9. CHAPTER NINE
My hand shakes as I bring a cigarette to my lips. It’s the seventh one in a row I’ve sucked down since retreating to my room after Jesse abruptly left me alone in the kitchen.
Things had been going so well.
We were close. He let me touch his hand without flinching away. Then I let a Freudian slip of the tongue ruin everything. So much for keeping my cards close to my chest. In five words, I went from total power to an overwhelming desire to grovel at his feet.
Fuck you, Dad!
My face scowls as I blow the cancerous smoke out the window. Six years away from him and my knee-jerk reaction to a question posed about anything slightly effeminate is still to spout his hateful rhetoric without thinking. It’s not even the words so much as their connection to him. Being called a fag by anyone else would gain their words no traction because I see no problem with a person being gay. They are no less than me, so I can find no insult, but from him…
At least once a day I’d hear him yell it at Mom, like he was terrified that even the walls of our house might consider him less than toxically masculine. And she only placated his hatred, smothering him with affection and supportive words like being heterosexual made him any less of an asshat. But, even when he’d call me Sissy or Nancy, I still couldn’t bring myself to lie to him. I wish I could have, just once. Just to see the homicidal gleam in his eyes. Just so I had enough reason to act out my ultimate fantasy of seeing him in a pool of blood at the feet of his accusedly homo son—my mother screaming over his body like her entire existence no longer had any meaning, and I really was the devil’s spawn Dad had always told her I was.
But that would have been my point of no return.
Going to prison isn’t an escape. And his death wouldn’t have been a fulfilling enough torment. No, I need to exist on my own, and the only thing that gets me out of bed every morning is hoping that living another day with no help from him hammers one more nail in his coffin. Though, as the song goes, only the good die young. So, like father like son, we’ll probably go on living until the end of time because it seems I can’t let a single person into my life without fucking something up…
I shiver as a gust of wind howls through my window, though I’m not sure how much of it is from the cold and how much is because of the excessive amount of nicotine in my system.
Taking a final drag, I hold in the smoke as I grind the cigarette butt against the outside of the windowsill before putting it into an empty jar and screwing the lid back on. Releasing my breath, I catch a tiny figure running through the parking lot below me for at least the fifteenth time since my chain-smoking session began.
Tiny is an inaccurate way of describing her, though. Skin and bone and agony would be more fitting.
“Get your ass inside, Andy. It’s too cold for this shit!” I call out to her, but she jogs on like she doesn’t hear me. Because she’s stubborn, volatile, dying from the inside out, and making herself suffer is the only thing that keeps her body striving for its next breath. It’s also the reason I haven’t slept with her. The thought crossed my mind, but one look into those sorrow-filled eyes of hers and I knew it was out of the question. And that, ladies and gentlemen, might be the most selfless thing I’ve ever done.
Putting the emotional well-being of someone else over my innate desire for instant gratification is not something I’m known for. And let me tell you, little Andy could have ticked off a lot of boxes on my fetish checklist. Barely five feet tall, light as a feather, the tongue of a demon. Do I need to go on? But the reality is, we’re too similar. The only true difference between us is that I’ve learned to keep my emotions on the inside. Neatly tucked away in a little box where they fester and rattle around and are known only to me.
“Goddamn it, Andy. Enough is enough!” I scream at her, but she sprints past this time. Gathering more and more speed with every stride.
I’d give her a good slap in the face if I didn’t think it would trigger some homicidal monster inside her, but I’m sure it awoke last night, anyway. Which probably has something to do with the reason she’s running around in barely any clothing in minus-zero temperatures.
Expecting to see her lap back around within minutes, I wait with bated breath to hurl another threat at her to quit before she hurts herself. But the minutes pass by and there’s no sign of Andy.
An unease in my chest has me heading for my door.
Down the stairs, I dash to her floor and bang on her door. “Andy! Are you in there?”
There’s no reply and no sound to hint she’s in there either.
Backtracking, I’m in the lobby within seconds.
Even on her day off, Alma is at her desk. Feet up on it as she watches the common room TV.
“Did Andy come back in?” I ask hurriedly as I run to the door.
“No.” Alma sits up quickly. “I didn’t even know she was out.”
“Fuck,” I swear under my breath and dash outside.
In front of the building, I search left and right before sprinting in the direction Andy had been running. With no sign of her in the parking lot, I scan the empty expanse of asphalt that leads to the back of the main resort building. Finding it barren as well, I race to the back of the property where man-made meets nature and piles of plowed snow sit in heaps just in front of the tree line. There, in the distance, I see two skinny black-covered legs poking out from the wall of white.
“Andy!” I bellow, picking up speed.
The sight is triggering, and I see myself in the snow. Pants around my knees. Too many different parts of me leaking blood for me to list. And I can feel the pain again. Every trauma point aching as if still fresh. My broken hands—the tattooed bones are real, not made of ink. It’s not until I swipe the fingertips of my right hand over my left and study them that I realize I’m not bleeding. It’s not then. I’m eight years on and hundreds of miles away.
In a flash, I’m on my knees, scooping Andy’s tiny body into my arms.
She’s cold, so cold. Her bare arms are freezing and covered in snow. I brush some of it away before feeling for a pulse. My fingers are so cold I struggle to find it, but it’s there.
“Wake up!” I shout, tapping her face. But she still doesn’t respond, so I shake her—her body flailing like a rag doll. “Wake up, Andy! You stupid woman!” I yell and slap her in the face. Like electricity to Frankenstein’s brain, her lifeless form jolts with an instinct to kill. “It’s Kai. Don’t fight me,” I yell, laying her on the pavement and out of my hold.
In shock, her eyes shoot open, and she stares up at me in confusion.
“Can I touch you?” I ask, trying to sound calm even though anxiety is still flowing through me.
“I’m fine,” she whines, trying to push herself up. But her eyes lose focus as her consciousness fades.
“No, you’re not!” I scold, catching her before her head bashes against the asphalt. “You’re freezing, and I’m picking you up. So don’t kick me,” I tell her. And this time she’s too weak to fight back.
Holding her securely against my chest, I run back towards our building entrance. Calling out to Alma as I go.
“What the hell happened?” she gasps, meeting me at the door.
“She’s been running for a while. I told her to stop, but…” The eyes I give Alma tell her everything she needs to know; it’s Andy, and she doesn’t listen to a goddamn thing anyone says.
Clutching her hand, Alma feels the condition of her fingers. Her breath hitches. “Get her in the bath.”
Putting my feelings for Alma aside, I follow her lead and rush to her apartment.
The layout is so familiar to me that I have Andy beside the bath before Alma can even turn the showerhead above it on.
“Get in with her,” she insists, turning to where I stand with Andy still shivering in my arms.
“I don’t think that’s such a good ide—”
“Get in the fucking bath! She needs to be held,” she demands.
“So it’s my balls on the line, then?” I fight back. But I was always gonna do it.
“Hold still. I’ve got you,” I whisper into Andy’s ear as she struggles to free herself from my arms. I can only speculate as to the origin of her trauma, but I’m certain being in the arms of a man twice her size—who also refuses to let her go—isn’t an easy pill for her to swallow right now. “I’m getting in the bath with you. But Alma isn’t going to leave.” I shoot Alma a look of reprimand, and she nods, relaxing her shoulders. We don’t mean anything right now.
After testing the water, Alma shakes the excess from her hand. “Make sure you’ve got hold of her. She isn’t going to like this.”
“I won’t hold you any tighter,” I reassure her as calmly as I can. “But I am getting in now.”
Andy’s body cowers into me—her face pressing against my chest.
I almost drop her when my first foot hits the pool of cool water in the base of the tub, because, for the first time, I realize I never had any shoes on. Excruciating shocks pulse up from the soles of my feet, but I grit my teeth and stay strong. It’s only my feet. For Andy, it’s everything.
Carefully sitting, I stretch my legs out in front of me and maneuver Andy so her back rests against my chest and her body is away from the water. “It’s going to be cold,” I remind her. “But please remember, I’m trying to help you.” Slowly, I move my arms in front of her, making sure she can see them. When she doesn’t hesitate, I wrap them around her torso and scoot us both forward under the shower stream.
A torturous wail fills the cramped bathroom as Andy thrashes against me. Her heels kick my shins and her head whips back against my chin. But I don’t let her go.
“Remember to breathe. Look at Alma if it helps.”
“I’ll warm it up soon,” she says kindly, reaching in to put her hand on Andy’s leg.
“Now!” she begs.
“Do you want to end up in the hospital?”
Andy gives in, and despite shivering, rests her head back against my shoulder. In response, I unwrap myself and move to rubbing her upper arms. “Stay here and let us take care of you.”
With a sniffle, she nods, brings her legs to her chest, and closes her eyes.
“Good.” Alma’s hand keeps moving to let her know she’s still there. “Neither of us will ever hurt you.”
“Never in a million years,” I reassure her, and something shifts in Andy.
Beneath the deluge of water, she seeks me out. Makes eye contact. Stares straight into my soul and thanks me for seeing her. Thanks me for not giving up on her even though with every attempt I made at connection she shut me out. And, even though I don’t deserve her kindness—despite her own traumatic past—her quivering eyes tell me she sees me too. And I’m broken.
“People like us need to stick together,” I smile, barely holding myself together.
“Yes,” she whimpers.
“You’re not working tonight.” Alma’s stern tone breaks through our moment as she stands and flicks through her phone.
“You can’t keep doing shit like this, Andy. Hurting yourself serves no purpose when there are people who want to help you,” I tell her, guiding her to rest against me again. “You better not push that hottie away, either. A rich Englishman could be the answer to all your prayers,” I joke, reaching forward to add some warmth to the water while Alma has her back turned.
“God doesn’t give a shit about me.”
“Yeah, me either,” I chuckle. “But if you drive that boy away and his blond friend leaves too, I’m gonna hold you personally responsible.” Successfully distracted by my gossip, she looks up at me with a new expression on her face. “You better not tell anyone,” I grin. It must be contagious because she smiles back. And for the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel good about myself. Like I may have a better reason for getting out of bed tomorrow.