Chapter 5
Luckily. chemistry is packed with safety information then a safety test at the very end. I have never been more grateful for a damn safety test. The lecture and test keep the class quiet the entire time, which means I don’t have to talk to Everett.
But that didn’t keep him from looking at me, almost constantly.
The pull to look back was nearly irresistible, but I stood strong.
I didn’t look once! Okay, maybe that’s a lie.
I might have looked when he got up to turn in his test. You would think that his khaki dress slacks and navy-blue sweater would make him look pretentious.
But he pairs them with white slip-on Vans and pushes his sleeves up giving him a casual prince charming look.
He completely contrasts my baggy ripped jeans, which are tight on my thighs and butt, and old band tee. He is sleek and styled, and I am whatever I can find that fits at the thrift store.
When class is over, he waits for me before he gets up and then follows me out the door like a puppy. What is up with him? Did Cupid make an appearance and strike him with an arrow? The questions are consuming me, and I’m tired of wondering.
I turn so fast he practically runs into me this time.
I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze. He is like a freaking giraffe. I feel like I need to shield my eyes from the sun just to look up at him. He must be at least a foot taller than me, and at 5'4", that puts him at at least 6'4.
“What is your deal? Why the sudden interest in me?”
He seems completely unfazed. Add work on my mean look to my to do list.
“Who said it was sudden? Who’s to say I haven’t been interested for a while?”
Narrowing my eyes, I do all I can to detect his lie.
“How about the girlfriend you’ve had since seventh grade who you recently broke up with?”
He steps into me, our chests brushing, and then he keeps walking. Forcing me back, back, back until I’m pinned against the lockers. His arm comes up to cage me in, his other arm holding his books to his side.
“Have you been watching me, pretty bird?” His voice darkens with the remark.
Holy shit. Stay strong. Don't freak out.
“The whole town watches you. Don’t think you’re special.”
“They may watch me, but I’ve had my eyes on you for a while, Leo.” The way he says my name, it draws me in. Makes me question if I am even capable of denying him. But I am. I have to be.
“Oh-kay, stalker.”
His devilish smirk turns serious. “I’ve been wrapped up in prior obligations. But not anymore, and I’m tired of waiting. I want to get to know you. So why don’t you write me back, and we will go from there?”
He steps back, gives me an innocent smile, and leaves me standing there, speechless. My skin feels like it’s on fire, and all I want to do is run—whether to him or away, I’m not sure.
The rest of the morning till lunch is a blur.
I can’t get him out of my head. He has ignited me, sparked a curiosity that I can’t resist. And worst of all, the whispers are already starting.
I see more and more people watching me. I hate it.
But I don’t hate him. Not even a little bit.
At lunch, I decide to pull out his most recent note, and I write a reply.
You can't like me. You don't even know me.
And if I must, I'll stick to notes.
Words are too difficult around you.
—Leo
I leave the library a little early so I can slip the note into his locker. His is not hard to find. All the football players have their number on their locker. And Everett is lucky number seven.
After school, I head to work and find that the evening is helping clear my mind. We are unusually busy for a Tuesday, and I am grateful for it. I’m lost in my work, and I’m happy that Mill’s is getting some much-needed business.
The bell rings out, and I look up to greet our next customer but freeze when I see Natasha and Everett walk in. What are they doing here? In all the time I have worked here, they have never come in together.
I plaster on my customer service voice, take a deep breath and remind myself that he is just another customer. “Hi. What can I get for you?”
Natasha’s eyes are full of disdain. Everett is just staring at me, like he is imagining me in all sorts of compromising positions. Like his ex-girlfriend isn’t standing right next to him, probably plotting my murder.
And even though no one is looking at her, she answers. “I’ll take a small sugar-free caramel macchiato, with extra caramel drizzle, and Everett…” She places her hand on his bicep, clearly staking her claim, but he shrugs her off. “He will have a—”
“Nat, I can order for myself, once you’ve paid for your drink.” His tone isn’t mean, but it doesn’t allow for her opposition either. He will make a great politician if he decides to follow in his father’s footsteps.
I can’t help but smirk at her shock as I type in her order. And who orders a sugar-free drink with extra caramel drizzle? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?
She pays and steps to the side, keeping her glaring brown eyes on me.
“Coffee, black, with a dash of heavy cream please.”
I quickly glance up with surprise.
“Good choice, but it’s better with cinnamon on top,” I say, because it is.
He flashes his dimple at me with that smirk. “Okay. Coffee, black, with a dash of heavy cream and cinnamon on top, please.”
He pays, and when he slides his signed receipt back to me, I notice a little note.
Why are words difficult around me, Leo?
—Ev
I pocket the receipt. When I hand him his cup, I make sure to turn it so my reply that I wrote on the cup is facing him.
You fluster me.
—Leo
I make sure he reads it. I can tell he does because his eyes meet mine and they have a mischievous sparkle to them. As if flustering me was his goal and he just hit his target. I can feel my blush creeping up my cheeks. I cover my message with the sleeve of the cup and thank him for coming in.
But as giddy as I feel over our little exchange, I can’t help but wonder why he was here with Natasha. They left as soon as they got their drinks, and my mind races with all the things they could be doing. Is he back with her?
I let out a sigh and remind myself that it’s better this way. As excited as my little heart gets over the idea of being involved with Everett, my mind is quick to remind me that I cannot and will not get attached to him.
As my shift draws to a close, I do a mental checklist of everything I need to do when I get home.
Start dinner, fold laundry, catch up on homework, clean up, and then shower and go to bed.
I am grateful for busy shifts at work because Mill’s deserves the business, but it means I can’t get my homework done, so it will be a long night.
When I get home, I see Mom getting ready for work with thick layers of makeup and scant clothes.
“Make sure you clean up this mess before I get home in the morning,” she slurs as she opens the fridge. “What the fuck? Where is all our food? Is your fat ass eating it all?”
She loves to comment on my weight when she is about four sizes larger than I am. I wish I was bigger than her. It would be easier to fight back.
She stumbles, and I can’t help the reflexes that reach out to help her. Stupid reflexes. She pushes me off her and slurs, “Don’t touch me.”
“I’ll pick some stuff up tomorrow. Come on, Mom. Sit here, and I’ll make you some mac ‘n’ cheese.” She moves to the chair with as much grace as a baby giraffe and starts making her calls. I listen to her plan out her night with her men as the noodles cook.
She has a few regulars she sees on Tuesday, but it sounds like a pretty slow night.
She drives into the city each night to conduct her business.
The city offers more business than our small town, but she still has her regulars here too.
I know she shouldn’t drive intoxicated, but the few times I tried to stop her, she added more scars to my collection.
Mom doesn’t like being told what to do. So, I don’t try anymore.
Sometimes I think it would be better if she didn’t make it home one night.
But then I think about the lives she could take by driving drunk.
Shame fills my gut because I don’t do more to try.
Call me selfish for not trying harder; I call it surviving.
I couldn’t take more, knowing it would be more pain for something that wouldn’t stop.
I serve her a bowl and sit down with my own while I start my homework.
“Don’t eat it all. I’m going to want more when I get home.”
“Okay.”
When she is done, she gets up, leaving her dirty dish on the black fold-out table. She heads out the door, slamming it shut as she wobbles in her six-inch heels. I let out a breath at her departure. I feel as though I can’t even breathe right when she is here.
I finish my homework and clean the kitchen and the living room.
I put in a load of laundry and go to the couch to fold and put away the dry clothes.
After that, I shower and lie down on the couch.
We live in a one-bedroom trailer, so the couch is where I sleep.
Which is honestly a saving grace. My mom doesn’t bring men home because a “sleeping leech on the couch is bad for business.” Whatever keeps her men away from me.
I’ve seen the way they look at me, the way they would watch me when I was too young to be left at home by myself while Mom worked.
Eventually Mom decided when I was seven that I was capable of taking care of myself.
She also said when she stopped bringing me, the men started paying less.
When I was fifteen, she tried to bring me along again so I could earn my keep, but I had to draw the line somewhere.
I would rather die. I threatened to call the cops, and she stopped trying to whore me out.
I check my phone—1:30. I am going to feel tired in the morning. I set my alarm and try to sleep, but thoughts of Everett keep creeping in, despite how hard I try to avoid them. He’s on my mind, and I toss and turn all night.
***
The jarring melody of my alarm jerks me from my dreams. Just four hours later, and I feel like a zombie. I dress for school, put the dishes away, and eat breakfast. Mom stumbles in as I’m eating and makes her way to the back.
As I am packing my bag, I hear her thunderous steps coming down the hall, I see the fury in her eyes, and I know what's about to happen.
My eyes instinctively close as she raises her hand, and after all these years, I still flinch.
Slap.
The sting of her skin connecting with mine sinks in, but I don’t cry anymore. To my unfortunate luck, she hadn’t taken her rings off yet. So, I feel the familiar burn of the cut and the warm blood dripping down my cheek.
“You idiot! Why are my clothes still in the washer? They are going to smell like mold!” The vodka that coats her breath burns my eyes, so I drop my gaze to the floor.
Shit. I was so tired last night, I totally forgot to switch them to the dryer.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll wash them again.”
She scoffs at me then returns to her room. I follow behind her to the laundry closet and restart her clothes. I use the extra twenty-five minutes to do some homework. Then I switch the clothes to the dryer and head to school.
To add to my morning, it’s raining. By the time I arrive fifteen minutes late to chemistry, I am soaking wet.
I hand Mr. Roby my tardy note and slide quietly into my seat next to Everett.
His eyes are watching me. I can feel him assessing me, wondering why I’m late.
But I can’t look at him. I can’t let him see me like this.
I pull out my book and start reading and taking notes. Then I feel his rough thumb brush my cheek, right over the new cut.
“What happened?” he whispers.
I glance in his direction and see his brows furrowed, his jaw tight, and a frightened look in his eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Leo—”
“I said nothing.” My tone is sharp. He needs to drop this.
A few minutes later, a note slides across to my side.
Your secrets are safe with me. I promise.
– Ev
Are they? I’ve never told anyone about my home life.
Ski knows only because he found me trying to break into his shop one night.
The beating was bad, and I needed to run.
Some people know what my mom does, but besides Ski, people don’t know who she is.
She is careful, or maybe lucky, but she rarely leaves bruises and scars where people can see.
And on the rare occasion where it’s visible, I can cover it or make up a plausible story that avoids the truth.
I begged once, Why me? My mom said my dad was the love of her life.
I don't even know if that's true. I can't imagine anyone loving my mom that way. But they were sixteen when she got pregnant with me. My dad didn’t want to be a teen dad, so he left and I was to blame. And she has never stopped blaming me. I asked her once, if she didn’t love me, never wanted me, why not give me up for adoption? She said that if he ever came looking for me, she wanted to be there. All the pain in my life, all because she is hoping that a man who never wanted me would try and find me. You don’t look for something you don’t miss and never wanted in the first place.
I read Everett’s note again. I look over at him, and he is looking at me already. He’s always looking at me. I hold his stare, trying with everything I am to see the deception, the lie. Trying with all the fight I have, which isn’t much these days, to deny him.
His hand is on mine, and he takes the note back, writing something else.
Give me a safe word.
I want to know everything about you, but I don’t want you to run from me.
So if I’m pushing too much, just say your word, and I’ll stop.
I’ll have you piece by piece if need be.
You’re safe with me, Leo.
I promise.
– Ev
My back teeth ache as I grind them relentlessly, trying to hold back tears that threaten to fall.
Safe? I don’t even know what safe feels like.
Already, he seems to know me better than anyone.
Like he can read my heart, my soul, my fears.
He can see the part of me that wants to reach out, to scream, to let go, to give in, to make connections.
But he also sees the part of me that is ready to bolt, to run, to grieve the loss of ever having someone to trust, to love, to be loved by.
Phoenix.
This is also me using it.
– Leo