Chapter 11 #4
I squint my eyes at Alex, and for a moment, I see anger and disappointment with… me ? It changes after a blink, but it was there. It was there. And now I wonder if something really happened that I don’t know about. Alex has been nothing but kind to me this whole time. Usually.
Considering how my day started, how yesterday finished, and how it’s going now, I should be on my not-so-merry way.
I thrust the package into Freya’s hands and turn around. “Okay, guys, I gotta go.”
“What?” Freya takes the box from me. “But you just came in?” Her face pinches with confusion.
“Yeah,” I say, opening the door, “it’s been a long day. I’m tired. See you.”
“Kayla—” Alex says with a defeated exhale.
“Gotta go.” I run away. That’s the only way I can describe my shameful escape, but there’s only so much I can take in one day.
Freya and Alex are my close friends. I know Alex has been Justin’s best friend since forever, but I let myself get a little too comfortable inside with him.
I’m just an occasional nuisance, something he just has to deal with a little more frequently after Freya showed up, but it hurts no less regardless.
Because I thought Justin was just a jerk, and Alex was on my side, considering how he always shuts him down when he’s talking crap to me.
But now… now I know it’s either out of pity or because of Freya. And I’m not sure which one is worse.
I feel betrayed, which is stupid. No one owes anything to anyone, and yet I thought… I’m an idiot, that’s it. Now I just want to crawl into my bed with a book and a gazillion pounds of chocolate. And maybe, to cozy up with Charlie.
But I soon realize that this is not going to happen that easily. As I turn to my trailer, I see a parked truck, with Justin sitting in my favorite outdoor chair. Crap. When I thought it couldn’t get any worse. I just need this day to finally end. Please . Is it too much to ask?
I park my Jeep in the mud (not my usual spot, obviously, because that’s taken by my unwelcomed guest) and get out of the car.
Without looking at the jerk sitting in my favorite chair, I march up to my house.
I unlock the door and go inside, not bothering to lock it.
He didn’t come all the way here just for fresh air, might as well get it over with.
As I predicted, the door bursts open, and the fury that is Justin barrels in.
“Did you have fun?” His voice is crisp.
“Sure did.” I take my cardigan and combat boots off, but stay in my long-sleeve, knee-length flowy dress, suddenly all too aware of its scoop neck. “Why are you here?”
“Why? Expecting someone else?” he snarls.
“You sound awfully close to being jealous. Be careful, Justin; I might think you like me.” I lean my backside on the counter and cross my arms over my chest.
His cruel laughter fills the small space. “As if there is a possibility of that.”
“With your stalkerish tendencies, I wouldn’t be so sure.
” I shrug. Archie’s words come to mind. Maybe he does want to fuck me, and that’s why he hates me so much.
He hates the reaction his body has to trailer trash like yours truly.
Makes sense, honestly. Considering Justin is the golden boy and all.
Well, he used to be.
“I don’t take leftovers.” He curls his lips in disgust.
“Really? It seems like they’re the only thing you take.” I refer to Ashley, of course, the current ringleader of wandering vaginas.
“Now you sound jealous.” He smirks. I don’t offer an answer. “So, when’s this Archie guy coming?”
“Where?” I play dumb.
“Here.” He points his nose to my floor.
“Why would he come here?” Dumb and dumber, seriously.
“Oh, so you’re planning on fucking him somewhere else.
A nice hotel, perhaps.” He looks around.
“I wouldn’t bring anybody here either.” He crinkles his nose.
“Unless… you already fucked him in your car.” His lips are thin.
“You don’t need much then, do you. You never did.
So, the rumors are true.” He hums the last phrase to himself more than to me.
“Why are you so concerned with whom I fuck all of a sudden?” The old tale’s getting a little too old, and I’m not even offended at his words. He’s trying too hard.
“Don’t want to get any disease from being here.” He shivers dramatically .
“I’m not holding you hostage by any means. You’re free to leave.” I gesture toward the door. It’s not the answer he expected.
“Did you fuck him?” All emotions are gone from his voice, and the time for jokes is over. I don’t want to poke the bear; I just want him to go back into hibernation inside some undiscovered cave as far from here as possible. Here, right now, I see what Freya was talking about. That intensity .
“I didn’t.” I press the heels of my palms into my eye sockets because I’m tired, and I want to sleep, and I want to cry. Again. All I want to do nowadays is cry. How pathetic.
When I drop my hands, Justin’s in front of me. A foot away. His fists are by his sides like he’s scared he’d use them. Well, I’m not scared of them. I sure as fuck can use mine too—I grew up in the rough part of Little Hope. You learn a lot of tricks if you want to make it there alive.
“Why?” His voice drops.
“Why what? Stop talking riddles.”
“Why didn’t you fuck him?” He’s like a dangerous predator playing with his injured prey after it’s already been defeated.
My head snaps back. “Do you think I’m a whore who sleeps with the first person she meets? Why is that? Because my mother was one? Or because I live in a trailer? That’s what you think?” I poke my finger between his hard pecs.
He looks around again and shrugs. “I mean, your living situation is not perfect per se.”
“My living situation is perfectly fine!” My chin lifts in defiance. “It’s my home, and it’s mine! It belongs to me!” I know my eyes are spitting fire right now. They may have even gotten a little red, like those crazy animals in cartoons .
“So, you bought all this shit?” He glances around with disgust.
“Yes, Justin, I bought this shit. And it’s the first home I’ve ever had on my own.
I worked hard for that, and I bought it, and nobody can come into my home and insult it or me.
So how about you get your ass the fuck out of here and forget how to get here for good?
” I push on his chest. He doesn’t budge, but his eyes snap to my hands on his chest. I push harder.
“Go, Justin. I’m tired of you treating me like shit.
Tired of it! What’s your problem? What have I done to you? Huh? That you hate me so much.”
He steps forward, and I see determination written all over his face. I feel like I’m about to resolve a mystery that’s been haunting me for years.
But he never delivers, this asshole. His jaw sets, his eyes become emotionless holes filled with hate once again, and he’s out of here in a second.
Nice. Here we go again; every time I bring this up, he looks like it pains him to talk about it, like physically pains him, so he chooses to lash out at me and storm out.
Very typical Justin-around-Kayla behavior.
Once I don’t hear his truck anymore, I head to the shower to wash off the disgusting feeling he left on me. A feeling of unworthiness. No matter how hard I try not to listen to him, he’s the one whose words hurt the most.
I rely on the water to wash off the horrible residue he left on me. But once I lather myself, the water in the tank runs out. Great. Just what I needed to finish this already shitty day.
I wipe myself clean from soap with a few wet wipes I have left and get into the bed, writing a mental note to fill the tank tomorrow, or I’m seriously screwed.
Living here for so long has taught me to preserve water and gas, but even I , a natural hoarder thanks to my very poor days, sometimes forget about refilling them.
In bed, I cry myself to sleep once again.
The next morning already sucks. I don’t have water for a shower, to flush the toilet, or anything, really.
I have a jug of water that’s only enough for one cup of coffee and a quick toothbrushing.
It will have to do. I pull my hair back into a low ponytail and make a mental note to buy red hair dye.
The mood’s calling for it. I pull on my ripped jean shorts, white off-the-shoulder shirt, and black military-style boots and am off to the diner.
My phone pings—it’s a message from TJ, the guy I sometimes sell my drawings to.
He works at a tattoo shop and says my drawings are in high demand.
All my money from these sales goes toward my special savings account (where I can never save), from which I pay a debt that’s been owed by my family.
Somehow, I ended up being the only one paying it off.
Somehow my ass. I dug myself into that mess on my own and have only myself to blame.
Well, myself and my fucked-up family. As I said, they had left, but their mess is still here on my shoulders.
“Need ur phoenix in large. Can u do one by this weekend?”
“Yeah. In color?”
“Yep. The guy’s loaded, will pay a ton.”
“You’re inking him?”
“Nah, he just wants the piece. Said he has somebody already.”
“Dang, sorry, man. How does he know about my stuff?”
“Said he saw the phoenix on the chick he fucked the night before, and she said where she got it from. Lol. Now he wants one 4 himself.”
“Charming. You know where the phoenix will go?”
“3/4 of the back.”
“Dang. That’s a big one.”
“Yeah. I got a feeling the guy is the real deal. Might be ur shot, kid.”
“Thanks, TJ. I’ll make it happen by the weekend.”
The first time I sold my ‘special birdy,’ as TJ calls my phoenix, was four years ago.
I was just playing around with drawings and wasn’t planning on making it a business.
I took one of my pictures to a tattoo salon in Springfield to put it on my shoulder blade.
TJ was inking me. He asked where I got it from, and I told him I drew it myself.
Then we talked some more, and he gave me his phone number and asked me to send him my other drawings.
That’s how it started. He gets a special request that my art might fit and sends it to me.
I’ll be forever grateful to him for that.
By the time I get to the diner, I’ve planned the whole piece in my mind. The head will rest on one shoulder, and the wings will go for a diagonal hug.
The morning isn’t busy, which is unusual. One of the first customers is Freya. She pops her head inside the doorframe and asks. “Is it safe to come in?”
“Depends on what you’re planning to do.” I narrow my eyes at her suspiciously.
“Just feeding my hungry belly, that’s all.” She fake smiles, showing all her shark teeth. I sigh—here comes the grilling. She comes in and pops onto the bar stool, motioning for a coffee to be poured into her mouth like a cartoon character. I pour her a cup with a laugh.
“Ask what you came here to ask already.”
Her face loses all humor. “What was that yesterday?”
“Just my insecurities, that’s all.” I plant a fake smile on my face so she won’t get upset.
She’s watching me carefully. “Alex was on edge the whole evening after you left.”
“Because of Archie.” I roll my eyes. “Your man has the social skills of a potato.”
“That’s true,” she says with a sigh. “So true, but we’re working on it.”
We chat for half an hour about nothing, and I keep yesterday’s encounter by my house to myself. Why? I have no idea. Freya might be able to help me answer the question. Once I can formulate it right.