Hurt Like HELL (new adult contemporary romance) (6 page)

When I finally succumbed and turned my head again, I saw nothing but I felt something.  It was as though someone stood right there –
right there!
– and I just couldn’t see them.  My eyes then became so focused I could see the faint wisps of steam as they still floated around the bathroom, no place to go.  The mirrors were so heavily coated that they began to stream.  They looked like tears.  The lines lasted only a second or two before more steam took their place, and the process repeated.  I slowly reached for the toilet with my left hand.  I felt the plush seat cover, but that wasn’t what I wanted to feel.

My cell phone.

Shit.

I left it in my bedroom, on purpose.

I never brought my phone with me into the bathroom.

There were two reasons.

First, I didn’t want to be bothered.  Being naked in the extremely hot water left me vulnerable.  It was my time, my chance to break from the world, even for a few minutes.  When I felt vulnerable, I felt like I couldn’t make a decision for myself.  (That served to be part of the reason why I was twenty-three and a virgin… you have to be vulnerable to enjoy yourself or the company of another body.)

Second, I had a mean streak of random but terrible klutziness.  I was the girl who could serve coffee and hot drinks all day without a hitch but when Brett came for a glass of water after a set, I managed to throw – literally throw – the water and cup at him.  In the bathroom, I dropped my cell phone into the water twice.  Once trying to surf the internet.  The second time while I was in a bit of a texting war with a bitchy girl who came into Thorns.  I was typing so fast, really coming up with a brutal comeback, and my hands were sweaty, and it just slipped.

No phones in the bathroom.  That became the new rule.

Shit.

The feeling of being watched didn’t let up for a second.  The bathroom was too small to have to scan it as many times as I did to convince myself I remained alone.  Even then I continued to look around, over and over, my body reacting to
something
.  With my eyes moving left to right, gently and casually, not wanting to make my next set of moves too obvious, I brought the heel of my right foot down and pressed it to the drain stopper.  It clicked and I brought my foot back up, the stopper came with it.  The tub instantly began to make gurgling sound as the water fought to go down the drain.  If it were different circumstances, I would have stayed in the tub until it emptied. 

Tonight, I stood up and grabbed for my towel. 

I didn’t dry myself off either, I wrapped the towel around my body, covering all that had been exposed.  I seriously could not shake the feeling of someone’s eyes gawking at my body, up and down.  I took small steps through the small bathroom and at the door, I opened it in a rush, slamming the door behind me.  Of course that produced a small puff of air that spread across the top of my back and neck as my hair was off to my side.  It made my skin shiver again and I walked into my bedroom.  My cell phone was right on the bed, looking at me with its black screen. 

“There’s my cell phone,” I said.  “I knew it was in here.”

I paused and listened intently, my sense of hearing picking up.  I heard the soft sound of the breeze outside pressing on the old windows of the apartment.  I heard the muffled sound of my neighbor below me – Mr. Jenkins.  He watched game shows all day long.  I heard the sound of a jackpot ringing and a studio audience clapping.  Above me was deathly silent and all around me, the apartment remained still.  Even the aged wood, which usually offered random moans and groans was quiet.

I heard nothing, no signs of a person inside my apartment.

When I was younger, I used to go into mild panic attacks if someone walked too fast, especially on wood.  The sound of heavy footsteps made me think of
him
running down the basement steps…

Jack.

I gasped at the thought.  I put my hands to my mouth and exhaled with a cry.  My towel fell around me and the intense feeling of being watched came back in a rush.  I bent my knees to retrieve the towel instead of bending over.

Why did I just think his name?

I couldn’t remember the last time I thought about… everything.

I looked to my phone just in time to see it light up with a text from Bridget. 

‘Call me. I hate my boyfriend. Ugh.’

I would have just ignored the text or engaged Bridget in a quick texting session trying to encourage her that either Timmy, her boyfriend, was just having a bad day or she was better off without Timmy in her life.  Each one would end in the same fashion; Bridget calling Timmy, making up, and then spending a day or two rolling around in her bed sheets. 

The joys of a relationship, I guess.

Tonight I grabbed my phone and watched as my thumbs shook, desperate to write something.  Anything. 

I looked around my bedroom and the feeling had followed me from the bathroom.  I didn’t want to leave, but I had to.  My body felt manipulated.  Part of me wanted to stay home.  It was, after all, my apartment.  Nothing should scare me away from it.  I promised myself when I left Auntie B’s I wouldn’t go back.  I wouldn’t run, I wouldn’t be scared.  I had to become myself. 

I closed my eyes and gave it one last chance.  One last chance to let that feeling go away.  One last chance to feel safe and sound, at home.

It didn’t happen.

I swore I could feel something wanting to touch me.  Like someone was holding their hands just above my shoulders, an inch away.  My body sensed a presence even though I couldn’t see anything.

My thumbs went to work.

‘I need to get out of my place for a bit.  I’m coming over.’

Send.

I dressed as fast as I could, considering all my nerves and muscles felt pinched and rigid. 

Bridget texted me back a few minutes later, almost leaving me hanging on the edge of where to go when I left the apartment.

‘Come over. Is everything okay?’

I didn’t bother to reply.  Too much to type and quiet honestly, I was afraid to type it.  To see it in text, written, exposed, worried me.  The feeling swirling around inside me, left me thinking of times I preferred to not think about.

No rhyme, no reason, and no planning.

One second you’re in a scalding hot bath, and the next, a ghost and memories change your life.

~3~

Bridget’s ground level loft was five miles away from my apartment.
   She answered the door with a smile and a sigh of relief.  She worried more than any person I ever met.  She worried enough for the both of us.  Most of the ‘fights’ she and Timmy had were nothing more than subtle disagreements that she looked too far into.  I’m betting that if you asked Timmy, he’d say that while make up sex was good, relief sex had to be much better. 

Then again, what would I know about that?

“You scared me,” Bridget said.

Her long arms were wrapped tight around my small framed body, pulling me inside.  The place smelled of lemon cleaner and some kind of tree like candle.  And something berry, something fake, something meant for the holidays but Bridget loved it enough to keep it all year long.  Hidden.

She never admitted to having candles and smelly things around her loft.  First, candles weren’t allowed to be burned and second, Bridget just wouldn’t admit it.

“Smells good in here,” I said.

“Thanks.”

She let me go and backed up.  She was already trying to piece something together.

“I’m fine,” I said.

I tried to walk past her, making a line for the kitchen for a drink I didn’t need or want.  Bridget shot her arms out and I stopped.  Little Miss Track Star had been gifted with long legs and amazing strength.  We were complete opposites in physical appearance and mental well being, but somehow we clicked.

We always clicked.

“You never want to hear about me and Timmy fighting,” she said.

“Of course I do.”  My sarcastic tone hung low in the air.

“Yeah, you’ll probably just put us in a book someday.”

Bridget put her pointer and thumb fingers together, scribbled in the air, and stuck out her tongue.  That was her attempt at making fun of me for being a writer.  She really didn’t understand much about writing, or art, because she wasn’t into writing, reading, paintings, or anything of the like.  She was a complete and total numbers geek, who worked at a big accounting firm.

Again, we were complete opposites. 

“What happened now?” I asked ducking down and freeing myself of Bridget’s arm.  I regretted my tone but I already said it. 

“It’s not that bad,” Bridget said, already trying to scramble. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”  I opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.

“It’s okay.  He’s been having a hard time with his father.”

I smiled and blinked quickly at that statement, resisting the urge to explode.  I held back simply because most of my life remained in a large grey area for those I held close to me.  My timeline was more or less a few events leading to the black hole of adolescence at which point most people would nod, smile, and think back to their awkward teen years.  I smiled back, trying my best to agree with them.  While they were struggling to figure out
the bases
, I was on a witness standing testifying for my father, trying to come to terms with the death of my best friend, and even when a verdict finally came, sending my father to prison, I still hated him.  I still hated myself.  And in some ways I hated Jack.  However, I could never admit that out loud and even thinking it was terrible.

I wasn’t sure why, but right then it seemed every little statement bothered me.  It wasn’t hiding things that made it hard, it was when those things wanted out.

At least I had Bridget to keep my ears busy, hearing the saga of her relationship.

“And then he tells me… he wants to be alone tonight. 
Babe
, he says,
I need space.  Just for tonight.
  So, of course, I instantly picture him standing with his back to the bed, not wanting to look at the naked slut on his bed while he makes excuses to me.”

“He’s cheating?” I asked.  “You really believe that based on…”

“His tone,” Bridget said.  Her eyebrows were raised high, shocked that I didn’t pick up on that part of the story already.  “He said it fast and short, like he didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Maybe he didn’t,” I said.  I was serious, but the look on Bridget’s face made me feel bad. 

So I stuck out my tongue.

The mood was lightened.

I dodged that one.

“You don’t think he’s cheating on me?” Bridget asked.

I couldn’t believe how serious she was.

“Bridget, he wouldn’t cheat on you,” I said.  “Not because he wants a night alone.  He’s a guy.  Maybe he’s tired.  Or getting sick.  Or just wants to watch porn.”

“Oh, so there’s something wrong with me?  He’d rather see stuff online?”

Wow, I just kicked the hornets nest for a second time.

“Just calm down,” I said.  “He’s having his own night, so have one for yourself.  Where did he sleep last night?”

“Here.”

“And tonight he’s sleeping at his apartment.  Is Danny still crashing with him?”

“Ugh.  Yeah.  That guy is such a moocher.”  Bridget hesitated for a second and then said, in a whisper, which made no sense because we were alone in her apartment, “Did you know he took money from Timmy.  And asked Timmy if he’d share me?”

Those were two extreme statements.

I started with the lesser of the two.

“He took money?  Like stole it?”

“Yes.  Timmy has a jar hidden in his desk with some cash and coins.  Nothing much, maybe twenty dollars.  And Danny cleared it out.”

“How did Timmy find out?”

“Danny left the drawer open and the jar on Timmy’s desk, empty.  And Danny is the only other person who has a key to the apartment.”

I almost asked,
You don’t have a key to your boyfriend’s apartment?
but luckily, I caught myself, stopping what had the potential to be a tyrant conversation on Timmy’s inability to commit to anything but the bedroom. 

“And what about Danny wanting to share you?”

“Don’t even get me started,” Bridget said.  She shook her head and then body, making a disgusted sound.  “Danny was drunk and made a joke about it to Timmy.  And then Timmy said it to me.  For a second, I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.”

“Change of subject.”  I drank more of the water I didn’t want and left the kitchen.

I fell to the couch and let out a long sigh.  In the few seconds it took Bridget to follow me, I realized I already started to feel better being with Bridget.  That watching feeling had gone, thankfully, but my body still felt different, like it knew something I didn’t know.