… I’ll go to jail, and then some criminal ward for the mentally unstable. She’s robbed me of all peace and is trying to take my freedom.”
He nods. “You mentioned money. What money? Could you buy her off?”
I screw up my face, trying to remember. “Oh. Yeah. I have some inheritance that helped care for me after my parents died. My family’s lawyer oversaw it. The rest was supposed to go to me when I turned eighteen. My other lawyer tried to argue it was a money grab, but Gloria had receipts showing bills paid, clothes bought, and blah blah blah… basic care covered. I don’t even know how much is left, and it’s not like I can even touch it now.”
“Why not?”
“I was deemed unfit to care for myself. I’m not gonna get that money.” A humorless laugh falls from my mouth as a light bulb clicks on. “Ah, I get it now.”
Luke’s brow furrows. “What?”
“Without me in Gloria’s care, the payments from my inheritance should stop. No wonder she upgraded her report from missing person to missing money. Cops will stop looking for a missing person, but they never stop looking for a wanted felon.”
I’m so fucked.
“What do you want to do then, caramel drop? It’s your life.” He smooths my hair back from my face and the warmth from his hand feels like the sun shining on me. I should’ve known Luke would never turn me away.
My lips tip up in a wry smirk. What do I want to do?
Burying all the hard things that I don’t want to carry in Luke for a while seems like a nice thought. I’ll crawl up inside his world and pretend nothing else exists until I have to go. Pretend that everything is fine for a bit and let him take care of me the way he has been offering to. I know it’s running, but it’s all I got and it won’t be for long. Plus, Luke has been offering me a ticket to pound town since I broke in. Pound town? Jeez, I think this guy is rubbing off on me.
“I think I want to watch some TV or a movie. Is it okay if I watch in your room while you’re gone?”
Luke simultaneously rolls his eyes and scoffs, “Like I’d actually leave you now. Come on, we will have a drink and watch something.”
“I don’t want to take over your entire night with my problems.” I stand up, hugging the comforter around me.
Rising with me, he says, “Carmella, I don’t do things I don’t want to do.” Strong arms snake around me as he kisses my lips firmly. This time, there are no roadblocks in me reciprocating. No need to run. I open my mouth and let him deepen the kiss. The motion of his mouth against mine fades away as I bask in the closeness and steady heartbeat under my palm. This isn’t a kiss of grand passion or a prelude to sex, but it leaves me breathless. The message he delivers to me when we break apart is clear. I’m not alone.
The body lies whitish blue and stiff on the table. Her eyes are milky and clouded. The mortician slices into her chest as her tits jiggle in an unnatural, dead way. The eerie silence of the scene has me totally weirded out and leaning away from the TV screen, especially when the mortician”s fingers brush over the dead girl’s nipples and he moans.
My mouth turns down and my stomach screams “ick” as his hands continue their exploration downwards to her pubic area and his breath hitches as he pants. Ooohh, no. I’m going to have fucking nightmares.
“What the fuck is the name of this movie again?” Alarm laces my voice as I tip my head toward Luke, but don’t take my eyes off the screen as the man cups the space between the dead lady’s legs.
Luke chuckles. “The Lonely Mortician.” My mouth drops open and my eyes bulge, snapping over to him in horror. “Why would you pick this?” I hiss.
Luke busts out laughing and shakes his head. A rueful smile plays across his lips. “Caramel drop, you have got to learn when I’m being sarcastic.” A sudden clanging from the TV startles me. The dead woman has hold of the mortician’s throat as she strangles him with her newly formed zombie strength. The clouded, milky eyes have been replaced with blood-red ones as she bites into the man’s face. His screams of pain make me giddy—serves him right. “It’s called Revenge 3: Back for Blood,” Luke says.
“But why did you pick it?”
He shrugs. “The zombie girl is the hero. She murders the people who stole her life and then eats them. And then she kills the other zombies. I thought it might speak to you. Scoot back here by me.”
He smacks the pillows next to him. We piled them up against the wall so we could prop our backs up, but the start of the movie had me so stressed out, I ended up clinging to the edge of his bed. I scramble up to sit by him. He puts his arm behind me, and I accept the invitation to settle against his chest. Once comfortable, he passes me the one of the margaritas he made for us in the kitchen. The cold glass in my hand pulls my attention away from the TV, and I sip the frosty drink and the explosion of lime and sweet citrus hits my mouth along with a god-awful burn.
I choke a bit. “How much alcohol did you put in this?”
“Enough to hide the roofie flavor.” This time, I know he is being a sarcastic ass. I elbow him. His drink sloshes and spills all over his nice tan slacks. Whoops.
Luke”s eyes crinkle with mischief. “Oh no, looks like I have to take off my pants. This was all part of your devious plan, wasn’t it, Carmella? To get me drunk and take advantage of me. Pantsless.” He feigns a scandalized look by pressing a hand to his chest.
I stare at him, deadpan. He gives me wiggly, flirty eyebrows and a shit-eating grin. It’s impossible to be serious when he acts like this. I laugh.
Setting down his margarita, he rolls off the bed and unbuttons his little cacti shirt. His dark eyes are all for me. Pretending modesty now when the dude has literally wiped his cum on my face would be a moot point, so I watch him undress.
My pulse can’t help but speed up, and he gives me one of his charming dimple-inducing grins. Lately, I’ve grown fond of the mustache. Luke flaunts his own personal style. It’s definitely not for every man, but on him, it’s sexy. He pulls the shirt off and tosses it into the dirty laundry, revealing a nicely sculpted chest covered in dark hair.
Never thought I would be into chest hair, but here we are. I take a huge gulp of margarita, hoping it cools down my budding desire.
Unbuckling his pants. He unzips and drops them down his legs, humor on his face. I stick my tongue out at him. “I can make use of that,” he says, eyes twinkling.
He flexes his abs and his dick bounces in the most obscene way. Startled, I nearly drop my margarita. “Put some pants on! Damn!” I scold him and close my eyes.
Luke lets loose the loudest belly laugh I’ve ever heard. “Carmella, you really are the most refreshing combination of prickly angst and false modesty.”
I grin as the bed shifts. “Are your pants on?” I ask.
Warm breath swirls over my ear and cheek, causing shivers to race down my spine and tighten my nipples when he speaks. “Look for yourself.”
Cracking my eyelid a smidgen, I peek at him. Luke sits back against the wall, his hands folded in his lap, looking the picture of innocence clad in soft black sleep pants. I’m convinced he could sell Christianity to the Antichrist with his disarming smiles and dirty humor.
He plucks the drink from my hand, setting it on the table. Moving closer, he leans in on me. My eyes flutter close as I tilt my lips up for his kiss.
The button on my jeans goes slack, and a hand shoves me back on the bed as my pants are yanked down my legs faster than I can protest. “You need to get more comfortable,” Luke says, pulling my jeans over my bare feet. “There, so much better.”
Alcohol and sleepiness steal away my retort, and I decide lying down is the best place for me, anyway. I do feel wrung out, like I ran an emotional marathon, and Luke’s bed is so comfy. I wiggle out of my strappy, restrictive shirt. “Damn, baby, that’s a lot of milk jugs on display. All that calcium makes me grow big and tall.” He shifts the crotch of his pants. “Plus, I like my milk with cookies.” He stares down at the V between my legs.
I snort and roll my eyes. “You worked really hard at that one.”
He tsks. “I did, but the delivery was off, wasn’t it?”
“Very off.” A yawn makes my jaw crack, and my attention shifts back to the movie.
He shrugs and sprawls out beside me in the bed, propping up his head, “Well, you can’t win them all. I’ll have a better joke tomorrow. Tonight, we watch the full bush naked zombie woman murder people brutally. Now bring that ass over here and let’s snuggle.”
Giving him a sleepy smile, I do just that.