12. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
James
I slam the front door to my house and jump in my truck before my dad can say another word.
“He’s drunk,” I tell myself, as if that’ll calm me down and not make me want to go back inside and choke him.
Sometimes it’s hard to stay here and live in this house with him, but he has no one else; we’re all the other has. I can’t just leave, leave him, I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself if something happened to him while I was gone. His drinking is unpredictable, I don’t know what version of him I’ll come home to and I don’t know what he’ll do if I don’t come home. I go out and party and hang with friends, but I’m still in the same country, in the same town for god sake.
I rest my head on my steering wheel to calm my breathing before I drive to work.
Things used to be different, I used to be different.
I think that’s what hurts the most, that he hasn’t always been like this. I wasn’t always like this. I remember so vividly what it used to be like. We used to be a happy family. You’d never really think that it’d be love that tears your family apart when it used to be the only thing that made us strong. Now I treat it like the devil.
I tell myself there’s no point dwelling on the things you can’t change. No point in letting that past control your life—but I’m the biggest hypocrite of them all. Because if that was the case, I wouldn’t still hold a grudge against my mum, and I wouldn’t be hating on Katherine. But I do, and I am.
Coming to terms with the fact that this is your life and this is what it’ll always look like is hard but something I’ve had ten years to come to terms with. I could change, but I’m not sure in a town like Gull’s Bay that that’s a possibility. Living in a place where everyone knows you, knows your story, it’s hard to break out of the mould they’ve put you in.
I make the fifteen minute drive to the shop, every minute putting distance between me and my dad, between me and the anger I feel towards this whole situation. By the time I pull up in the car park, I feel like myself again. I grab my surfboard out of the open truck and tuck it under my arm.
When I get to the shop door, I’m stopped in my tracks. I look through the window in the door and see Katherine. She’s dancing around the store singing to whatever song is playing on the radio. I can barely hear it but I can hear her.
She moves around like she wouldn’t care if someone walked in. She looks relaxed, happy. But I have a feeling that would all disappear if she realised I could see her.
I look around the store, no one else is in at the moment. Our lunch time lull.
I can’t help looking at her, staring is more like it. I don’t think I’ve seen her look so carefree, as if her brain has let her have a day off from whatever seems to be occupying her thoughts.
I can always see it, the cogs spinning a hundred miles a minute. When I look her in the eyes, I can see it.
Is it weird to feel sorry for her in that way?
Yes.
I wish I had been different that day. That first day we met, I wish I had just said hello with a smile. Taken her hand in a handshake, and showed her, and myself, that we could be friends. But I couldn't do that. I couldn’t pretend like the reason she’s here makes sense to me or like it’s a good idea. Like the idea of soulmates doesn't tear me in half, open me up to old wounds I’d been trying so hard to forget.
In a way I wish Ella had never told me. Had never said why she was coming here. But she did and I can’t change that. My heart and my brain knew I couldn’t be friends with her before I’d even met her.
Yet I’m still standing here on the other side of the door, hand hovering over the handle watching her.
Her dress clings to her body, and flows with the way of her silhouette. Her hair up in a ponytail whips around as she cleans the shelves. I watch as she brings the polish bottle to her mouth using it as a mic. A laugh works its way up my throat and it’s out before I can stop it.
And then the bubble that I’ve been living in for the last few minutes bursts. She sees me standing rooted to my spot and I can only wonder what she’s thinking as she moves to turn the radio down. Then she looks at me, waiting for me to come in.
“Who let you be in charge?” I ask her as I push the door open finally.
Her arms are crossed over her chest as she looks at me mulling over my words, a red blush creeps up her neck just touching her face a little. It might make her stand out round here but I love how pale she still is, I like knowing my words have got to her. Knowing I’ve made her feel something.
“What do you want?” Katherine finally asks me, the intense look she’s sending me is hard to ignore.
“To not have that performance etched in my brain would be a start.” I just can’t help but give her a hard time.
That blush finally works its way up her face and the line of her lips gets thinner. But she doesn’t say a word. Not a single thing—which is odd .
I move across the store towards her, only stopping when I’m beside her. “Aww, you’re blushing,” I say close to her temple and the red only grows. She must be able to feel my breath along her skin, because I can practically feel the heat radiating off her. She smells like sweet vanilla, mixed with a bit of cinnamon.
“God, you’re such a child.” There it is. There’s the Katherine who hates me.
Do I hate her?
Yes.
Do I strangely care about her?
Also, yes.
I have to remind myself that we’re not friends because for what feels like a split second—a millisecond, not even a whole breath—when she looks up at me, my chest tightens. Then it’s gone, like the feeling was never there. There’s a look in her eyes that makes me think she felt it too but it’s gone before I can even look for it again.
Stop.
I remind myself why she’s here. I think about all the reasons people like her have ruined my life and then I’m okay again.
“I’m here to work, Katherine,” I tell her, moving behind the register to pull out the list of classes I have this afternoon from the small filing cabinet.
She scoffs, I hear it from the other end of the shop where she's refolding a t-shirt a hundred times. I think it might fall apart if she’s not careful. “You’re never early,” she tells me.
I look down at my phone as I pull it out my pocket, she’s right I’m a whole twenty minutes early. She doesn’t need to know why I had to get out of my house, that would be sharing too much. And sharing too much is something friends would do. And she and I are not friends.
“It’s a thing called ‘personal growth’ Katherine, I imagine someone as co-dependent as you wouldn’t understand.”
I tap my fingers against the edge of the counter as I lean on it. The setting sun creates a shadow over the store.
“Katherine, I’m going to lock you in this shop if you don’t hurry up!” I shout into the back room.
I should’ve known it was a lie when she said we could leave soon. Two minutes really means ten in the world of girls getting changed. As much as I may not want to go home to my dad, I also really don’t want to be standing in this shop waiting for her.
“It’s literally only been like five minutes, will you chill out?” she shouts back as she pushes the curtain back and comes into full view.
Shit.
Everything in me is fighting with itself. The part of my brain that knows soulmate searches are only trouble, and the part that wants to run my fingers over the bare skin on her arms. I’m only human, and as much as I don't like her, I also want to stand here and look at her for a little while longer.
She’s now in a pink and red dress that hugs her everywhere it possibly could. One of the straps falls off her shoulder and my hand itches to pull it back up for her, which makes it impossible for me not to look at her neck. Why does her skin look so smooth? I have to physically remember how to breathe as she moves around the counter space picking her stuff up.
Her high ponytail from the day is gone and now falls around her shoulders, all curly and it looks like I need to run my fingers through it. Now she’s got, whatever is it girls wear on their eyelids, on and it catches the light, shimmering.
The amount of effort I have to put into not starting to be attracted to her is ungodly.
It’s been far too long since I got any female physical contact, because there is no way in any other context I would be this attracted to her.
She must be able to tell I’m looking at her because she leans over the counter to sign off the till, making her ass stick out so much more than it needs to. A groan works its way up my throat and almost slips past my lips, I muffle it before she turns to look at me.
“What?” she asks, eyebrows pulled together and I can’t help looking at her lips as she licks them.
“Where are you going all dressed up? Big date?” I barely manage to get the whole sentence out without sounding winded.
A slow smile grows on her face. “Why? Are you going to show up again?”
My nostrils flare.
The first time it was an accident, and then I don’t know what happened after that. It just happened, and by happened, I mean I started to show up on purpose. Which I’m so not ready to get into right now.
She smiles at me as she stands and throws her bag over her shoulders. “Good night, James.” That’s it. She walks out and I watch. I watch her walk away. It’s bloody ridiculous and unnerving and I need to get laid. I need something, someone, to take the image of her out of my mind.
Now.