The Arrangement 14 (7 page)

I glance up into his eyes and can see the concern. He thinks Sean is mistreating me, that these tears are because of him, but they aren’t. They’re my fault. I’m the one who walked away. “You don’t have to do that. I just need some air, you know?”
 

He nods. The smile fades and he’s serious for a moment. Trystan dips his chin toward his chest and looks down at his Chucks. “Do you believe in destiny? Or do you think life is one random event after another?”
 

I stare at him for a moment. When he looks up at me, I can tell that it’s important to him, but I’m not sure what he’s wanting to know. He must read it on my face, because he explains. “If it’s destiny, it doesn’t matter what you do, you’ll end up with Ferro. But if we call the shots…sometimes there are no second chances. Sometimes things just don’t work, and people say ‘it wasn’t meant to be,’ but that’s bullshit, right? You want to start over. I see it in your eyes—but you linger
too much in the past. I’m guilty of the same crime. If you’re a fate enthusiast, then have it, but if you want things to work out, then there’s only one way to do it and running away won’t fix that problem.”
 

I tense and snap at him. “A lifetime of shrinks couldn’t fix my problems. Don’t act like you know me. You have no right.”
 

Trystan lifts his hands palms toward me, as if he meant no harm. “Of course.” His smile returns as I climb up into the Hummer. “Tell the driver where you want to go. Hope this isn’t good-bye, Call Girl.”
 

I can only nod, because I don’t know what this is. My stomach is tied in knots and I can barely swallow. The driver closes the door and I tell him the address before sitting back in the seat. I enjoy the quiet ride until we pull up in front of the apartments.
 

After the driver opens my door, I hop down. “Will you wait a moment? I’m not sure if he’s home.”
 

“Certainly.” The old man isn’t like Gabe. He’s thin as a rail and looks like he might fall over if the wind blows too hard.
 

I hurry over to the door and knock. Dread fills my stomach, because it’s possible that he’ll tell me to go away, but I can’t. He’s one of my best friends and when this all started he didn’t condemn me for my new job.
 

Marty pulls open the door. It’s early and overcast. He stands in the doorway with sleep in his eyes and a messy head of sandy hair. There is a pair of plaid boxers hanging low on his trim hips and a loose once-white T-shirt.
 

“Hey,” I say tentatively. When he doesn’t answer I add, “I didn’t know if I should come—”
 

Marty gives me one of his signature grins and pulls me into his arms for a quick hug. When he pulls back, he holds both my shoulders. “You’re always welcome here.”
 

I wave to the driver to take off and head inside. His apartment is just the way I remember it. The little room has his bed, a kitchen with dirty dishes in the sink, pizza boxes littered across the floor, and his books are everywhere. “Finals just ended. Sorry, the place is wrecked.” He rubs his eyes hard and takes a deep breath.
 

“It’s fine.”
 

He looks over at me while he goes to the kitchen. “So, you didn’t show up for any of them, did you?” There’s a bit of annoyance in his tone, as if he’s disappointed with me.
 

“No, something came up.” I don’t want to get into the guy trying to kill me, because I can’t tell anyone—even Marty—that I killed the pilot. I shiver thinking about it, and shove the thought away. I’m going to go crazy before I’m thirty. I can feel it. I’ll be the Long Island madam with forty-two million cats. It’ll be pussyland all right. I groan and sit down on a stool.
 

Marty shoves a bowl of dry cereal at me. “Sorry, no milk. It turned to cottage cheese a week ago. I haven’t been shopping yet.”
 

“It’s fine.” I pick at the sugar covered corn flakes and pop one in my mouth. “How have things been?”
 

He leans back against the counter and pours some of the cereal into his mouth directly from the box before answering. “Do you mean before or after there was a dead girl at the hotel you were at? Or how you hung up on me mid-call and didn’t bother to tell me shit? Because right around then, I was feeling peachy. Just fuckin’ peachy, Avery.” He slams the box down on the counter and turns his back on me. His hand clutches his temples like he has a massive headache. “I thought you were dead. Mel disappeared, and no one had the decency to tell me jack shit, so of course I’m fine.” When he turns back around, Marty glares at me. The look is so cold that I shiver.
 

I’ve never heard him curse so much before. It’s unnerving coming from him. “I would have called if I could have. Things are out of control and I came here because I wanted your help, but if you’re too pissed to—”
 

Marty’s head is tipped to the side and his shoulders are rigid. As soon as I speak, I start for the door, ready to leave. Marty deflates and stops me. Grabbing my wrist, he spins me around. “I was worried about you, that’s all.”
 

“And there’s a lot to worry about, which is why I’m here.”
 

He nods. It’s an acknowledgement that he won’t bring up the past few nights or ask about them again. His grip lingers on my wrist. That’s when his gaze narrows in on the gash on my arm. I’m wearing a hoodie over my shirt and a pair of jeans. I was cold when I left, so I grabbed it. I think it’s Jon’s sweatshirt, so it’s way too big for me. I pushed the sleeves up to my
elbows and he can see the bottom of the wound. “What the hell?”
 

I tug my arm away from him and push the sleeves down. “Don’t.” It’s a one-word warning that means a million things. Don’t say it. Don’t push me. Don’t ask…just don’t.
 

His jaw tightens and I can tell he wants to scream at me, but he doesn’t. “So, what can I do for you, Avery?”
 

I sneer at him and mutter. “I liked it better when I thought you were gay.”
 

He rolls his eyes before fluttering his lashes at me. “Go on, girlfriend. Tell me what’s on your mind and then we can have a bitchfest about men and eat too many donuts.” He watches me and finally smiles. His voice goes back to the lower register, without the extra flare. “Seriously, Avery, I’m here for you. I’m just fried. Finals were a bitch and I was really worried about you. It looks like I had every right to be concerned.”
 

“You did. I’m in a bad spot.” I go into how Black wants to make me a madam and that I owe her a ton of money. I explain why I don’t want Sean to pay the debt and that Black paid my hospital bills. “I’m appalled to say the idea of being a madam isn’t horrifying.” I’m gripping my hands in my lap, twisting them until they burn.
 

Marty is sitting on the floor across from me with his back to the wall. “There’s only one question to ask yourself—do you want to do it?” I shrug. “It sounds better than being a call girl. How long will it take you to pay back Black if you say yes?”
 

“I don’t know. Not long, I suppose. Much faster than if I kept working as a hooker.”
 

“It sounds like you want the job, so take it.”
 

“It’s immoral, Marty!” My jaw drops at how quickly he urges me to take the job.
 

“Who cares? It’ll give you the life you wanted and besides, it’s not like you’re little miss wholesome right now anyway. You’re a whore. A madam is a step up.” I gasp when he says those last words. It feels like he’s punched me in the stomach. “Avery, don’t be like that.”
 

“Like what? Human? Marty!” I make a noise in the back of my throat and jump to my feet. Marty doesn’t get up. He sits there with his long legs extended, and crossed at the ankle. I pace back and forth like an elephant, pounding my feet on the floor.
 

“Avery, it’s what you are. You need to be proud of it, otherwise it’ll eat away at you until you can’t stand to look in the mirror anymore. Does Black have ethical issues with her job? With preying on poor college girls? No, she doesn’t. If you want that life, you have to not give a shit. It’s money. It’s your body. Be proud or quit. You can’t be a prude and be a whore. The dichotomy will drive you insane.”
 

I stop pacing and point two fingers at my head. “Hello! What do you think is going on here? I hate this!”
 

“Then quit. Let Ferro pay your bill and blow him off.”
 

This is why I came here. Marty is so practical that he comes across rather heartless at times. Looking down at him, I finally confess, “Sean proposed.”
 

“So, there are strings on that money. So? Say yes and then leave him.”
 

I shake my head and lean back against the wall, standing next to the spot where Marty sits. “I don’t want to leave him.” I slide down the wall until Marty and I are sitting hip to hip.
 

He’s quiet for a while. “Where’s your ring?”
 

“I gave it back.”
 

“Why?”
 

“Because I don’t know what I want. He’s dark, Marty. I’m sick of living like that. I’ve been mourning too long. I spent more time in the graveyard than a Goth kid. I just want to live again, but I don’t know how. Sean pulls me backwards.”
 

“I remember you saying the opposite. Actually, I know you said it—he makes you forget your grief and pain. It all fades away when fairy Sean sprinkles his pixie dust on you and graces you with his magical presence.” Marty wiggles his fingers when he says pixie dust and uses a mocking voice that sounds a lot like mine.
 

“I did say that, and with most things it’s true.”
 

“But—” he prompts when I don’t reply. But, I can’t answer. It’d be cruel. The guy has a crush on me and to talk about having sex with another guy is just wrong. Before I can reply, he says, “Ah, the beast with two backs. Yeah, that’ll be weird to talk about it.”
 

“English Lit final?”
 

“Yeah. Shakespeare was a bit of a perv. Anyway, back to your problem—work it out.”
 

“Gee, thanks. Why didn’t I think of that?” I roll my eyes as Marty shoulders me.
 

“You can be such a dumbass, you know that?”
 

“What? Me?”
 

“Yes, you. If you don’t like the way things are going with freak-o in the sack, tell him. Good lovers are made, not born. If you don’t talk about it with him, how is he supposed to know?”
 

“He does know. I thought it was a good thing to compromise, but I can’t keep doing the things he likes.” I stare into space remembering the box. I clutch my knees into my chest and hold onto my ankles as tightly as I can. “He scares me sometimes, Marty.”
 

For a long time, no one talks. We just sit there in comfortable silence. Marty finally speaks, “Your husband should be your best friend—he shouldn’t scare you. I’m all for you being happy, Avery, but it sounds like he’s a dipshit. Actually, I know he is.”
 

I’m biting my upper lip, thinking. “So you think I should take the job with Black and leave Sean?”
 

He pushes up off the floor. “I think you should do what makes you happy. Out of everyone I know, you deserve happiness the most.” He reaches down, extending his hand toward me. “Come on. I’m taking you to Friendly’s. You need ice cream—a Jim Dandy Sundae.”
 

I take his hand and Marty pulls me to my feet. He’s so strong that I nearly smack into his chest. I stand there for a second. Our eyes are locked and I know how hard it must be for him. I couldn’t be around Sean and listen to him bear his soul about
someone else. I’d rather shove splinters into my eyes. He remains close, looking down at me with his soft brown eyes. “Thank you for helping me.”
 

“Anytime.” Marty’s gaze remains locked on my face for a breath longer, and then he turns away.
 

After Marty dresses in his hippie attire, we head back to my room. I need to grab clothes and shower. “I shouldn’t be here. Someone took a shot at me the other day.”
 

By the time I say it, we’re already in my room. Amber’s been here and dumped half her closet onto my bed. She totally trashed the room and it still smells like smoke. Her bed sheets are rumpled and there’s a watermark on them—still fresh. She’s so disgusting. I take all of her crap and dump it on her bed.
 

“I wish she’d keep her crap on her side of the room. I hate it when she does this.”
 

Marty grabs my elbow. I wince and he releases me. The wound still hurts. “What
the fuck is going on with you? Who took a shot at you?”
 

I shake my head. “Not now. Let me get my stuff and get out. If Sean or Black finds out I was here, well, I’d just rather not.”
 

Marty stiffens, and folds his arms across his chest. He looks like a hippie that could take out Manhattan. Irony. “Fine. Hurry up. I’ll watch the door, and it goes without saying that anyone that messes with you while I’m around dies.”
 

I smile at him. The words are so wrong that it’s ridiculous, especially coming out of his mouth. “Got it.”
 

I manage to shower, change, and grab a bag of clothes before taking off again. Marty and I leave the room and that’s when we run into Amber.
 

“Whore,” she says as she walks by.
 

I stop and turn back, “I’m not the one that has come stains all over my sheets. And, oh yeah, don’t throw your crap on my
bed. I took the liberty of putting your stuff back on your side of the room. You might want to move that silk slut shirt you like so much. It would be a pity if it got wet.”