Chapter 11 #2
I watch through the windshield as he strolls toward the driver’s side, no rush to his stride. The asshole knows the effect he has on me. But I keep my cool.
He climbs in, and the truck rumbles to life. It’s a vintage Ford pickup. I wouldn’t expect anything less from Kit. He doesn’t speak and drives away. I avoid looking back and focus ahead. It’s too sad otherwise.
He senses I need some time to process things and switches on the radio.
I think about the last time I was in a car with Kit. I was just a child. He drove me back to my aunt and uncle’s house. I still get anxious riding in cars with others because although my parents’ deaths feel like a lifetime ago, their screams still haunt my dreams.
But there’s a stillness I experience with Kit. I felt it when I was a child. And I feel it now.
I don’t give it much thought because my head hurts.
So much for feeling rested.
I lean my head against the headrest and close my eyes. I don’t sleep. Just listen to the world passing me by. It’s not long before Kit pulls the truck up.
I gradually open my eyes. It takes me a moment, but I realize we’re at the garage. Kit opens the door for me. He has my box of belongings in his hand.
“My place is above the garage,” he explains, reading my confusion.
I nod and jump down from the truck, not speaking.
This is all too much.
Kit leads the way through the garage. It looks and smells like any garage. This is a piece of Kit’s world. I’m thankful he’s allowed me into it.
We climb the stairs and find a door at the top. Kit unlocks it.
“Welcome.” He holds the door open for me.
I enter and am surprised. It’s bigger than I thought. It’s an open-plan living room and kitchen area. But the space is big enough to fit a small dining table, a three-seater couch, a coffee table, and two leather bean bags, which are propped in front of the mounted TV.
The brick walls give it a rustic look.
I like it.
“There’s only one bed.” He quickly adds, “But I’ll take the couch.”
“The couch is fine,” I reply. “I’ve slept on far worse.”
Kit seems to understand this isn’t up for discussion now, but I know come nightfall, I’ll be in the bed.
I must look as shit as I feel because he sets my things onto the kitchen counter and goes about making us some coffee. I sit on the stool in silence, watching Kit. He moves with confidence in everyday life. He even makes preparing coffee look sexy.
I realize I’ve gone beyond the point of no return with him. My feelings keep getting stronger, and staying here will only seal my fate. But to move forward, I must tell him the truth.
The thought of that turns my stomach because Kit makes me feel normal. He makes me feel as if there’s hope for me after all.
“You know what,” Kit says, snapping me from my thoughts. “I think we’re going to need something stronger.”
I’m confused about what he means and watch with interest as he opens the freezer and retrieves a bottle of vodka. He places two mismatched glasses on the counter, tosses in some ice, then fills them with vodka.
He slides a glass to me.
I look at it and then at the clock on the wall.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere in the world, right?” Kit says, sensing my doubts about drinking so early in the morning.
I guess he’s right.
He clinks my glass when I pick it up. “Cheers.”
He tosses the vodka down in one gulp. Me, on the other hand? I take a sip and instantly cough uncontrollably.
Kit quickly takes the glass from my hand.
Once I can breathe again, I sheepishly look at him. How embarrassing.
“A little strong?” he asks, instantly regretful for his decision.
“It’s fine. I’m just not used to drinking.” Which is the truth.
“Oh, fuck, sorry. I didn’t think. You’re a cheap drunk then?” He’s trying to lighten the mood.
But my cheeks turn a beet red as I confess, “I wouldn’t know.”
“You’ve never been drunk before?”
I shake my head. “Lame, right?”
“Not at all,” he counters quickly. “I feel like an asshole now.”
He turns and is about to throw the vodka down the sink, but I spring up and stop him as I grip his wrist. Although innocent, the touch awakens us both.
His eyes are heavy with emotion. “Fuck,” he says softly.
Memories of our kiss replay in my mind. I want it again.
But I won’t make the first move. I’m too afraid to. Instead, I take the glass from his hands and toss back the liquor, scrunching up my face. It’s not too bad the second time around.
“You’re fearless,” Kit says in admiration.
If only he knew the truth…
A bottle of vodka later, it’s safe to say I am very drunk.
Seems that I’m experiencing a lot of firsts with Kit.
He ordered pizza so I wouldn’t drink on an empty stomach, but it hasn’t helped with the alcohol. Still, I’m enjoying the buzz.
It doesn’t feel uncomfortable. The only thing I am trying to be cautious of is telling Kit too much. It seems saying too much is a common side effect of drinking excessively.
He’s asked where I’m from and how old I am; all the normal questions someone asks to get to know someone.
If I freaked out and refused to answer, I assumed that would make things more suspicious. So I told him my age and where I am originally from. I just omitted that I moved to Hollow Banks after my parents’ deaths.
“I’m so sorry about your parents,” he says, shaking his head sadly.
“Thank you, but it’s okay. It feels like a lifetime ago. I don’t even remember them anymore.”
“That’s how the mind works. It finds ways to protect you.”
“Is that what happened with your dad?”
He nods, taking a drink.
“I don’t mean to pry.” I can sense his discomfort and instantly feel guilty for asking.
“You’re not. It’s nice to talk about him.”
“It is?”
“Yes, I suppose I haven’t found the right person to talk to, until now.”
I can’t contain my happiness.
“I feel the same way,” I softly confess.
He shifts on the couch so we’re facing one another. “Can I ask you something then?”
A panic soon surpasses my happiness, but I nod.
“I’m not judging, just trying to understand. You’ve never been drunk, aren’t afraid of much, and work at an orphanage. You’re different from other girls your age—which is good,” he adds. “Losing your parents at such a young age changed you.”
I wait for him to continue.
“And you’ve never been kissed before. It feels as though you’ve closed yourself off to experiences most are desperate to try. Why?”
I shrug, measuring my breaths.
“You’re fearless, but you’re also afraid. I think there’s a reason for it.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “And what do you think that reason is?”
Kit runs his finger along the rim of his glass, as if deep in thought. “I think you’ve been hurt. And you’re running…running from yourself. Running from making connections with anyone, afraid of what they might see.”
How right he is.
Now is the time to confess it all. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol talking, or perhaps that we’re being so open and raw with one another. Whatever the reason, I shift closer and am about to confess everything, but Kit’s phone rings. His ringtone is the Star Wars theme.
“Fuck, sorry,” he says, reaching for it off the coffee table. “It’s my brother.”
My tongue is soon cemented to my mouth. Any confession is long gone.
“Hey, Dandy. Everything okay?”
Although I can’t make out what he’s saying, I can hear Dandy’s voice through the phone. Nostalgia hits me, and I quickly excuse myself under the ruse of needing to use the bathroom.
Once inside, I rest my back against the door and take three calming breaths.
I can’t do this.
Kit’s wrong. I’m not fearless.
I’m afraid.
I’m especially afraid of losing Kit because I will. He’s captivated by someone who doesn’t exist. I would rather he always remember that version of me, and not know who I really am.
My head spins as I open the door. But I focus on not bumping into anything as I grab my box of belongings off the table and make a beeline for the front door.
“Dandy, I’ll call you back,” Kit says quickly, hanging up and standing abruptly. “Where are you going?”
“This was a mistake.”
“Olivia—” Kit presses.
Hearing him use my “name” just confirms my decision.
But Kit launches in front of the door, blocking my exit. “A mistake? Why? Talk to me.”
“I appreciate your kindness—”
“Oh, cut the bullshit!” he snaps, his stance firm. “What just happened?”
I can’t look at him.
I’m afraid he will see me for the liar and the bad person I really am.
“If I overstepped, I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t overstep.” I’m the one who can’t have a normal conversation, just as Jupiter said.
She was right.
I was kidding myself into thinking this could go any other way.
“Then why are you leaving? Please, just tell me what’s going on.”
I instead remain silent, shattering his perception of me being brave.
“Olivia—”
“Just stop,” I whisper, shaking my head as I can’t bear hearing him use that name.
“I can’t let you leave because I’m afraid I won’t ever see you again.”
“It’s probably for the best.”
“Stop using these clichés. You’re better than that!”
But I’m not.
“I’m doing this to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?” he exclaims, gripping my chin and begging I meet his eyes. His anguish is clear. “Tell me!”
“I can’t!” I finally crack. “You think I’m brave, but I’m not. I’m this way because I’m forced to be.”
“That makes no fucking sense. Who’s forcing you?”
“Me!” I scream, shrugging from his grip. “I’m the one who chooses to be this way, and just because some hot guy comes along and shows interest does not mean I’m about to change something that’s taken me years to build!”
“You’d rather run than face your problems? What a fucking cop-out. I thought you were stronger than that.”
“You know nothing about me!”
“Enlighten me then, instead of feeding me this bullshit!”
He’s baiting me, and it’s working.
All I can hear is Jupiter singing over and over in my head that she told me so.
“I’m leaving, so please move.” I try to shove him out of the way, but he’s not budging an inch. “Why do you care anyway? Am I some personal challenge for you because I’m not falling over myself like every other single woman?”