Read These Things About Us Online

Authors: Laura Beege

Tags: #New Adult

These Things About Us (10 page)

BOOK: These Things About Us
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"I'm usually right-handed, when I use my left hand instead, I have a different handwriting, too." I held up my left hand for demonstration, but only when my eyes locked with Trace's did I understand. He was joking, and I wasn't.

"Kitty, you didn’t answer my question earlier," he started, but I pressed the pen into his chest to stop him.

"Don't," I warned.

His gaze scorched my skin, as it moved over my face once again. It drifted from my forehead down my nose, to my lips, my chin, and finally into my eyes. This time, he didn't gag.

"You keep your secrets, I keep mine." The words clicked. His secrets. He had something to hide just like me.

"Sounds good to me." I was somewhat curious about the hugging attack but for now, I was more intent to keeping my past buried than figuring out the story behind his issues, so I dumped the pieces of the phone into the envelope and licked the flap to close it.

"Oh no. Now they have your DNA."

"You're not very funny."

"I think I'm hilarious."

I rolled my eyes at him and let the package be weighed before paying for the envelope and the stamp. “You owe me.”

“Right. Because it’s my fault that you stole that phone.”

“Trace!” I eyed the guy behind the counter but his ever-bored frown didn’t falter. “I never said
I
stole it.”

“Every rich girl steals. It’s nature’s law.”

“I’m not rich.”

“Rich girls lie, too, you know.”

I sighed and went to collect a few essentials from the shelves since we were here already. I grabbed a bottle of shampoo and something to eat, then made a great show of carrying the items to the cashier, where I intended to
pay
for them, by holding them on shoulder-level. Trace noticed but turned while shaking his head. I found him outside with his foot propped up against the wall.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” We’d already walked most of the way back in silence when I looked over at Trace and found him studying the sky. “So, how did you end up at that party?”

“That’s none of your business,” Trace grumbled, but then added, “I know Jon, or rather I
knew
him. Before he turned into Jesus.”

“He totally looks like Jesus.”

“Wait here for a moment. Don’t wander off.” Just like that Trace forked off into the pharmacy we were about to walk by. I contemplated going the rest of the way alone but even if the booze had washed last night’s events from his memory, I still remembered promising that I wouldn’t leave him, and I wasn’t going to start breaking promises.

He came back empty-handed.

“What was that about?”

“That, too, is none of your business.”

A dozen ugly names to call him ran through my head, but I kept them inside. I had just gotten rid of the evidence that I was still my father’s daughter. It was time to switch gears. Instead of letting Trace rattle me I tried to picture the sad and desperate version of him from last night. It was easier to be nice to someone beaten down.

“Well, I hope you’re not getting sick and got everything you needed,” I smiled.

 

Twenty minutes later, I was standing under the hot stream of the shower, scrubbing my skin until it turned pink. But even after half the bottle of shampoo, I could still smell the pot. I squeezed more shampoo into my palm and rubbed it over my face and neck and shoulders and all over, but the smell lingered. Maybe it was my nose. Maybe I had inhaled so much smoke, it still clung to the inside of my nose. I scooped some bubbles from my arms, made sure I had enough on my index fingers and then stuck them up my nose.

“Shit,” I hissed. The foam stung, but I kept going, rubbing the shampoo in until I couldn’t smell anything anymore and only the burning remained. That was better.

Hopefully the towel sucked in the last bits of the smell when I dried off. The clean denim dress I was about to put on was not supposed to smell like I’d spent the night at a fraternity party. 

“Tony?” Wes shouted from the other side of the door. “Your phone keeps ringing.”

He’d barely had time to complete that sentence when I ripped the door open, half of my dress still unbuttoned, and dashed through the hallway.

“What the hell?”

I didn’t look back to explain. I ran into my room and grabbed my phone. Unknown caller ID. This could be her. Right on the other side, she finally decided to call back. I clicked the green button and breathed an almost voiceless “Hello?” into the phone.

“She finally found the time to pick up, what a surprise.”

My stomach fell to the floor. “Dad?”

“Happy Birthday, Antonia.”

He’d never been one to remember dates. Him even acknowledging I turned eighteen this month was out of the ordinary, but it was not what bothered me about his phone call. “How did you get this number?”

“You know I have my ways, kid.”

“Tony?” Wes took two tentative steps into the room. I was about to shoo him off when he held up a couple of tissues.

“Who’s with you, Antonia?”

I felt a warm drop hit my lower lip and when I wiped it off, my finger came back smudged with blood.

“A friend,” I answered and took the tissues from Wesley. He must have seen my nose bleed when I ran out of the bathroom. As long as the blood helped washing away the drug traces, I had no problem shedding it.

“I don’t like talking to you when there are people in the room.” Even now, stuck in prison, my father sounded like the solid all-business man he was, still unbroken. I hated that. I hated him for being that strong, when he had broken me in so many ways.

I wiped the blood off my face and tried my best to mimic his cold tone. “Well, you’re not supposed to talk to me in the first place. What do you want?”

“Can’t I call my daughter without motive?”

“Dad, we both know you can’t.” I eyed Wesley who mastered a poker face while handing me another tissue.

“I want to know how you are doing, where you are now. I’m just checking up on you.”

“I have other things to do than catching up with you.”

“Talk to me kid, don’t freeze me out.”

 “I have to go now. I bet you have your ways to find out whatever you want to know.” And before he could say anything creepy about his prison friends and their connections, I hung up on him.

I hadn’t heard my father’s voice in almost a year. Not his real voice. There was always the echo stuck in my head but it wasn’t as bad as hearing him in person. Knowing he’s alive and probably doing great in his tiny cell was a kick in the stomach. I’d hoped they’d show him he was not as invincible, but maybe he was. I had yet to see the day he wasn’t wearing a smug smile. No, actually, I never wanted to see that. I never wanted to see him again.

“Tony?”

I jumped at Wesley’s voice. He hadn’t left yet.

“Yeah?”

“You should sit down, put your head back. Come on, I’ll get you some ice.”

He didn’t ask intrusive questions. That was a first. He just led me to my bed and gave me the pack of tissues, before taking off and running down the stairs. Tilting my head back, I tried not to think about my father but failed miserably.

I have my ways.

I should have known that I couldn’t run away and pretend he didn’t still have a couple of puppets at the ends of his strings. Of course that asshole would always find a way to reach me. I just hoped he didn’t figure out that I was looking for Mom. He’d move heaven and earth to make sure I was still his and that he was, after all, still the winner in this parenting battle even if I was lawfully an adult.

“One big ice delivery for one Antonia Ainsley. Is that you, miss?” Wesley wore a great, big grin, unaware of how much I despised my name.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“So your Dad’s a wally, huh?” He placed the icepack on the bridge of my nose, folding the corners away from my eyes.

“Uhm…”

“An idiot.”

“He’s an asshole, but a really smart one, not an idiot.” Talking to Wesley about him wasn’t going help with my peace of mind, maybe even the contrary. The second everyone figured out that they had a big-time criminal’s daughter under their roof they started acting super weird or kicked me out, most of the time both. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Wes fell onto the bed next to me.

It was time to save the situation with a topic change. “When I left early yesterday, I went to this party and Trace was there, too. He was kind of drunk and…”  Only at the sight of Wesley’s raised eyebrows, did it occur to me that maybe I shouldn’t give him the scoop on what happened. I kept Wesley’s secret safe. If Trace was in the closet about being a hug-aholic, it was wrong to tell on him.

“And…?”

“Why do women even like him? He’s the biggest douche. I mean, even for a one night stand… If a girl came into the bar and just saw the both of you, you’d be the much healthier choice, you know… if you weren’t gay, which the girl wouldn’t know at first sight. But they swarm to him like moths to the light.”

“I’m not sure if you hid a compliment in there, but to answer your question: Very few women want healthy, Tony. If they can choose between a healthy, boring carrot stick and an exciting box of chocolates, they’ll go for the chocolates.”

“You’re not a boring carrot stick.” He couldn’t think that of himself, right? I didn’t want Wesley thinking he was boring. Compared to a sociopath everybody would pale. “You’re genuinely nice, and you’re caring and you’re a terrible singer when it comes to Hispanic songs. And that’s way better than chocolate, which melts away if you try to hold onto it and you’re left with a giant mess.”

“You forgot that I’m an amazing football player.”

“See, it just gets better and better.”

He stood up, only the faint trace of a smile on his lips. I was desperate to widen that smile since my question seemed to have thrown him off. He had no reason to be jealous of Trace or the fact that women apparently dug his bad boy streak.

“I’d choose you over him any day,” I said and tried to smile at him from under the ice pack and tissues.

Wes chuckled. “Don’t let him hear that.” 

“He can surely deal with one woman not throwing herself at his feet.”

“Are you going to be okay here? I have to get to class.”

“Yes, sure. A little nose bleed won’t kill me.
Thanks for helping out.”

Wes bowed down to kiss my forehead, but with both my hands clutching my face, he had to settle for an air kiss next to my head and then I was left on my bed with nothing to do but let my thoughts run wild. It didn’t take long for the nose bleed to die down, but it was long enough for me to replay my father’s call in my head about three times. I hadn’t exactly found out why he’d called. My best guess was that he was somehow trying to regain his control outside of jail. And who would be easier to control than his own flesh and blood?

Except, I was not planning on ever caving in to him again. He could call his friends and henchmen, not me. I wasn‘t part of his lifestyle anymore.

Nine

 

That night the pub was hauntingly empty. A couple sat in the corner having hushed conversations over their drinks, Jean lounged by the payphone like every other day and Trace sat on the wrong side of the bar, hunched over a notebook. Unfortunately, the emptiness didn’t take over my brain. My father’s stale voice had clawed itself into my mind until it was a constant loop of old memories mixing with the call from earlier and I couldn’t tell the sentences apart anymore. The words were racing through my head.

You don’t stand down. I have my ways. Fear is weakness, Antonia. Why don’t you show your old man what Mitch taught you? You’re special. I’m just checking up on you.  You and I, kid, we stick together. Family is forever.

I had to find something, anything to occupy my thoughts. There had to be a way to shut Dad out of my mind. Leaning against the counter, I tried to peek at what Trace was scribbling down. The text was structured in neat blocks with arrows and notes at the sides. “Are you writing a song?”

Trace’s head jerked up after being so sunk into his words he hadn’t even noticed me sneaking up on him. “What’s it to you?”

Good, he was being pissy. That meant being nice to him required so much more concentration. “I’m just curious. I think it’s cool.”

“Cool?”

“Yes. I’ve never actually seen someone create something just like that, you know. A couple of minutes ago there was nothing there but then you came with your thoughts and ideas and now there’s a new piece of art in this world. You just made something. I think that’s pretty cool.”

Trace studied his song for a couple of moments before he found me with his gaze and squinted his eyes at my face. “What happened to your nose?”

“What?” My hands flew up to cover my face. I had triple-checked the mirror. My nose looked fine. I’d put on some extra makeup to hide the red blotches but it wasn’t crusted in blood anymore, let alone swollen.

“I saw you washing the blood off.”

“Oh.” That had been hours ago. I’d grabbed my bag and went to buy a charger for the camera afterwards but I couldn’t recall seeing Trace out in the hallway. “I just had a nose bleed.”

His eyebrows arched. “Do you get them often?”

“No, actually it was because I got some shampoo… Hold on!” That sneaky little bastard. How foolish of me to think he had a drop of compassion in his body. “We were just talking about your song. You’re not changing the topic, buddy.”

“You caught me,” he grinned and it almost sounded like he was proud… of me? Surely my ears were mishearing things. “What do you know about music?” Trace leaned on the counter and spun the notebook around, so I could catch a good look at his smeared, unreadable handwriting.

“Uhm… it comes on CDs or as MP3s and you can listen to it.” I shrugged my shoulders, unsure what else to say. I’d never developed some sort of preference for a certain kind of music or a specific artist. Music was always merely background noise for me and I started to feel bad about it now that I knew someone who was genuinely interested in it. It seemed wrong to discard something so easily if it was important to someone else.

“So you don’t think this is music? Because you can’t put it on your IPod?”

BOOK: These Things About Us
2.95Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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