Twisted (8 page)

CHAPTER 14

“T
hat's
totally
weird,” Erin says, one hand on her hip. “It'd be a cold day in hell before I'd ever let Josh tell me how to cut my hair.”

I tie the strings of my apron into a bow and don't answer.

“He's not even allowed to
touch
my hair,” she adds.

Liam shakes his head. “That Josh. He's one lucky guy.”

“Oh, go fuck yourself, Liam.” She makes a face and stomps out back to the freezer.

“See?” Liam says. “See how she tries to fight her love for me?”

Rolling my eyes, I start measuring out the coffee to make a fresh pot.

I don't know how or why I ended up telling them about the whole haircut thing. I think it was because it kept playing over and over in my head, like it was on a loop. Plus, Erin was right here, and besides Marla, she's the only other girl's opinion I have access to. Liam just happened to overhear while he was eating his breakfast.

“Marla's roommate thinks Aidan's a control freak,” I say to Liam as I refill the napkin dispenser.

“Oh, I dunno. This one thing doesn't necessarily mean he's a control freak. I mean, he's
your
brother.
Is
he a control freak?”

I come around the counter and sit on the stool next to him. “We only lived together for four years, but I never noticed anything … control
-ish
.” I don't tell him about Aidan ending up in a psych ward.

“You know …” he says, ripping open a sugar packet and pouring it in his mug, then another, and another. “It's possible you guys are blowing this out of proportion. Like, maybe the guy
did
see the hair- cut on some super hot actress, and he's just living out a fantasy.” He stirs his coffee thoughtfully and smiles. “I should ask him his secret, actually.”

WHEN MY SHIFT ENDS
, I go out back to check the schedule. I picked up a shift for Anna, but I can't remember what time it starts. It turns out to be not until evening. I hold a little debate in my head. The lazy part of me wants to stay here and hang around the coffee shop for the rest of the day eating muffins and reading magazines, but I know there are more productive things I could be, should be, doing.

I head home.

Kicking off my shoes, I can't help but notice all the pebbles of salt in the vestibule, and the many families of dust bunnies living along the baseboards of the hallway.

Aidan arrives just as I'm unwinding the vacuum cleaner cord. “Hey,” I say.

“Hey.” He holds out a small brown paper bag.

I take it from him. “What's this?”

“Just wanted to say sorry I kind of acted like an idiot last night.” He grimaces. “I think I had too much beer and not enough pad Thai.”

“Oh.” I shrug. “That's okay. Shit happens.” I'm relieved he brought it up. Nice to know it's not his usual behaviour. I open the bag and pull out a doughnut. A Boston cream — my favourite.

“Look before you bite it,” he says.

I laugh. There's a happy face drawn in the icing.

“I got inventive and used a straw.”

“Clever.” I sit on the hall bench, eat the whole thing in six bites, and sigh, “I needed that.” I give my fingers one last lick then turn my attention back to the vacuum.

He takes my spot on the bench and fiddles with his car keys. “So I was wondering if you've given any thought to Christmas?” he asks out of nowhere.

I glance up from plugging in the vacuum cord. “Christmas? No.”

“Well, how would you feel about going home?”

I squint at him. “What do you mean?”

“I just thought, I mean, maybe it's time.”

“Time for
what
?”

He shrugs. “To bury the hatchet, mend some fences.”

“Why are you bringing this up again?” I jam the hose attachments together. “I've told you before, Aidan. I'm not going back there. Not while Vince is
living
in my mom's house,
sleeping
in my mom's bed,
eating
off my mom's dishes.”

“It's your house too.”

“No, it's not. Not anymore. You just gotta let this go.”

“But I don't think it's good, cutting yourself off.”

“From what? And you're one to talk! You left your family and never looked back.”

He gets up, slowly takes his coat off, and hangs it on a hanger. “I'm hoping Vince has had a change of heart. That if we go back together, present a united front, maybe he'll start to see things my way.”

“Your way? What's
your
way? What does that even mean?”

I stand there, waiting, staring him down.

“Never mind,” he says and turns to leave. “You're right. It's too soon.”

“What's too soon? Aidan, please talk to me.” As I go to follow him I stub my toe on the sofa leg. I wince and limp the rest of the way to the kitchen. He's opening a can of cat food.

“It's supposed to be freezing rain later,” he says. “Do you want me to pick you up from work?”

This is what he does. I remember this from before. He shuts down after any sort of confrontation, pretends it never happened. Even if he's mad, he won't talk about it, so of course, there's never any resolution.

I play along. “No. Thanks. Anna has a doctor's appointment. I'm covering her shift till she shows … so yeah, I don't know how long I'll be.”

“Okay. Call me if you change your mind.” He plops the food into Bingley's dish.

“Oh, and Bingley's back at it. My door was open again this morn- ing when I woke up. The lock is only good for when I'm not home. I guess I need another one for the inside, for like when I'm
in
my room.”

“He's nocturnal — does his best prowling at night.”

“Yeah, well, I don't like the idea of him creeping around my room when I'm sleeping. He can just as easily trash my stuff at night as in the day.”

He adds the cat food can to the bag of recyclables. “Sure. I'll stop at Canadian Tire later today.”

WHEN I SHOW UP
for my evening shift, Liam's behind the counter doing his cash.

“And how was your afternoon?” he asks, glancing up.

“Oh, you know.” I hang my stuff on the row of hooks out back.

“Give me something. It must have been more exciting than mine.”

“Aidan wants me to go home to River John for Christmas,” I say. “Just sprung it on me, out of the blue.”

“I'm guessing you're not too crazy about the idea,” he says, sliding a stack of bills into a Ziploc bag.

“That's an understatement.”

He reaches for a paper tube to roll loonies. “Would it be so terrible? Going home?”

“Leave the coin,” I say. “I'll do it later.”

“You didn't answer my question.”

I nudge him out of the way. “Without getting into all the gory details — I swore I'd never go back. Not while Vince is there.”

“And Vince is …?”

“Sorry. My stepfather. Aidan's dad.”

A man comes up to the counter and orders a decaf, to go. I pour his coffee, take his money.

“Keep the change,” he says.

“Thanks.” I take out the difference and drop it into a cup beside the register. “But the thing is,” I continue, “I wouldn't go back even if Vince
wasn't
there.”

“Didn't you grow up there?”

“Yeah. But my dad died in a car accident when I was eight.” I realize that probably doesn't explain much. “I don't really remember feeling very happy after that.” It surprises me how it all just flows out of my mouth.

“Not a lot of great memories back there, then.”

“No … well, some … not many, and certainly not lately.” Then it hits me. No happy memories, no mom, no dad, no Kyle, no home. Suddenly I'm filled with self-pity. I have nothing. Nothing except Aidan. And then I think of Caroline. “I have a best friend there,” I say.

He's quiet for a second. “Life is full of steaming piles of crap. But maybe there's only so much crap to go around. Maybe you've reached your quota and it'll be smooth sailing from now on.”

I try to smile. I want to say, “Nice thought,” but the words catch and don't make it out.

He slips on his jacket and slings his messenger bag over his shoulder. “I'm off to meet my study group. You're working for Anna?”

“Yeah.”

“I might see you later then. A bunch of us are meeting here before a movie.”

“Okay.” A movie. What's it like to do something normal and fun like go to a movie?

After Liam leaves, it starts to get busy, which helps make the time fly. I'm down to only five muffins, so as soon as there's a break in the action I throw together another batch of batter. I just finish sliding a tray into the oven when I hear a voice.

“Excuse me. This mug seems to be dirty.”

There's something in her tone. I can tell she's going to be a pain in the ass. I plaster on a happy face before turning around.

It doesn't happen right away. It takes me a few seconds to place her. She's rubbing the rim of the cup with her thumb and hasn't looked up. There's no doubt, though. I'm sure it's her. I'll never forget. Rosalyn. The slut in Kyle's apartment.

She finally lifts her head. Something flickers across her face, but I can tell she hasn't figured it out yet.

“Here,” I say, pulling myself together. “Let me take it. I'll get you a fresh one.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Thanks,” she says.

I'm just handing her a new coffee when I see Liam come in. He strides up to the counter, a huge smile on his face.

“Hey,” I say, smiling back. “How was your …?” I don't get to finish. My mouth falls open in horror as I watch him drape his arm around the slut's shoulders.

“I see you've met Lynnie,” he says.

CHAPTER 15

T
here's an acidic taste in the back of my throat. I swallow, hoping to wash it away.

“Lynnie,” Liam says, “this is Lyssa, the rookie.” He looks at me and winks. “Well, you've been here over a week now, so I guess you can probably lose that title, right?”

“Um …” I can't think. I'm not even sure what he just said.

But he doesn't seem to notice how stunned I'm acting. “Wow. Get a load of us. Lyssa, Lynnie, Liam. We should start a band.” He gives the slut a squeeze.

“Yeah, you're so musical,” she says out of the corner of her mouth. Then she turns to me. “Nice to meet you, Ly—” she pauses, tilts her head, “—ssa.”

And just like that, she's figured it out. I hear her suck in a breath. She holds it forever. We both stand there, eyes locked. The very same way we did in Kyle's apartment.

She exhales and blinks a few times, touches her fingers to her temple. “I'll — I'll just wait for you back at the table,” she says slowly to Liam.

“Okay. Did you want anything?”

“No, I, uh, Suzanne already bought me one.” She holds up her mug. “But it had … spots.” And she walks away in a daze.

Liam frowns and shakes his head. “Don't mind her. She gets like this when she has a big assignment due.”

I nod, make his latte, hand it to him, collect his money, all without uttering a single word. Again, he doesn't seem to notice as he gives me a loonie tip on a three-dollar coffee and joins Rosalyn at her table of friends.

I go out back to the kitchen and slump against the coolness of the stainless steel fridge. This can't be happening. What are the odds of Rosalyn being Lynnie? It's like something you'd see on
Gossip Girl
. And what am I supposed to do now? Say now?

“Hey, are you okay?”

Anna's voice startles me. “Uh, yeah, I'm fine.”

She slips on her apron, moves closer, and peers at my face. “Are you sure? You don't look so hot.”

“Just a headache,” I whisper.

“Well, go home and lay down or something.”

“I will.”

“And thanks for covering for me,” she says handing me my coat and hustling me over to the service entrance. “Take some Advil,” she adds.

“Will do.” I smile weakly, mock salute her, and march out the back door.

Thankfully, the forecasted freezing rain ends up being light flurries. I flip up my hood and stuff my hands in my pockets. Before I even step onto the sidewalk I hear, “Lyssa!”

Through the glow of the street lamps, I make out a figure, a girl, standing on the corner. I know it's Rosalyn. I stay where I am and watch her walk toward me.

“Aren't you supposed to be going to a movie?” I say.

“I told Liam I had to run across to the drugstore first,” she says, her eyes darting back to the front door of the coffee shop, “because I had a headache.”

“There's a lot of that going around.”

She twists up her mouth, gives me a good glare. “Listen, I don't know what you're planning …”

“Planning?” I ask innocently. She's squirming, and I can't deny that I'm enjoying it a bit.

Then she turns on a dime. Her face falls, her eyes get all huge and glassy. “Please don't tell,” she pleads. “I'll do whatever you want, just don't tell him.”

I keep silent. I don't want to have this conversation with her. I don't want to have
any
conversation with her. And her … emotionalness is making me uncomfortable.

“That's what you're going to do, isn't it? You're going to tell him.” Her words come out fast and full of panic.

Part of me wants to say yes, push her aside, run screaming into the shop, and broadcast the news, but the other part of me … the other part of me knows I'd never be able to pull it off.

“Haven't you ever made a mistake?” There's an edge to her voice now. I think she interprets my silence as a sort of power play. Maybe it is. “Haven't you ever met someone and totally hit it off, discovered you have everything in common? There's a spark. You don't want there to be, but there just is.”

I find my voice, but I can't quite make eye contact. “Yeah, it happens. I don't sleep with them, though.”

She sighs and pulls her jacket tighter around her body. “Kyle and I are in the same class, he's my biology lab partner. We spend a ton of time together. It was one mistake, one night. It didn't, and it won't, happen again. I love Liam.”

I just look at her. Do I believe she loves Liam? Sure. Do I believe she and Kyle were a one-time-only thing …?

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” she says urgently, her eyes flying to the front door again.

Shaking my head, I turn away, start off in the opposite direction, and leave her standing there. Kyle said those exact same words to me. They didn't apply to him. I'm not sure they apply to her either.

By the time I get home, my headache is a reality. The throbbing is making a thumping noise I can actually hear. The house appears to be empty. I shuffle to my room and throw myself across the bed. My eyes land on the course calendar on the floor. It reminds me I have to go register for classes. I hang over the side, reach out, and slide it closer. The cover picture is unrecognizable, full of slashes running in straight lines from top to bottom. I trace my fingers along the torn ridges.
Stupid cat.

As if on cue, Bingley sticks his nose in the door, struts across the room, and curls up on the rug under the window. I forgot to lock my door when I went to work, and my eyes do a quick sweep. No, no damage today. I watch him for a while, purring away, not a care in the world. I wish I were a cat right about now.

My mind makes its way back to the run-in with Rosalyn. She's got some fucking nerve, I'll give her that. Like I owe her
anything
. Who does she think she is? On the other hand, did I really want to be the one to tell Liam his girlfriend's sleeping around? The phrase “don't shoot the messenger” exists for a reason — there's zero glory in that job. The problem is I like Liam; he deserves so much better. I flip over onto my back. Or does he? I've only known him for a while. And apparently I'm not the greatest judge of character. Maybe he's a total asshole and I just haven't seen it yet. It would be so much easier if he were
…

The more I think about it, the more I don't believe Rosalyn about it being a one-time thing. I can still remember her there in Kyle's apartment, whining about the shampoo. She was too … familiar. Then again, she may spend a lot of time there if they study together. Also, I can't ignore the fact that Kyle now knows where I work. If they
were
in a relationship, wouldn't he have warned her that I was working with her boyfriend? But then maybe Kyle doesn't know Liam or where he works. Kyle was standing right next to Liam … there was no hint of recognition …
shit.
That would point more toward the “one time thing” theory.

I rub my eyes, pressing my fingers into the sockets. God. I've got so much of my own crap right now. Do I really want to get involved in theirs?

I head to the bathroom to get the Advil I should have taken the moment I got home, but at the time I couldn't seem to make it those few extra steps. There's a dispenser of disposable Dixie cups mounted on the bathroom wall — it must be an old lady thing. As I pull one out, something catches my eye. On the floor, just behind the toilet, a tiny white pill. Puzzled, I kneel for a closer look. That's when I see another one, right beside the hinge of the toilet seat. Then another, nestled against the baseboard. It's white on white, almost impossible to see if I weren't down so low.

My eyes shift back and forth between the pills. Floor, toilet seat, baseboard, floor, toilet seat, baseboard, like watching a triangular tennis match.

I move to the medicine cabinet, open the door, and scan through all the stuff on the shelf. Tums, shaving cream, mouthwash, deodor- ant, bandages, nose spray, razor blades, nail clippers … no pill bottles except Advil. I pop two in my mouth, take a sip of water, but I keep glancing back down at the pills.

I know Aidan's on medication — that cat was let out of the bag at our little dinner party. These pills are probably his. I check the shelf again.
Shouldn't there be a prescription bottle?

Bending down, I scoop up the pills and hold them over the toilet. Something gnaws at me. I press down on the handle, release one, two pills into the water, watch them swirl around the bowl and disappear. The remaining one I set on the counter next to the sink. Crouching in front of the vanity, I lean forward until my nose is only inches away and study the pill at eye level.
Why were you and your friends on the floor?

Then I tear off a square of toilet paper, fold the pill up inside until it's the size of a stamp, and tuck it into my pocket.