These Things About Us (6 page)

“Don’t fucking move. I’m getting toilet paper before you bleed all over the floor. – Don’t deny it again. You
are
bleeding.” He pointed down and I bent forward to see what he was referring to.

There was a slim gash on my ankle. Red was pooling next to my foot. It didn’t hurt. Or maybe it did but my brain was still too busy, trying to make sense of what I’d just witnessed from Trace. He’d been almost as careful with me as with the CD.

Trace rushed back into my room with a plastic bag and a toilet paper. I only now realized that he was still dressed from yesterday in the same dark green band shirt and faded black jeans.

Okay, so I remembered what he’d been wearing. Maybe I had stolen a glance at him a couple of times.

“What time is it?” I rubbed at my eyes and kneeled down with one leg, taking the toilet paper roll from him. I ripped off big chunks and dropped them onto the blood, watching the color spread through them in slow motion.

“Around four, I guess.”

“You should go to bed.”

“I don’t have any pills left. Give me that.” He ripped the roll from my hand and started wiping up the blood, instead of letting it soak through the paper first.

“You take sleeping pills?”

“Them or the girls, whichever’s around.” He punched the stained paper into the plastic bag and threw the bag into the trash can. “You didn’t like the bagel?”

“I don’t usually eat stuff that pops up in my room out of nowhere.” I wrapped some toilet paper around my ankle like a bandage. It looked like Dr. Frankenstein had taken to my foot.

“It’s just a bagel.”

“Why did you put a bagel in my room in the first place?”

“It was a test.” He brushed his hands off on his shirt, furrowed his brows at me and stepped towards the door. “You should put some clothes on, Kitty.”

And just like that he was out the door. “Wha…” I would have jumped after him but the toilet paper began to unfurl from my ankle the second I took a step forward.

How did you test someone with a bagel?

On Monday, Sierra was introduced to me as ‘the other waitress’. She was very freshly married and, according to her own words, not the least bit interested in Trace. He wasn’t her type, was what she said, but I caught her openly staring at him over the course of the evening. Not that I didn’t see where she was coming from. If you could look past the studs and rings and the ink, Trace was, objectively viewed, quite handsome. The second I considered such things, however, he shot me a dark glare and reminded me that I was still all about avoiding him, even after the strange bagel incident and witnessing his helpful side.

“What you doing tomorrow night?” Sierra stopped beside me. Her jet black hair dangled freely in dozens of tiny braids. I wondered if she’d gotten those on her honeymoon or always wore her hair like this.

“Uhm, working, I guess.” I shrugged and handed Trace my notepad, so he could make the drinks on the list.

She rolled her dark eyes. “The pub’s closed on Tuesdays.”

“Oh.” I shrugged again. “Then I don’t know.”

“You coming out with us,” she grinned. “I’ve got to get to know my new work BFF, and there’s no better place to do that than on a dance floor.”

“I don’t really like partying.” Anymore.

Sierra helped unloading my tray and setting the used glasses down in the dish washer.
“I’m taking you dancing, not partying. There’s a big difference, Darling.”

She’d picked up the ‘darling’ from Alex. Anything was better than Antonia, really. If I could get Wes to think of a nickname, too, I could drop my name altogether. It was the last thing, DNA excluded, that linked me to my father.

“Okay.” Frankly, I had no desire to go either partying or dancing, but I might be out long enough to miss the loud climax of Trace’s next bedfriend.

“Perfect. You just need a boy, now. ‘Cause you can’t tango alone. Anyone in mind? I could just hook you up with a friend…”

She had to wait for my response, while I served a couple of girls their cider. They were fawning over Trace, giggling and asking for his name. The second it was over my lips, I regretted it, because two of them started cooing it loudly in his direction.

On my way back to behind the bar, I passed by Sierra, who was collecting a couple of plates. “I’m going to ask Wes.”

I dropped back against the sink and let out a sigh. My shift was almost over and I couldn’t wait to run to my room and check if the phone book’s last Theresa Lawrence had called back. With my phone charged, she’d hopefully have my number displayed. If someone called me ten times a day, I’d check in with them.

“Did you have to tell them my bloody name?” Trace growled and stepped closer.

Behind his back the pack of girls still stared at him, sipping on their straws and giggling over hushed conversations. “I’m sorry,” I said and meant it. “I didn’t think.”

“Do you ever? Think?”

I closed my eyes. I wasn’t about to count my breaths in front of him. I’d easily make it through a short, unpleasant conversation without snapping. It was all about confidence in myself and my calmness. I’d just let the anger fade away.

“I’m thinking I did you a favor. Now, you can just pick one and she will scream your name tonight, instead of God’s.” I let my lids flutter open again and stared directly into Trace’s green eyes. His forehead was wrinkled in hard thought. “I’m beat,” I said, because I wasn’t about to put up with him anymore. Stupid bagel tester. “I’m going to go find Wes.”

I just left the apron on and weaved my way through the people into the narrow hallway and up the steep staircase. I let my fingers trail along the rough walls, concentrating on every bump and every sharp edge. I could concentrate the anger away, and by the time I reached our floor I was mostly cooled down.

“Hey, are you already off?” As he smiled at me, Wes patted his jeans, checking his pockets.

“Technically I still have a minute to work, but I couldn’t stand your brother anymore. He’s just so rude. All the time. And I don’t want to spend another second pretending that it doesn’t bother me.”

“As much as I’d love to spend my night listing Trace’s many flaws, I’ve got to go. I’m meeting a… someone. A friend.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and flipped his hair to the side.

“You can tell me if you’re meeting a girl. I loved our fake quickie, but we’re not dating.”

“I know… Okay, see you tomorrow.” He leaned in to press another kiss on my temple, like the morning we had breakfast. I’d thought that had been a show for Trace.

I shook my head and swiveled around, catching him just on the landing between the floors. “Wes! About tomorrow. Do you want to go dancing with Sierra and me? I guess her husband’s coming, too. You don’t have to. She said she’d find someone if I didn’t have anyone to go, but I thought you might want to come…”

“Sure. But I really have to run.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Bye,” he laughed and sprinted off.

I finally got to see a good dose of London rain the next morning. It wasn’t just the drizzle that had popped in and out over the last few days but heavy, thick drops of water hitting the windows like hundreds of tiny jackhammers. There was no way I was passing up my first chance to get into my first London rainstorm in order to so-not-stare at my phone screen and so-not-think about the box all day. I shrugged my favorite denim jacket over my long-sleeved dress and shoved my feet into worn-out ankle boots. I wasn’t dressed for rain and it was going to be awesome.

“Umbrella’s in the lost and found box.” Trace didn’t look up from sorting the CDs next to the stereo.

I didn’t know why he cared, but he was not going to ruin my mood. “I don’t need an umbrella.”

“It’s raining.”

“Yes.”

His cocked eyebrow was pierced by a stud with pointy cones on each end today. “Do you know what rain is? Buckets of water pouring from the sky, soaking your perfect pretty dress and your perfect pretty hair.”

“You can mock me all you want. I’m going outside, and I’m going to get drenched. On purpose.” I grinned at him and twirled out the door.

The rain splintered and splashed against the concrete, and a girl had her jacket tugged over her head as she hurried past. The drops hit my skin, shattered and left behind a thin coat of water. I felt my hair flattening, giving into the weight of the water and within seconds my dress stuck to my body like a second skin.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, Kitty.”

Trace leaned in the door and glimpsed up at the grey sky. An umbrella dangled from his hand.

“It’s just water,” I shouted over the drumming sound. Trying to look at him was pointless. My eyes wouldn’t stay properly open in this weather, always reflexively squinting shut. But I didn’t care. The corners of my mouth were stapled into a wide grin. “Where should I go?”

“What?”

“I want to go somewhere. Where should I go?” I glanced down the road in each direction. There wasn’t anything too exciting either way, so it was flipping a coin or taking Trace’s suggestion.

He shrugged and stretched his thumb to the left. Left it was. I skipped in my steps and scrunched my nose at the lighter sky in the distance. Trace quickly caught up with me, the blue and pink umbrella opened above his head, and therefore mine, too. I jumped off the sidewalk to escape the umbrella. “What are you doing?”

Trace stared straight ahead with rigid shoulders. “I hate rain,” he responded, which wasn’t much of an explanation.

I wasn’t going to push him into giving me normal answers. He could walk next to me, for all I cared. The white haze of rain was as good as any wall between us. Maybe even better than our shared wall, because the rain washed out most noises.

We came to a busier street and the cars zipped past. I felt the deep urge to shower in the splashes from their wheels. I'd pretend I was still wearing bright red gumboots and a rain coat that was too big for me.

Trace mumbled something beside me, then suddenly he had a stealth grip on my elbow and yanked me into a small corner shop. My toes caught on a sharp step but Trace easily kept me pulled up.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I cried, as the warmth of the supermarket washed over me.

“I really, really hate the bloody rain.”

“You didn't have to follow me. I can find my way back to the pub. I love rain.”

“Why?” I jumped away from his gruff and loud voice. “It's terrible. Couldn't you just stay inside?”

I glanced around at the people watching Trace. Among them the wary-eyed cashier and a small girl with big blue eyes. I had to calm Trace down if I didn't want him to throw over shelves and get us both arrested.

He is easily triggered, Tony.

I hated that I was about to admit the truth to him. I hated the truth. “Because it's one of the only things I remember about my mom,” I said and heard my voice cracking. I didn't want his pity, but it was going to be better than his rage. “The weather in Tucson was one of the things she hated about home. She loved it when it rained.” I pressed my words onward, even as the memories flooded my mind. “She'd take me outside and play with me until the rain was over or it was time for bed, whichever came first, and she'd tell me that one day she was going to take me to London and we'd play in the rain for days.  She didn't keep that promise, but I liked the way she laughed and the way her perfume would smell sweeter when the rain hit her skin. But she left me in Tucson and I never got to spend a single London rainstorm with her. So if you could just leave me the hell alone and let me enjoy the rain, that would be great. This actually means something to me. It’s not just water.”

When I looked up at him, he looked at me differently. I hadn't even noticed that it was any other way before, but now it was as if for the first time he looked at an actual person, and I hated the extra weight it put on my shoulders.

I quickly ducked into the candy isle and grabbed a chocolate bar and a bag of Skittles, only to come to the realization that I hadn't brought my stupid bag with the stupid money in it. I patted my pockets, but the denim jacket had been in my suitcase until this morning. Of course they only held a button, a piece of thread and a drenched slip of chewing gum.

“Dammit,” I hissed and punched the candy back onto the shelves. I felt my breath hitch in my throat. Great. Now, I was the one freaking out in public. I pressed my hands over my eyes and pushed the memories away. I opened a box in my head and stowed the betrayal in it. Mom just didn't take me with her because Dad's an ass and he would have done anything to make sure Mom had a hard time abandoning the sinking ship. She just took the easy way out to save herself. She didn't have the strength to fight Dad. She didn't betray me. She didn't want to leave me. I pushed all my doubts into that big, big box and locked it away in the furthest corner of my mind.

It was all good. I'd find her. I'd open the shoebox and I'd find her, and it would be new and awkward at first but she wouldn't know about all the messed up shit from home and she'd have a good daughter. One she would be willing to fight for.

“Did you want the sour or the normal Skittles?”

“Hm?” My hands fell from my face.

Trace held up the bright green and the red bag and eyed me questioningly. “I didn't see which one you had.” He also held a bar of the bitter chocolate – the exact kind, I'd just picked.