From Yesterday (2 page)

I'm uneasy. I barely want to go to this dance, let alone some strange guy's house. "How old is he?" I ask.

My sister frowns. "He's twenty-two."

"Five years older than you!"

She puts her finger to her lips. "Shhh. Lower your voice. Mom is home. It is not that big of a deal, Rebecca. Now grab your bag so we can go before--"

"Where are you girls going?"

The heavy Russian accent of my mother freezes my blood as it travels through my veins like ice water. She is almost never around, but on the few occasions we do see her, she has an unlikely ability to make us obey despite her lack of true parenting over the years.

Nicole steps in front of our mother and kisses her cheek. Being affectionate is not the strong suit of anyone in this family, but this move always seems to work for my sister. "We're going to the dance, Mama. Remember? I told you all about it. Rebecca needs to make friends now that she isn't home schooled anymore."

My mother nods. "I still don't understand why you want to go to a public school, either of you, but okay. You make sure to watch for your sister, Nicole. Home by eleven, yes?"

"Yes, Mama," we reply in unison.

But when eleven o' clock comes, neither Nicole nor myself are at home.

I wake up on the couch, drenched in a mixture of perspiration and despair. I remember every single detail of that night with shocking clarity for a five year relay. It was the last time I ever felt normal in my house.

The hallway leading towards my bedroom seems endless as I'm jonesing for a shower to wash away the grime and possibly the memory. I should go to the gym. An hour of cardio or a kick boxing class is always a great distraction and in Miami there is a gym on every street. I'm tired, though. The nap I took wasn't refreshing and I feel more out of it than I did before. Maybe even a little on the dizzy side. I'll look for something to eat once I'm clean.

I reach my bedroom and strip as I walk through to the bathroom, dropping each item of clothing on the floor and leaving it there. I don't do things like that anymore; I always clean up after myself, but I'm making an exception this one time.

It is dark in the bathroom and I have to feel around for the light switch. I find it and flip the lights on. I begin to scream, but eventually I lose the ability to make a sound so the screams choke the breath from my throat. I'm reminded of the time my sister and I learned how to make one another faint by cutting off our air supply for a moment. We called it California Dreaming. Only I don't just lose consciousness for a moment, I pass out.

When I come to, it is still there. I'm not hallucinating. On the counter is one of my many tubes of MAC Russian Red with the lid off. On the mirror, written in lipstick, is my sister's name.

CHAPTER THREE

Somewhere in my head I am able to acknowledge the wrongness of me standing in front of a mirror with a bright red NICOLE lipsticked over it and brushing my hair that is wet from a shower. It doesn't stop me from doing so. I yank the comb through my chin-length hair repeatedly and with force, ignoring the angry throb of the gash over my right eyebrow. I must have hit my forehead on the counter when I went down. Perfect. That will go really well with the scar on the same side on my lower lip.

I place my comb on top of the sink and look in the top left drawer for a bandage. There is a box of them next to some antibiotic ointment. Setting my hands on top of the counter, I lean forward and stare at myself in a piece of the mirror that isn't marked up. The image that reflects back at me is eerily similar to the one I saw a few years ago, after that night. The only thing different is the length of my hair. I have spent a great deal of time trying to erase that girl from existence, but no matter how hard I try, the old me keeps finding her way back to trip me up.

Reality smacks me in the face as I stand here feeling sorry for myself. Between the long shower I took and the time I spent getting dressed, I have been all alone in an apartment that someone had to have broken into. I have to get out of here.

I hurry to finish dressing. Shorts and a bra might be acceptable in South Beach, but I'm not going to an overpriced night club that is half an hour away but takes almost double that in traffic. Plus, I'm not skanky so I'll wear a real top. Minimal make up; just some mascara and gloss over a touch of concealer for the lip scar. I don't need anyone thinking I'm some kind of battered woman and attracting unwanted attention. There is little I can do about the fresh cut above the eye, though, so the flesh-colored bandage will have to do.

Before I'm out the door, I grab a can of pepper spray and a switchblade to keep in my purse. Just in case.

I'm locking my door when I hear an unfamiliar voice from down the hall.

"Hi."

I tense up, even though the voice is female, and turn to look while keeping one hand on my pepper spray. A pretty redhead, mid to late 30s I'd guess, is standing in front of the apartment two doors down from mine. She's carrying several grocery bags. I relax. She looks non-threatening. Not like a person who just vandalized my bathroom and violated my space, but that doesn't make her a source of comfort either. I try to avoid friendly people. I don't need a friend. I smile at her and head for the elevator. Before I make it there, I hear the unmistakable sound of groceries hitting the floor, followed by a few choice expletives from the woman. I sigh. This is not my day.

"Let me help you," I tell her as I snatch a stray orange from the floor.

"Thank you. I shouldn't have tried to carry so much, but I just moved in and I didn't know if there was a cart or something downstairs."

"The valet has one. Next time, just let them help you out."

She nods. We finish gathering the stuff that fell on the floor and I place it in the bags that didn't rip as she unlocks her door. If her unit is the same layout as mine, the kitchen will be near the entrance off of the foyer. I can set her bags down quickly and leave.

"Please come in. I really appreciate your help."

I'm right about the layout of her place and I have the stuff on the breakfast bar in no time. Even though there are several boxes still unpacked in here, I can't help but notice that her place looks much more lived-in than mine. It's warm and inviting. "No problem."

She extends her hand to me. "I'm Elyse. Nice to meet you."

I shake her hand. "Paige."

"Well, Paige. I'm about to start dinner for my fiance and myself. He should be home in an hour or so. Obviously I have plenty of food. Can I invite you to join us?"

"I wish I could, but I'm on my way to the library to meet a classmate," I lie.

Her face falls slightly. "That's too bad. We moved here only a few days ago from Indiana. My fiance got a great promotion,but it's so far from home. I don't know anyone. Maybe another time?"

I feel guilty. I know what it's like to be far away from everyone you love, even if it was by choice. I nod my head even though I doubt it will ever happen. "Definitely."

I'm really on a roll with this lying thing. Elyse follows me to the door and holds it open for me.

"It was nice meeting you, Paige. Knock on my door anytime."

"Likewise, Elyse."

That makes two people that I have spoken to in one day for something other than a necessity. If I wasn't still so shaken by the love note in my bathroom, I would almost feel human again.

I take the elevator to the third floor and head into the parking garage. Though I prefer to walk, this is Miami and public transportation is a joke here. I bought an Acura MDX when I moved here. It is the same car Nicole used to drive.

The Starbucks on Biscayne and 190th street is unusually quiet for a late afternoon, but I'm thrilled by this because I'll actually have a place to sit. I choose an overstuffed armchair near the restrooms. People don't like to sit close to bathrooms, but I don't care. I pull out my iPad and load the school's online course web page. I take as many courses on the web based service as possible because I'm self-motivated enough to get my work done without someone telling me to and I really enjoy sleeping late. I took an 8 am class the first semester of Freshman year and I got a C simply because I slept through it so many times my professor lowered my grade. Never again.

I'm taking one of those lame syllabus quizzes that you have to do just so your instructor knows you logged on, when I see a shadow fall across my lap.

A male voice. "Mind if I sit?"

Without bothering to look up I tell him, "Yes. I mind."

"Be careful, Paige. I might start to think you don't like me."

My head snaps up. Of course it's Brady that is standing over me. My day gets better and better. "I don't know you well enough to dislike you, Brady. I just really like to study alone."

He sits in the chair next to mine, regardless of my obvious discomfort. His position is legs open and he leans towards me with his elbows resting on his thighs, macho-style, yet there is a quiet grace in the way he carries himself. It does not go unnoticed. I think that if I had not allowed myself to become an embittered version of me that I would like him. I can respect a person that will take my insufferable attitude and not only brush it off, but volley it right back at me in a manner that both disarms and excites. Also, he is damned attractive. Dark blond hair and blue eyes are a deadly combination. "I'm willing to bet that, if you give it some time, you'll take at least three or four weeks before you decide to dislike me."

There is undisguised mischief in his voice. If I didn't know better, I might think he is flirting with me.

Except I don't know any better. I prove this by standing up so quickly that my knees smack into the end table where my coffee is resting. Was resting. One second the cup is upright and the next it is not. I watch the still hot liquid cascade over the side of the table and deposit itself directly in the lap of one annoying and extremely good looking male.

Embarrassment fights its way to the surface but I stuff it back down. Show no weakness.

Brady is quite good at hiding his own feelings, because that could not have felt good. Yet he says nothing. Nothing turns quickly into disbelief as I snatch my things and force a smirk onto my lips.

"You're just going to leave me like this?" he asks.

"Of course not," I tell him. "I'm not a total bitch."

I toss a few napkins in his direction and I'm gone before he can see my face turn red.

CHAPTER FOUR

I only have classes on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday so I don't have to see Brady today. I'm definitely feeling a lot of guilt over the way I've treated him when it seems like he is just a nice person. It just isn't a good idea for me to have people try and get to know me. It's bad enough that Elyse was in the building gym the same time that I was this afternoon. She came right over to the elliptical next to mine and struck up a conversation with me. She didn't seem to care that I had headphones on and was listening to music, she pantomimed for me to remove them. Reluctantly, I turn Thirty Seconds to Mars off and place the ear buds in the cup holder.

"Hi, Paige. I told Garrett, that's my fiance, all about meeting you yesterday. He wanted me to thank you for helping me with the groceries and invite you to dinner next Tuesday night. He left this morning to fly back home and finish up one last client account. He'll be home Monday night. What is your favorite food? I'll make it."

Ambushed. I felt completely ambushed by this ball of energy of a woman. That, coupled with the fact that I couldn't think of a good enough excuse for a week from now must be why I tell her I'll come to dinner. "Okay, I'll be there."

Elyse increases her stride on the elliptical. "Fantastic! What would you like me to make? Are you allergic to anything?"

"I'm not picky. I'll be fine with whatever you make. I don't have any food allergies that I know of."

"I'll think of something. I can't wait for you to meet Garrett. Sorry to interrupt your workout."

I start to put my ear buds back in. "No problem. I've still got a while to go."

She opens a magazine. I have no idea how anyone can read while they are gliding back and forth on a cardio machine, but I'm certainly jealous because I wish I could make the time pass faster that way. Instead, I close my eyes and lose myself to Jared Leto singing about punishment, pleasure, and pain.

The truth is, I like Elyse. She has an easy-going nature about her that brings a semblance of calm to my inner nut job. For one moment, yesterday, I felt like I was visiting a friend when I was at her place. Eerie. I deny and deny and deny every chance I get to make a meaningful connection to someone and I know it's because of her. I died right along with Nicole that night and everyone knows it. My parents knew; that's why they sent me away that time. It's why I ran as far away as I could and didn't tell anyone how to find me.

I just wish I could find myself.

CHAPTER FIVE

I'm early to class. Very early. I couldn't sleep at all knowing I was going to have to face up to my childish behavior in the coffee shop the other day, so I hit the gym before class and now I have the nervous energy of a woman going on a blind date. Maybe Brady will be late and I won't have to talk to him. Won't have to apologize, or look into those blue eyes and try hard not to revert back to the shy little mess of a kid that lost her voice when boys came around. Boys grow up and girls become women, but I haven't changed much.

Shut up, I tell myself. If I spent a little less time being melancholy and more time focusing on my school work, I'd probably graduate early. And when did I get so down on myself anyway? I spent precious time learning the fine art of I Just Don't Give a Fuck for a damn good reason. Nicole would be disappointed.

The new boyfriend lives in a small apartment complex made up of a U-shaped two story building centered around a massive swimming pool. Because temperatures have already been dipping into the low 60s and sometimes 50s, this and most pools in the area have already been drained.