Faster We Burn (5 page)

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right Katiebug?” I cringed at the nickname.

“Yeah, Dad. I know.” Been there, said that. All he and Mom had done was talk at me. Not to me. They’d lectured me, even though they said they weren’t going to do that. They were parents and they had to do their thing. The problem was that everything they said I’d said to myself at least a hundred times. They also got me appointments with a therapist back at school and there was no way I was getting out of that because they were going to call and check after every session.

Mom also couldn’t hide that she was devastated about Zack. He’d charmed her, and that was going to be a hard habit to break. She wouldn’t shut up about how every time he brought me flowers before a date, or chocolates, he’d bring her a little something. She thought it was sweet. I saw it for what it was. Buttering her up so she wouldn’t mind when he brought me home late, or decided to spend the night. At the time I hadn’t cared.

Dad gave me a huge hug when he dropped me off, being careful not to hold me too tight. He had to bend down pretty far.

“Call me tonight, Katiebug. I love you.”

“Love you too, Dad.”

I glanced up at the dorm and realized I didn’t want to go in. Just moments ago, I’d been so eager to get back, but now that I was here, I wanted to be anywhere else.

A few people walked by me on their way to and from breakfast or class. Some of them were laughing, and all of them looked so free. Careless and young.

I felt old and bitter. God, what had happened to me? Just a few months ago, all I’d been thinking about was how great college would be, how much fun I’d have and how many parties I’d go to. Now it all seemed…pointless. A few of them glanced at my face, which was still splotched with bruises that I hadn’t bothered to use makeup on.

Turning from the building, I got my keys out of my purse and headed for my car. I was still stiff and my face was anything but pretty, but he wouldn’t care. I needed to see him.

I didn’t even know if he would be home, but his current car project was parked in the driveway. I walked up the porch and banged on the downstairs door. He shared the entrance with the tenant on the first floor, but I’d never seen or heard anyone coming or going.

It took two tries before the door opened.

“You’re back.” He was just pulling a shirt over his head, so I must have woken him up. His hair was all over the place and it made me think about sex.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just wanted to see you.”

“Come in.” He waved me in and we walked up the stairs as he wiped his eyes and yawned.

“Late night?”

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Something like that.” The way he said it made me uneasy, and I didn’t know why.

“How are you feeling?” he said as he opened his front door. I shrugged as an answer.

“My parents are making me see a therapist,” I said.

“I figured,” he said as he shut the door behind me. I’d been here before, but I hadn’t really been paying attention to the room at the time.

The space was wide and open, almost like a loft. Only furniture separated the living room from the kitchen and dining area. Two doors at the other end of the room were his bedroom and bathroom. Stryker had a sparse style when it came to furniture, except for the fact that there were musical instruments and books and other crap piled everywhere. Drum kit, standing bass, a ukulele on the coffee table. There were also a lot of empty cans and bottles and trash around. Like he’d had a party.

He rubbed his head, messing his hair even further. “I wasn’t expecting you, or I would have cleaned up. I had a little session last night and haven’t had a chance to recover.”

“Session?”

“Music. I had some friends over and we played for a while. I had to get my mind off things.”

He went to the kitchen and started pulling things out of the cabinet.

“Coffee? I think I’ve got some cereal here somewhere, too.” He held a cup up to illustrate.

“You don’t have to do that. Feed me and take care of me and everything. I just came to say that you were right and I don’t think we should see each other anymore. At least not like this. I’ll still have sex with you, but the talking and the soul-sharing and all that? I can’t do it anymore. I’ve got friends and a new therapist for that.”

He paused, the cup in his hand.

“Is that really what you want, Katie?”

I hovered in the doorway. I couldn’t do this if I came all the way in and sat on the couch. I knew I wouldn’t want to get up again. “Why does it matter what I want? I’m only using you.”

“If I really believed that, I wouldn’t be making you coffee right now when I’m horribly hung over.” He took a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch down from a cabinet and grabbed two bowls. I almost laughed at the silliness of this tatted-up, pierced guy eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

“You need to get your head on straight, sweetheart. I get that. You need some time. I get that, too. I’m more than willing to have sex with you, no strings, if that’s what you want.”

“Okay.”

“Fine.” He poured cereal into both bowls and I unstuck my feet from the floor and went to the fridge to get the milk.

Chapter Five

Stryker

Katie and I ate cereal and drank our coffee in almost total silence. I should have been pissed at her for not telling me she was coming over so I could have cleaned, but then I realized she wasn’t my girlfriend. I didn’t have to impress her so I stopped caring. Almost.

She looked like shit, if I was being brutally honest. Her face was puffy and patterned with bluish marks and still-red scratches. She also hadn’t washed her hair and her nail polish was chipping. The girl who sat at my table and stared blankly at the wall was not the girl I’d seen in the pink dress that night at the party. This girl had “damaged goods” written all over her.

“Thanks for breakfast,” she said, putting her bowl and cup in the sink. “I have to get back so Lottie and everyone can fuss over me and make sure I’m not going to slit my wrists like in some tragic TV drama.”

“Slitting your wrists really isn’t an effective way to kill yourself. Too many things can go wrong. You’re better off shooting yourself or taking cyanide. Or being hit by a train,” I said, draining my coffee cup. It was going to take more than one cup to get me back in fighting shape again. I massaged my pounding forehead with one hand, wishing I had listened to my intuition last night.

She froze and stared at me for a moment.

“I wasn’t asking for tips, but thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. How the hell do you know that?” she said.

I joined her at the sink with my dishes.

“Morbid curiosity,” I said turning on the water and grabbing a sponge. Ouch, even that hurt.

“Have you ever…”

“Obviously not, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried. When I was seven I found a knife and tried to stab myself. Still have the scar.” I put the sponge down and lifted up my shirt, pointing to the thin white line on my stomach that marked my first, and least-successful, attempt. There had been others, but Trish had always thwarted those.

She looked anywhere but at the scar.

I stepped closer to her and she backed up. “Does it scare you?”

“No.”

“Then why won’t you look at it?”

“Because I don’t want to.” She pushed me away and rushed to the door. “I told you. Sex only. None of that other stuff. I’ll call you.”

With that, she yanked the door open and rushed down the stairs. I really knew how to clear a room.

***

Katie didn’t call me for “just sex” for a week. In that time I didn’t see her at all. I only had secondary information about how she was from Zan and Trish. I also got a lecture of epic proportions from Trish about respecting women. It was one of her more-impassioned speeches. I always thought she would make a good politician or leader of some sort of political group, but she thought all those people were self-righteous losers. I told her to look in the mirror and then we ended up fighting until one of us stormed out. We would meet up later and things would be normal again.

When I did finally see Katie, she looked marginally better. Her hair was clean and pulled back, and her pinks all matched again. We met at my place, which I had since picked up a little.

She attacked my mouth and my body with more ferocity than the first time, if that was possible. The sex was quick and angry and when it was over we were both panting. She’d kept her eyes closed nearly the entire time.

“Why the fuck do you wear so much pink?” I said as she pulled her pink underwear off the lamp where I’d tossed it.

“Why do you care? I told you, just sex. No chitchat.” She covered my mouth and I licked her palm.

“Ugh!” She pulled her hand away and wiped it on the couch.

“You’ll take my dick inside you and my tongue down your throat, but some of my spit on your hand grosses you out?”

“Stop asking so many fucking questions!” She fastened her bra and grabbed the rest of her clothes as she headed for the bathroom.

“Crazy girl,” I muttered.

She came back fully-dressed with her hair smoothed.

“Look, I don’t need a boyfriend. I don’t need a friend. I just need someone to fuck me. That’s you.”

I have her a thumbs up. “I’m your fuck guy. Got it.”

“Good.” She reached for her purse but in her hurry, it upended and everything went flying. “Shit,” she said, scrambling to get her stuff. “Everything is just so screwed up.”

I got up and tried to help her, but she put her hands out to stop me. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

“Jesus Christ, Katie. I’m doing what a stranger would do if you were in a public place and this happened.”

I crouched next to her and waited patiently until she looked at me. She chucked some makeup into the bag and I saw a tear drop into the bag along with it.

“I’m such a bitch to you. Why are you so nice to me?”

“I could be a douche if you want. I have a pretty good track record of douchery.” I also had a list of witnesses that would swear to it under oath.

She giggled as another tear fell.

“Get your shit together and get the fuck out of my apartment,” I said, standing up and kicking her wallet out of my way. “I don’t want all that shit on my floor.”

She looked up in shock and then I smiled.

“See? Now get your pink ass out of here.”

She shoved the rest of her stuff away and hurried to get out the door.

“I’ll call you. Asshole,” she added at the end.

I laughed after she shut the door and I swore I heard her laughing as she jogged down the stairs.

Katie

After much begging, Lottie finally agreed to my makeover idea. I was looking forward to it until Trish started grilling me about Stryker.

I didn’t know how much of what we were doing she knew, but from the way Lottie and Audrey talked, they’d put him in my ‘boyfriend’ box already. I didn’t tell them it wasn’t like that because, to be honest, I didn’t want them to think less of me. They were both so sweet and innocent when it came to that. I couldn’t imagine Lottie ever having a strictly physical relationship and Audrey had been engaged for Christ’s sake. Commitment wasn’t one of her problems.

They’d been treating me with delicacy ever since the whole Zack thing. If I thought they talked about me behind my back before, that was nothing compared to after, especially when I was always going over to Stryker’s.

So I settled on the ‘it’s complicated’ box and let them think what they wanted. They always thought the best of me, which was part of the problem. I hated that they saw the best in me, expected the best, because inevitably I would disappoint them. It always happened.

I was having trouble sleeping, and kept waking Lottie up from nightmares about Zack. I had a voicemail from his mother saying how sorry she was for everything. I wanted to delete it, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t really her fault her son was an abusive, psychotic d-bag.

Stryker honored my request that our relationship be ‘just sex.’ I would text him or call him, we’d meet somewhere, fuck and then one of us would leave. Sometimes we wouldn’t say a word. I liked it better that way. No talking, no music, no soul-sharing. The one thing I wished I could get him to stop doing was look at me. Those damn green eyes had this way of searing into me like a searchlight. I never felt more naked than when he was looking directly at me.

The therapist, Dr. Sandrich, turned out to be a pretty decent guy. He didn’t push me to talk about anything I didn’t want to, so I was free to make things up and pretend I was talking about my feelings. He knew, but he just listened and after my hour was over he shook my hand and let me go. I was always waiting for him to call me on my bullshit, but he never did.

I had to go to court to talk about what Zack did to me. It was humiliating and traumatic and all the worse because my parents were there and they both cried and all I wanted was for the courthouse to catch fire and destroy us all. The only good part was seeing Zack in handcuffs. Of course, his stepfather had bailed him out so he was free from jail for now, but on a tight leash, and he’d been kicked out of school. I took comfort in the hour of driving that separated us now.

One way or another, Zack and I were done, period. I was moving forward, or at least taking one step forward for every two steps back, until I saw that I had a missed call from Lottie after my anthropology class one afternoon. I’d started getting involved in my classes again, and I’d come to find I actually enjoyed most of them. There was something comforting about sitting in a lecture hall, listening to someone else speak, taking notes, letting the information wash over you. I didn’t have to think about anything else. Just listen.

“Hey, what’s up?” It wasn’t like her to call me in the middle of the day for something silly. She usually just texted me for stuff like that.

“Hey, I just wanted to let you know what’s going on. Zack called Zan and he’s drunk and he’s in a park somewhere and Zan called the police so Zack is getting arrested. Again.” I stopped walking, causing a pileup on the sidewalk that got me nasty looks and more than a few curse words thrown at me.