The Thirst Within (7 page)

Next day is Monday. I plow through school with
a headache, possibly due to whiplash from my emotions. In one day, I soared in
Thierry’s affection, melted in his arms, and in less than an hour I came
crashing down. It’s true what they say: the higher you are, the farther you
fall. And I fell from somewhere close to heaven.

I still tingle all over when I think about him
kissing me. I’ve been doing that all day. At home, at school, on the bus to
work, at now at work. But every damn time, I remember I’m not allowed to think
about that part, since he can’t kiss me again—he wants to, but he can’t, I keep
telling myself.

“Tori?” My manager, Andrea, calls me back to
the present. She’s holding a broom. “I need you on the floor tonight. Can you
do that? I’ll ask someone else if you don’t want to.”
On the floor
is
code for being on watch for dropped popcorn. But I like it, because there’s not
a whole lot to do between movies, and I don’t have to talk to John anymore,
who’s been weird since last Saturday when Thierry came by.

“No, I got it. Hey, where’s Jason?” Jason’s the
regular, unreliable broom guy.

“Oh, man,” Andrea says, grimacing, like she’s
sharing embarrassing information. “He’s at a funeral. There was a double murder
or something over the weekend. It’s awful. Two guys are dead; they’re saying it
was probably gang violence. But one of them was Jason’s buddy from high
school.”

“Crap. Nearby?”

“No, down in Gretna. Well, they found the
bodies in Gretna, each in their respective houses, dead on their bed. They say
it’s the same MO. Weird, huh?”

“That’s terrible, to lose a friend like that,”
I say.

“So yeah, I guess the cops took in all their
other friends for questioning.”

“When was it?” I ask.

“They found them Sunday morning, and I think it
happened Saturday night.”

“Gang violence, huh?”

“Appears to be.”

She goes back to her office, and I start my
rounds with the broom. All the while though, I keep thinking about the murders.
Jason knew one of the guys, and they were in a gang. They were probably his
age, which is early twenties. I wonder if they ever came here. I might have
even met them….

Something bothers me. When I get a chance, I
pull out my phone from my pocket and google local news for two guys found dead
in their homes.

The story pops up and I find out their names,
but there are no pictures. So I search for their names and specify
images
.
For the first name there’s a promising online profile from a guy in New
Orleans. He’s making gang signs with his hands. That’s probably one of the
victims. Something about his stance looks familiar.

When I search images of the second name, I
almost gasp and drop my phone. It’s a big fat dude, and I recognize his face.

Big Guy.

Shit.

I knew it. I’m ninety percent sure that the two
dead guys are my would-be attackers from Saturday night.

***

The rest of the week goes by, and there’s
nothing to tell because Thierry isn’t around. I hate myself for falling so hard
for him, a guy that was so totally out of my league that just talking to him
was sure to cause an imbalance in the universe. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s
an earthquake in the next few weeks in some distant South American country.

The only consolation I have is that at least I
know Thierry didn’t want to alienate himself from me; that he liked kissing me.
He’s avoiding me, I know he is, but at least the man can pick up the phone if I
call him. I’m guessing it’s because he said that we’d still be friends. I miss
seeing him, but at least I can hear his voice.

Not that I’ve talked with him that much. I’ve
only called him twice. The first time was on Monday to ask him if he’d heard of
the double murders. He said he hadn’t, but he wasn’t surprised because it
happened all the time in the higher crime areas. He didn’t bring up any
subject, not his brother or college or movies or anything. But he did respond
to my chitchat and chimed in at the appropriate intervals. We talked for a few
minutes, I laughed at something funny he said, he made me feel like he still
cared for me—which was obviously the real reason I called—and then we hung up.

I’d like to think that I noticed a little
sadness in his voice when we said goodbye, but that could just be my wishful
heart, telling me he still likes me.

The second time I called him was Friday and it
was after four days of misery, hoping to hear from him—after all, I’d called on
Monday. It was his turn to call. But he didn’t. I thought of excuses to call
that wouldn’t make it sound like I was calling just because I wanted to hear
his voice, which was exactly why I was calling him. But finally on Friday I
couldn’t take it anymore and I called him. Before I did, I made a sort of pact
with myself.

You see, one of the reasons I allowed myself to
call him was that I needed closure and I wanted to make sure it was over. So I
told myself that if I called again and he didn’t sound excited to talk to me
after four days, I’d take it as a sign that the brief little thing that we had
was completely over.

So I dialed. My excuse was crappy, of course—I
said I called to tell him that I was going to work both days of the weekend, so
we might not be able to hang out, like friends, like we should be able to. I
thought it was brilliant, calling to say I won’t see him, which is a way of
denying him, I guess, while also throwing in there my weekend schedule, since the
previous weekend he had always seemed to pop up where I was. And the best
benefit of all, I got to hear his voice again.

He said that was a bummer, but we’d find time
to hang out at some other time. After talking for a bit, we hung up.

And then… that was it. I was convinced; it was
really over. I haven’t seen him or heard from him, nor will I call him again.

Sunday night is the one-week mark since our
little date and subsequent breakup, so I give up.

I sure as hell won’t call him again. Our time
is over. Was it me? No, the only thing that changed here was the arrival of
Corben. It pisses me off that the guy, who, yeah, is older than me, but is
still younger than Thierry, supposedly, has so much influence on his older
brother. I couldn’t influence Kerin to talk to Lynn, her best friend, all this
week when they were fighting. And
that
was a noble cause. Yet Corben doesn’t
even live in the same goddamn state as Thierry and I do, and he somehow managed
to shatter the best experience of my life.

I really wish I knew what the guy’s problem
was. I can only think of a few things: he’s single and he’s jealous that his
brother is dating someone; he already has a girl in mind for his brother, a
girl who happens to be a rich model; or, he simply hates females. Whatever,
Corben.

Asshole.

But I’ll be fine. I give up and accept my fate.
Thierry was a dream to be with, and I wonder vaguely if in the future when I’m
married with three fat little kids, will I even remember that kiss? I mean, I
know I’ll remember. But will I convince myself that the memory I’ll have—
that
I’ll never be able to erase—was made up? I probably will. It’s just too farfetched
to believe it was real. That, or I’ll convince myself that I’m remembering
Thierry way hotter than he was. That there was no way he was that hot, and I’ve
embellished over the years. That his arms around me hadn’t been as strong as I
think.

Ah. As I remember the feeling of his arms
around me, my body yearns for them again with a sad desire. My poor heart can’t
handle it.

But I tell myself that I can’t spend my life
pining after him. He’s weird and his brother is definitely weirder. Fuck the
Colberts, I say.

Then I realize something funny. The brother’s
name is Corben Colbert? That’s just…. Weird name.

In the end, letting go of Thierry is
surprisingly easy. At least rationally. Deep-rooted lack of self-esteem tells
me easily enough that I was never meant to be with him. It’s surprising because
really, I should be curled up in my bed, still uncontrollably crying my eyes
out, devastated that a guy I thought liked me unexpectedly stopped all
communication. I should be eating ice cream. I should be depressed. I should be
questioning his motives—actually, I
really
should be questioning his
motives—and coming to the conclusion that he used me and only wanted to get in
my pants, or lost a bet with his college friends. But no. I’m cool. Or so I
think.

I miss him, I do, but my brain takes over my
heart, and convinces me that what’s happening is what was supposed to happen.
That what did happen should have never happened in the first place.

At least it gets easier at home after my third week
with the Harrises, since June got tired of rounding everyone up for dinner and
now just does casual dinner. She cooks or prepares an easy meal and whoever’s
hungry comes by the kitchen and eats, and she doesn’t complain as long as we
wash our dishes.

Most of the times I eat alone, and sometimes I
eat with Fiona, who agrees with the change. She says she’s happy her mother
finally dropped the act. June eats first after she finishes cooking, and feeds Jack.
I never eat with them so I hardly see Jack anymore. My uncle comes in from work
after everyone’s done, and ends up eating alone. He disappears in his study. I
tell ya, I like this arrangement.

School’s not that bad, and I start enjoying
work after I stop expecting Thierry to show up. John is my closest guy buddy at
work. After days passed by without seeing Thierry, or me mentioning him, John
became John again. Now he even tries to get closer to me during school as well.
We sit side-by-side during seventh period, and he starts joining me at lunch.
Of course Kerin notices.

“Hey, so, you and John Schmidt?” she asks one
day after another week of no Thierry goes by, and a few days after John joined
us for lunch the first time. We’re in Health class and nobody’s doing anything,
not even the teacher.

“What? No, it’s not like that. We’re just
friends, you know, since we work together?”

“Right. What if he asked you out on a date,
what would you say?”

“I’ve never thought about that. Mmm… I’d
probably say no.”

“What if he asked you to have lunch with him
and
didn’t
say it was a date?”

“We already have lunch together all the time. I
mean, during the weekend, at work, if we have lunch hour at the same time,
we’ll walk to the food court together.”

Kerin gasps. “Those are dates, Tori!”

“No!” I say, horrified. “I pay for my stuff and
he pays for his. Trust me, those aren’t dates. At least,
I
don’t think
so.”

“Well, maybe
he
does. I think he’s
interested in you, so if you don’t like him, make sure he knows.”

“I guess. But how? If he doesn’t like me I’d
sound pretty stupid if I told him, ‘So hey, John, you know I’m not interested
in you, right?’ and he’ll say, ‘what are you talking about? I don’t like you. You’re
not even hot, Tori.’”

Kerin rolls her eyes. “No. All you have to do
is
hint
that you like someone else, is all. That way he won’t get his
hopes up.”

“But I don’t like someone else,” I say, even
though I know what she means—
pretend
I like someone. But I really don’t
like anyone. It’s all forgotten.

“You don’t
need
to like someone,” she
says exasperatedly. “You’re just saying that so that he loses hope.”

“I know, I know. I’m just…. Okay. I’m just not
sure if I want him to lose hope.”

“What! But you said you don’t like him.”

“No, I didn’t. I just said I wouldn’t go out on
a date with him. But I think he’s good-looking.”

Kerin pauses for a second and looks up,
probably envisioning John. “He
is
kinda cute. He could use better
fashion sense, though,” she says. “So why wouldn’t you date him?”

John is cute in a nerdy kind of way. He wears
plaid shirts every day, and doesn’t bother to tame his hair. It’s dark brown,
matching his eyes; a little long, but it’s slightly wavy and sort of grows out,
not down. Or maybe he wears tons of product. I can’t tell.

“I don’t know,” I tell Kerin automatically, but
I actually do know. The reason I don’t date him is that for the longest time,
everyone seemed a little ordinary… after Thierry. However, Thierry Colbert is
no longer around, so I should set my sights on attainable goals. “Nothing wrong
with him, though. It’s just… I think I don’t want to date. You know, go out to
dinner. Bring a guy home. That sort of thing.”

“Oh. Well, don’t bring a guy home. Don’t go out
to dinner. You can still be boyfriend and girlfriend. Right? Do your parents
let you? I mean your aunt and uncle.”

I don’t correct her on the aunt part. “I don’t
know. Fiona doesn’t have a boyfriend, so I’m not sure what the protocol is.”

“Fiona’s had a ton of boyfriends. I just don’t
think anything’s ever been official.”

“Well, she must have had a reason. And it could
be her parents. So, no official boys for me, either.” It’s hard to imagine
bringing home a boy.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” Kerin asks.

Shit. I hate that question.

“No, not in Iowa.”

“What do you mean, not in Iowa? I meant
ever
;
Iowa, Illinois, wherever you’ve been.”

“Well, I….” I’m embarrassed, but I shouldn’t
be, because I’m so over him. It’s still hard to say, because it was nothing. He
wasn’t my boyfriend. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. In Iowa there was a guy I
liked, and a guy that liked me, but they were different guys. And in Illinois there
was no one; I was there for only a week.”

“But did you ever….” She wrinkles her nose, as
if afraid to hear the answer. “Kiss a guy?”