7. Colt
7
COLT
It’s not like me to be impulsive—at least, not in a positive way. I’ve done plenty of things off the top of my head, last second, not giving them much thought. But nothing like this.
Watching from the front window, I confirm for myself the delivery has been made according to our agreement. Once I’m satisfied, I make sure to send a tip to the guy who drove the car over and parked it in front of the building like I requested. Leni is in the kitchen, humming to herself while she wipes down the counters after dinner.
There are times, like right now, when I want to pinch myself and ask whether this is really us, living this domestic fantasy. Then again, I don’t want to wake up if it is a dream. No pinching.
“Hey, there’s something downstairs.” Sliding my phone into my pocket, I shrug when she looks at me in confusion. “I don’t know. Something down on the street. Maybe we should go take a look.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, laughing in disbelief but following me anyway once she’s dried her hands.
“It’s just something you need to see for yourself.” I feel like a kid on Christmas morning, running down the stairs to the lobby, keeping an eye on the brand-new cherry-red Mustang I bought for Leni.
Will she like it? Who wouldn’t? What I’m more worried about is whether she’ll see it as the gesture I intended. This is my way of showing her how sorry I am for everything that went on in the past. She deserves something like this, something big and dramatic. The sort of gift anyone would dream of receiving. Because she’s a gift to me. I wish I could find the words to tell her, but I can’t. So this will have to do instead.
Once we reach the sidewalk, I let out a high-pitched whistle of appreciation. Really, it’s a fucking gorgeous car—the kind that turns heads when it passes on the street. Sleek, shiny, fitted with every extra feature the guy at the dealership suggested. I’m sure he’s still glad I walked in a couple of days ago and made the purchase. I can only imagine what his commission must have been.
“Wow. That is really beautiful.” Of course, Leni hasn’t put two and two together, admiring the car the way anyone else would. I do a lap around it, peering inside, making sure everything is where it should be. “But I’m not sure why we had to come downstairs to look at it.”
“Hey, look at this.” While she watches in wide-eyed surprise, I open the driver’s door and take the keys from under the visor.
“What are you doing?” she gasps, looking around with her mouth hanging open. She is so innocent. “You can’t just take somebody else’s keys! Why would they even leave them there?”
Good question. “Because they left them for you.”
“What is this?” She’s laughing a little, breathless, standing still by the front bumper. I see the way she’s taking in one part at a time, her eyes darting over the car’s surface, but the rest of her doesn’t move.
“What does it look like?” I ask with a grin.
“It looks like a really beautiful car.” Finally, she reaches out and touches her fingertips to the hood before gliding them over the shining ornament mounted to the grille. She’s afraid to touch it much more than that.
“It is a really beautiful car.” Holding the keys high, I dangle them enticingly. “Your beautiful car. Surprise.”
What did I expect? She’s not the kind of girl who would jump up and down, squeal and clap her hands. She wouldn’t throw her arms around me, bounce up and down and promise me a blowjob in exchange—not that I would turn it down. I’m not out of my mind.
That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice to see a little excitement or hear a little gratitude. No, in fact, she looks disappointed. Like she’s not sure how to react.
“What’s the problem?” It’s not easy keeping a smile plastered on my face when one uncertain moment goes by after another. “Wrong color?”
Her mouth moves, but nothing comes out at first. Finally, she shakes herself and tries to smile when she looks my way. “What is this for?”
Did I wake up in the fucking Twilight Zone ? Who asks a question like that? “Usually, people use cars for getting around. You know, so they don’t need their boyfriend or their best friend to drive their ass from point A to point B all the time. Not that I’m complaining,” I add, because of course there are worry lines now deepening across her forehead. “I thought you could use a little freedom. The chance to go wherever you want, whenever you want.”
“Oh,” she murmurs before letting out a soft sigh. Her shoulders slump before she adds, “I see.”
Yeah, she sees. And she’s still… what is it? Disappointed? “Are you all right?”
“Oh, sure,” she replies, still studying the car like she’s never seen one before. “It’s beautiful.”
“You already said that. Are you okay? I know you’re different from a lot of other girls, but usually when somebody has a Mustang handed to them, they say more about it than it’s beautiful .”
“I guess I’m just a little overwhelmed.” She runs her hand through her hair, and I notice the way it trembles. “I mean, it’s not every day something like this happens. Especially not to me.”
“Get used to it.” Rounding the car, I meet her at the front, draping my arms around her waist and pulling her close. Why is she so fucking stiff? What did I do wrong?
“This is the kind of thing I want you to get used to. Knowing you’re taken care of, that you have everything you want or need. You can snap your fingers, and it’s yours.”
It’s like I can’t say the right thing tonight. Her eyes widen at my choice of words, her head pulling back instead of leaning in like I would expect if she wanted to kiss me. A kiss would be nice right now. Some sign that she’s not heartbroken after her boyfriend just handed her a luxury car.
“Are you sure this isn’t a little too much?” She looks back at the car, and her frown makes me grind my teeth. We’re so close to each other, but in some ways, we are miles apart.
“I think I can decide for myself what is or isn’t too much. I wouldn’t have bought it for you if I couldn’t afford it.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way. Not exactly.”
Don’t do this. Don’t let it win. I need to keep the anger contained. It’s not her I’m mad at, anyway. It’s myself, for not being able to do the right thing. It seems like I’m always making mistakes. Pushing too hard, wanting too much. “What do you mean, exactly?”
It’s better if I’m not touching her right now. I let her go, taking a step back, putting a little space between us.
And it’s obvious that offends her, too, when her brows draw together and her lips pull into a pout. “Don’t get angry.”
“Who said I’m angry? I just want to know what’s going on here. I’m not asking you to drop to your knees or anything like that, but I would think you would at least thank me for buying you a car.”
“But why did you do it, really?”
“I told you why. So you can get where you want to go, and you don’t have to rely on me or anybody else. Don’t you want to have a little freedom?”
“If it was just about me having freedom, you could’ve bought me a used Mazda or something,” she points out, waving a hand like she pulled the name at random. “This is a really expensive car.”
“A really expensive car I can afford. That’s my problem, not yours.”
“I just... It just makes me wonder…” Folding her arms, she bites her lip hard enough that it has to hurt.
“Keep going. What is it you wonder?”
This is all wrong. We were supposed to be happy. How fucking idiotic can I be, imagining she would want to take me for a ride, maybe show off a little? I feel like all I can do is throw darts at a board, and every shot misses the mark.
It’s like she has to force every word from her mouth one at a time. “It makes me wonder... if you think you have to... like, buy my affection or my trust.”
Why not come out and kick me in the stomach? All the breath rushes out of me the way it would have if she hit me. “Are you serious? Is that how little you think of me?”
Color floods her face until she’s as red as her hair before she snaps, “Don’t make it about that! Why are you putting words in my mouth?”
“It’s really not that hard when you basically just accused me of trying to buy your love.”
“That’s not how I meant it.”
“How the hell could you have meant it?” Folding my arms to mirror her posture, I sneer, “Really, tell me.”
She tosses her head. “Not if you’re going to be childish like this. You’re not interested in listening to anything I have to say.”
“I was only trying to do something nice for you.”
But was I, really? Maybe I’m pissed off because she saw through me so easily. Because yeah, I do have another reason for going out of my way to buy her this car.
There is so much I have to make up for, so much we did to her, so many ways we hurt her and broke her down. This is the least I can do. This is nothing compared to what she suffered thanks to Nix and me—and Dad, always Dad, the one pulling the strings and calling the shots.
There’s a large part of me that feels like I have to repay that debt, and I don’t have the first clue how to do it.
What’s worse is, she doesn’t expect me to. How is that even possible?
“Well, if that’s all it really is, thank you, but it’s too much. I don’t even think I feel comfortable with the idea of driving it, to be honest with you. You didn’t have to spend all this money.”
“Would you stop worrying about the fucking money?” I snap, and God help me, it feels good to watch her head snap back while fear darkens her eyes. I’m a weak, pathetic shit, taking strength from her fear, feeling gratified because of it. I’m basically a slug crawling on the ground, leaving slime wherever I go.
“You know what? I don’t need to be here right now. This is not a conversation we need to have when we’re both feeling tense.”
Before I know it, she’s on her way inside again, and I have no choice but to follow her, my feet pounding on the stairs. “Don’t walk away from me.”
“I’m not walking away from you,” she calls back over her shoulder. “I’m walking away from a fight. That’s what grown-ups do.”
“Oh, don’t start that shit with me.”
“Well then, maybe don’t be so immature just because I didn’t fall all over the place thanking you for something I didn’t ask for.” She’s already in the apartment with me right behind her, grabbing her keys and shoving them in the pocket of her hoodie. “Thank you for the gesture, seriously, but I can’t spend our entire relationship trying to convince you I’m with you because I want to be. You don’t have to buy my love. There’s no score to settle.”
I can’t even tell her she’s wrong, or that I wasn’t coming from exactly the place she just described. Because that’s exactly why I bought the car. A wild shot at making it up to her. Telling her how sorry I am for hurting her. How grateful I am that she would ever even look at me, much less say she loves me.
I mean, how can I possibly deserve it?
“I’m going for a walk. I need to clear my head.” She barely looks at me as she’s leaving, her gaze grazing the floor as she makes her way back to the door.
Should I stop her? Would it be selfish if I did?
Who am I kidding? I would only end up saying something stupid again and making things worse. It’s easier and better for both of us if I let her go, so I do, standing aside while she walks out with her hands jammed in her pockets.
Once the door is closed, I pick up the closest thing—a throw pillow on the sofa—and hurl it at the wall. Right, like that’s going to do anything to make me feel calmer, less… wrong. Less broken and fucked up and completely undeserving of love and understanding.
Standing in the middle of the living room, fists clenched at my sides, I spend a long time breathing heavily, my chest heaving, shoulders rising and falling. There’s a ringing in my ears, and the world is red, and I really want to hurt something—or someone.
I want them to feel the way I feel now: helpless, useless, out of control.
But after a minute or two, that surge of rage starts to lessen, and I can breathe without feeling like my lungs are going to explode. Normal people don’t solve problems by trashing an apartment or beating the shit out of someone. If I want to be different, I need to act differently, so my mind turns to the only other option I can find.
Dropping to the sofa, I pull out my phone and open my email app. My thumbs fly over the screen as I type out a message to the only person I feel comfortable sharing all of my thoughts with. Whether he reads them or not.
Brother,
How the fuck am I supposed to live anything close to a real, normal life after what Dad did to fuck us up? Do you ever feel that way? Do you ever ask yourself what it would be like if we had a normal father who wasn’t such a twisted, sick bastard? He put all these things in our heads, and we accepted them because we didn’t feel like we had a choice. But after a while, it all became a habit. Was it that way for you? I wish we could’ve talked like this before. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so out of my mind now.
I can’t do anything right for Leni. It’s like I have good intentions, but I’m always wrong. I want her to trust me. I want her to know she’s safe with me, but I can’t find the words to tell her. And it doesn’t matter how many times she tells me she understands, she forgives me, whatever. It never feels like enough. I can’t imagine how she could be telling the truth. Who could find it in themselves to forgive after what we did?
I just want a life. A real life. A normal life. But I’m worried there’s so much darkness in me, it’s impossible. How do I care for her like a normal person does when I am anything but normal? Sometimes I wonder if I should let her go so she could have a real chance at happiness someday… Then I remember there’s no way I could ever let her go. It’s not possible. I can’t win.
And that’s it, summed up in three words: I can’t win. Tossing the phone beside me after sending the message, I lean my head back and cover my face with my hands, groaning in frustration.