36. Mike
MIKE
Ikeep the gun in my hand.
Every so often, the couch creaks in the other room, and I go still, listening. Counting the seconds. Waiting for footsteps.
But it's only Ryan shifting in his sleep.
Janet lies beside me, perfectly still.
I know she's awake without looking at her.
Her arm is an inch from mine. Neither of us moves to close the distance. Neither of us moves away.
After a long time, she whispers, "I left my carry-on suitcase out there."
I exhale quietly. "It's all right."
I feel her head shake against the pillow.
No, it isn't.
The room is dark, but not dark. I can see the shape of her beside me. Fully dressed. Shoes still on. Ready to run from me, from Ryan, from all of it.
"Do you know where you're going?" I ask.
For a while, she doesn't answer.
"Far."
The window goes from black to gray to something almost blue.
Neither of us sleeps.
Neither of us says anything else.
By morning, the light is a full gray and the room feels smaller.
The knock comes hard against the bedroom door.
"Mikey. You up?"
The knob turns.
Locked.
I'm already moving.
The gun is in my hand before I'm fully off the bed. I put myself between Janet and the door, my body acting faster than my head.
"Yeah," I say. My voice comes out rough. "I'm coming."
Janet sits up behind me, silent, eyes locked on the door.
I look at her once.
I give her the gun.
She takes it without a word.
I point toward the bathroom.
For a second, she doesn't move. Her hand closes around mine, quick and hard, like she needs to feel that I'm still there.
"Stay quiet," I tell her. "Whatever you hear, stay in here."
She lets go.
I pull off yesterday's shirt and drag a clean T-shirt from the closet. My hands move fast. Not calm. Fast.
Janet slips into the bathroom and shuts the door without a sound.
Ryan knocks again.
"Mikey."
I take one breath.
I open the bedroom door.
Go into the living room.
Ryan sits on the couch. Takes a bill from his wallet. Does a short line of coke cut clean on the coffee table.
He drops back against the back of the couch, tips his head toward the ceiling, and wipes his nose with the back of his hand.
"Little early for that," I say.
"You're gonna have coffee and shit." He grins up at me, loose and easy. "This is better than that."
His eyes are too bright.
"You got a toothbrush I can use? Mouth tastes like a bar rag."
"Yeah. Hold on."
"Check the cabinet in the guest bathroom."
His head turns toward the bedroom door.
"Why'd you lock the bedroom?"
My mouth goes dry.
"I didn't. It auto-locks. Thing needs to be fixed."
He looks at me.
His eyes move past me.
To the side table.
The glass with lipstick on the rim.
"Who's the girl?"
I pick up the glass before I think better of it.
"Ah, she's nobody."
Ryan watches my hand.
He looks toward the chair.
The bag.
He stands slowly.
"Is that her bag?"
"Mine."
He smiles a little.
Not the loose grin this time.
"Mikey."
I don't move.
He walks toward it, slow, like he already knows what he's going to find.
"This is a woman's bag."
"All right," I say. "It's hers."
"Why are you acting weird?"
"I'm not."
"You are."
"She left it here."
"She's not here?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"What is your problem?"
"My problem?" He straightens, wiping his palms on his jeans, and looks past me down the hall. "Is she here now?"
"No one's here, Ryan."
"No one's here."
He says it flat, like he's tasting the lie.
He starts for the hallway.
I step in front of him.
He stops.
The apartment goes quiet behind us. Too quiet. I can hear the television humming low, the refrigerator kicking on, the blood moving in my ears.
"You don't want to go back there," I say.
His eyes come back to mine.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
The grin is gone now.
"Move."
"Ryan."
"I said move."
He shoulders into me.
I catch his arm.
He swings.
I see it coming and still take half of it across the jaw.
The room snaps white for a second.
"Don't," I say.
He looks at me, breathing harder now, the high sharpening instead of softening him.
His eyes flick toward the bedroom again.
"Who's in there?"
"No one."
He laughs once.
Mean.
"You're a terrible liar when it matters."
I step back into his path.
He steps forward.
"Move."
"She's in the bathroom," I say.
The words are out before I can pull them back.
His face changes.
"Can I meet her?"
"No. We're leaving."
"Why don't you want me to meet this girl?"
"Because we have things to do."
"Yeah?" He looks toward the bedroom door. "This'll only take a second."
He moves.
I grab him before he reaches the hall.
The first hit catches me under the eye, and the room goes white for half a second.
When it comes back, everything is sharper.
The edge of the coffee table.
The crack in the ceiling.
My own blood hot on my cheek.
I come up swinging.
My fist catches Ryan in the mouth, but he laughs through it, like pain is nothing to him. We hit the wall together hard. Rattle the framed print above the couch.
Somewhere behind the bedroom door, I hear Janet move.
Ryan hears it too.
His eyes cut toward the hallway.
I drive my shoulder into his ribs and shove him back. He stumbles into the coffee table, coke smearing across the glass. The remote hits the floor. The TV keeps talking to nobody.
"Stay down," I say.
Ryan wipes blood from his mouth and smiles.
"You always did think you were better than me."
He comes at me low.
Ugly. Fast. Close.
His forehead cracks into my nose. My eyes flood. I swing blindly and hit shoulder, maybe jaw, before he catches my shirt and drives me backward into the kitchen counter.
Air leaves me.
He punches me once in the stomach.
Then again.
I fold, and he brings his knee up into my chest.
I grab him around the waist and try to turn him, but he hooks a hand behind my neck and uses my own weight against me. We crash into the little table by the window. Something breaks under us.
I get one hand on his throat.
For one second, I have him.
He jams his thumb into the cut under my eye.
White pain explodes behind my face.
I let go.
He slams me into the wall. The back of my head hits first. My knees loosen.
Behind the bedroom door, Janet makes a small sound.
Ryan goes still.
“Who you got in there?”
I swing again, but there's nothing behind it.
He ducks it and drives his elbow across my jaw.
I go down to one knee.
Get up.
He kicks my leg out before I'm fully standing. I hit the floor hard and grab his ankle.
He looks down at me.
Then he stomps on my hand.
Pain shoots up my arm.
I don't let go.
He does it again.
This time my fingers open.
Ryan crouches in front of me, breathing hard, blood on his mouth.
"You should've moved, Mikey."
He shoves me backward.
My head hits the floor.
For a second, I can't move.
Ryan stands, looks down at me, turns toward the bedroom. “Hey, you can come out. I ain’t that bad.”