Chapter 4
“Everyone you will ever meet knows something you don’t.”- Bill Nye
Aster, true to her word, managed to secure me a new I.D. and I’ve instructed her to UPS it to my new post office box downtown. I stop by the real estate office and pay a year’s rent in cash so that I don’t have to deal with the landlord knowing me or coming around. The classless receptionist didn’t even bat an eye at the year’s worth of rent; in cash, which surprised me. Not that I wanted any red flags raised, but I’d been prepared to explain it if I’d had to. I stop in a local cafe and order a large coffee and a Danish. When I get to the table I dump a shot of Bailey’s in it. Now all I need is a job and to figure out how best to furnish and fortify my lackluster new home.
*****
My first week has been completely uneventful. I feel like people on the run always have some adventure-filled glamorous life but that’s bullshit. My days have become routine. A routine I need to follow in order to survive. Wake. Count to ten. Shower. Start drinking. At three o’clock I make my way just outside of town to a bar/dance club establishment called Mack’s and drink my weight for the remainder of the day. I’ve stopped for groceries once in the last week. I’m barely holding it together. The alcohol keeps me numb and dull. The dreams are unbearable. If I sleep, I dream. They are real, vivid dreams. I feel everything. I remember everything with acute attention to detail. It’s torture. I wake and feel like my insides are slowly burning me to death. By the time I manage to get myself home at night I retire to one of the Adirondack chairs I purchased from the hardware store and drink some more. If I drink enough, I pass out. If I pass out, there’s a fifty-fifty chance I’m unable to dream. If I’m unable to dream, I don't have to wake up daily with the weight of the guilt. I don't have to remember that life. I always feel the weight of grief. Like maggots in a corpse, it destroys me bit by bit. It’s consuming. Beyond that, anyone who touches me makes me freeze and panic. Even an innocent brush or bump causes me to lose the anxiety battle and until I’m one with him again I don’t think I’ll ever be right. My life will be a degraded shred of what it was. Every touch makes me feel dirty, shameful, violated.
“Jesus, Cypress, I can barely understand you!” Aster screams into the phone. I’m sitting at the end of the bar near the bit where it makes a corner to the wall.
“I’m goodIpromse,” I slur and rest my head on the bartop. God, I’m tired. So tired.
“Did you even hear me? The funeral was two days ago. Oh God. It was awful. Like a terrible high school reunion. Misty Faulk actually collapsed. Can you fucking believe that?! I mean they dated for like a second freshman year.”
“I hate her,” I answer, completely disengaged from our conversation. I motion for the bartender to pour me another drink.
“Cypress. Are you okay?” she asks hesitantly. What a stupid question. I love my cousin more than life but seriously, sometimes, I want to strangle her.
“Dandy,” I spit.
“I want to come see you.” Her voice firm in its demand.
“Nope. Nooooooocando,” I slur. Jesus. The funeral. I’m the most rotten person on the face of the planet. Satan will probably ask for my soul very soon.
“Ezra cornered me at the funeral.” Her tone is reserved and quiet.
“What?!” I perk up slightly.
“He asked where you were. Everyone did, actually. People are starting to wonder, Cypress. He said if I wouldn't tell him where you were then he’d find you himself. He said....” she trails off, leaving me hanging.
“W-what did he say to you?” I demand.
“He said you can come home and deal or he can find you and have a repeat play date with you. Cypress, what the hell happened that night?” I shudder and gag. He will come for me. I can’t fathom seeing him again. I can't imagine looking into his eyes and not shattering into a million pieces. The bartender sets another drink in front of me. I think she's pretty. I can’t really tell. My vision is getting blurry and tears threaten to spill out from my eyes. “Aserr...” I chug the contents of the glass, “I godda go.” I need to get the memory of that night out of my head. I need to forget... life.
“Every goddamn time we talk you’re wasted. What the hell is wrong with you?” she screeches in my ear. I pull the phone away and stare at it like it just bit me.
“I’m fine,” I grumble.
“Give the phone to the person to your left. RIGHT. NOW,” she bellows. I chuckle at myself for no reason and look left. I think. Wait, no, that’s right. Damn. I swing my head the other way and find myself staring at a short blonde woman doing some kind of paperwork two stools down from me. I extend my arm sloppily and thrust the phone at her.
“Furyew.” I muster a smile as I butcher my speech. She looks up from her paperwork and shakes her head at me disdainfully. “Take it.” I try again, wiggling the phone at her. She relents and snatches the phone from me.
“Hello?” She speaks while keeping her eyes on me. I watch the sequence of sounds from her mouth as she okays, yeses and mmhmmms her way through the conversation with Aster, I let my eyes close and tuck my hands under my right cheek. I’m so tired.
After a few phone calls and a week of begging me to go on a date with him I’d finally decided playing hard to get, like Aster suggested, was overrated. Dad wasn't overly thrilled with the idea of Cane, citing that he was a ‘rough boy’ from a crap family, but after five days of begging and nightly hour-long phone calls with Cane that left a permanent smile on my face, he’d relented.
“So tell me something about yourself that I don't know,” he’d asked as he shoved a fork full of ravioli into his mouth. I watched his jaw work as he chewed, mesmerized. How was it even possible to look so good eating? I’d barely even taken in the upscale Italian restaurant he’d taken me to. My eyes seemed to be stuck on him, the way his muscles flexed under his t-shirt as he moved, the way his handsome face transitioned from one look to another. I was surprised I hadn't started drooling yet.
“Well, I was named after a tree. My dad and his brother have this weird thing for plant names... Aster is a flower name, too.” I said. I stabbed my fork into my tortellini and groaned when it hit my tongue. So delicious. He smirked at my groan and winked at me.
“Why’d they pick that name, though?” he asked. I sighed and blew out a breath…here we go.
“It’s kind of depressing, actually,” I muttered. He held my eyes and waited. “It’s known as the mournful tree,” I started. “The tree would be planted by a grave, in front of the house or something, as a warning against people entering a place corrupted by a dead body. Romans would carry branches of a cypress as a sign of respect, and bodies of the respected were placed on cypress branches before being buried. It’s supposed to designate hope, as the tree supposedly points to the heavens. He picked that name because my mother died giving birth to me,” I finished. He’d blinked at me three times.
“That’s heavy. So your ‘mom’ is really your stepmom?” he asked.
“Yeah, my dad married her when I was two, but I don't remember life before her,” I explained.
“I don’t think that name fits you at all,” he blurted. “I’m going to figure out a better name for you.” My lips tipped up and I’d smiled brightly. I always wanted a different name. Mine always seemed so depressing.
“So, Cane, what is it about your life that inspires you?” I asked, deciding to stick with heavy topics.
His head snapped up from his plate and he stared at me for a moment. “Nothing, I guess,” he answered finally.
“Everyone has to be inspired by their life, otherwise what’s the point?” I countered, slightly taken aback that he had nothing to say.
“I like you, you say what you mean,” he beamed at me. “I guess graphic design inspires me. I’d really like to study that. I’m good at art.” He sounded timid, like he didn't want anyone to know.
“So get a degree in graphic design,” I said.
“It’s not that simple, Cy,” he replied sadly.
“Why not?” I pushed.
“That’s not first date material, but let’s leave it at the fact that I don't think any college would take me with my grades, for now.” His tone was slightly clipped so I decided to leave that topic alone for the moment.
“So, what’s the plan for after dinner? Do I get dessert? Because I really love dessert,” I chirped to change the subject.
“My girl likes dessert, huh?” he stated more than questioned. His girl. A thrill coursed through me at his choice of words.
“Your girl?” I questioned, hoping that his answer was everything I wanted it to be.
“Yeah, Cy, my girl,” he said with a level of finality in his voice that I hoped would never go away. Cane Ash just claimed me as his girl. I had never felt anything as amazing as that moment. I stared at his beautiful caramel eyes, breathing a little heavily at the intense look on his face.
“O-Okay,” I stuttered. “Your girl does indeed like dessert,” I answered, trying not to show how thrilled I was to be ‘his’ girl. I’d never been anyone’s girl and the feeling of knowing someone thought of me that way was powerful.
“Dessert it is then, baby girl.” I swear the butterflies that had been in my stomach just fluttered around so fiercely that I thought I might float out of my seat and right to heaven. When we finished eating dinner, Cane paid the bill, grabbed my hand and tugged me out the door. We walked through the park together, still holding hands. It was beautiful out there. The street lamps were on, casting a low glow over the trees and path. Cane’s thumb gently rubbed back and forth over my hand, sending little chills through me intermittently. Just short of the ice cream stand he stopped abruptly, making my steps falter. He tugged my hand, swinging me around to face him. His caramel eyes looked stormy. I liked it. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth and waited for whatever it was he was going say. His eyes zeroed in on my mouth before snapping back up to my eyes.
“I might kiss you,” he stated.
“I might be bad at it,” I countered, smirking.
“That's not possible,” he whispered. “Have you ever been kissed, Cy?” Those damn butterflies took flight again. His eyes were a clear amber color, so intense and hypnotizing. I tried to remember the question so I could answer it for him.
“Summer camp, once, but it was just a peck, so I don't count it. Why?” I asked.
“Because I’m going to kiss you now,” he said as he leaned down towards me. Our eyes met and he dipped his head until our lips were a breath apart. Every fiber of my being was crying out for him to kiss me. When he didn't, I opened my mouth to protest and that's when he claimed my mouth, urgent and giving all at the same time. I melted into him. My knees started to give out so I clung to him. His strong arms held me to his chest. He cupped my face with both hands and stopped, touching his nose to mine. “I like that I can be your first,” he growled. This. Man. Was. Hot. He tilted his head just so, and softly brushed his lips on mine. Electricity shot through my body. I’d never felt so turned on in my life, not that I’d had much experience to go on. This kiss was one that would ruin a person for life. This kiss was everything I’d ever read about in sappy romance books. My body responded immediately to him as he deepened the kiss, opening my mouth to his. It was a foot popping kiss. My arms wrapped around his neck and I pushed up on my tiptoes to gain better purchase. When his tongue leisurely slipped into my mouth I moaned and hoped like hell that I wasn’t a terrible kisser. His hands moved from my face to my hair as he held me close to his body. “I don't ever want this kiss to stop,” I remember thinking, feeling it in my toes. I molded myself against his hard, tall yet lean body as our kiss became more aggressive. Just as I was ready to do anything he asked of me, he stiffened and slowly ended our kiss, pulling back from me. I didn't let him get far. I felt like a starved woman.
“Slow down, baby girl. We have all the time in the world,” he cooed to me. Suddenly I felt embarrassed at my lack of experience and I knew that my cheeks had reddened. I dropped my arms and my eyes to the ground, feeling foolish. “Hey,” he cupped my chin and tilted it up, “none of that. You didn't do anything wrong. That was the best kiss I’ve ever had but if I didn't stop now, we wouldn't have stopped at all. Are you ready for all, baby girl?” he asked softly. My eyes felt like they were bugging out of my head at his insinuation. I shook my head ‘no’ a few times as he chuckled at me. He brushed the pads of his thumbs over my cheeks gently. “So sweet,” he said, before grabbing my hand and continuing to the ice cream stand for dessert.
“UP!” a voice booms at me. I sit up with a jolt and lose my balance. My equilibrium is completely off. Tumbling backwards off the bar stool I scream as I anticipate hitting the floor hard. My eyes are squeezed shut as I wait for impact. It doesn't come. Two firm arms, large arms, hold me suspended in the air. I try to focus my eyes more because it looks like I’m staring up at a face, and behind it is ceiling - not wall. I am frozen in his arms. The trembling starts almost immediately. Shame. I feel nothing but shame with his hands on me. My breathing goes next. I can’t seem to capture a full breath. This wall of a man needs to get his damned hands off of me.
“Hands off!” I rattle out, shaken.
“Come with me,” the large black linebacker huffs at me as he sets me on my feet. I sway a little and reach out to the bar to steady myself. I feel dirty. I need to scrub myself clean. The urge to do so is overwhelming. I count to ten silently, taking deep breaths as I do.
“Um, no,” I say, finally finding my voice. A chill goes through my body from the lingering feeling of his hands on me. I haven’t had more than the accidental brush of someone walking past me for human contact in weeks. I don’t want anyone to touch me ever again.
“If you want the job, then yes.” His voice sounds like sandpaper. Rough and alluring.
“What?” I huff.
“If you want the job you just landed then yes, you will come with me,” he snaps, looking thoroughly irritated. What the hell is this dude talking about? I stare at him bewildered and wish for the first time in weeks that I was sober. He motions me to follow him yet again and as I look around the empty bar, since it is a Wednesday at four pm, I decide to follow him. I don’t really have anything to lose in life. He leads me around the corner of the bar and through a set of double doors. The hallway is dimly lit. Wood paneling lines the walls as we make our way to a door at the end of the narrow corridor. I reach out and poke the big guy’s back hesitantly.
“Uh, what’s happening?” I ask.
“You must have a real convincing cousin,” he states, saying nothing more. Oh crap, Aster. I totally forgot I called her. I feel around my pockets for my phone but it’s AWOL. Double crap. Big man pushes through the door and holds it open for me to enter. I take a tentative step back inside.
“You must be Magnolia,” a soft voice says. I survey the room slowly until I land on a woman’s face. She’s sitting behind a softly lit desk peering at her computer screen. The office is minimalistic at best but still somehow warm feeling. The lights are all low and all the furniture has clean lines and is black. There are splashes of turquoise and yellow in all the artwork surrounding her desk. “I’m Penny,” she says. “Sit.” I try to unscrunch my face but it’s all screwed up in confusion. My linebacker escort nudges the small of my back to get me moving. I recoil at the contact and quickly move to the chair across from Penny to avoid any more unnecessary contact. Her short blonde hair is cut in a cute bob and hangs perfectly in place at her jawline. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose slightly and finally looks to me.
“You can go now, Brock,” she says while still checking me out. So linebacker dude does have a name. The door shuts softly behind me, leaving Penny and me alone. I wait silently but she says nothing.
“Uh, I guess I’m at a disadvantage since I have no idea what’s going on,” I start.
“Yes, it would seem that way, wouldn’t it,” she quips. Okay, not what I expected.
“Okay.” I try.
“Listen, clean yourself up. I’ll give you a week to pull it together. If you do that, you have a job. It’s not much. You’ll sling drinks to the tables on our busy nights. Your cousin seems to think you really need this job, and I’m inclined to think she’s right,” she chatters.
“What did she say?” I urge.
“She asked where you were and just about blew my eardrums out when I told her. She went on explaining that you recently lost someone important to you and are ‘self-medicating,’ her words not mine,” she explains. “She asked if I would employ you. I feel for you, honey, I really do. I’ve lost people who were important to me. Life’s hard. She said you're twenty-two so you're at least old enough to serve drinks. I said if you could go a week without showing your face in here blitzed, I’d give you a chance,” she finishes rather uneventfully. I’m surprised by the lack of judgment in her expression. She seems to just be a straight shooter. I like that.
“Um, can I have time to think it over?” I ask.
“Honey, if you want the job, stay sober for seven days and come back next Wednesday. If you’re here and not drunk off your ass, be prepared to work,” she answers unceremoniously.
“Right. Okay. So, uh, can I go?” I fumble with my words.
“Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out,” she admonishes while nodding. I push up from the chair, wondering what the hell Aster has gotten me into. I don’t drink that much. Well, I don’t think I do. Maybe it’s true. Maybe I need to slow down a little. But how do I process everything going on inside without drinking myself numb? My hand stills on the doorknob as thoughts swirl through my mind.
“Do you have my phone?” I ask, remembering that I seem to have misplaced it. I watch her open her desk drawer and fish it out. I walk back to her and take the phone from her outstretched hand, careful not to touch her. “Thanks,” I say.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she shrugs. I turn and exit her office. The walk back out to the bar seems to take forever. My brain is going nuts with thoughts. I really want a drink. I’ve sort of accepted that my penance in life is to live; it’s to get up every morning that he can’t. I took that away from him and now I have to wake every day and put one foot in front of the other. The guilt drips into my chest through a pinhole, slowly drowning me. I want to go to sleep and not wake up. I want to drink myself into a stupor and not deal. I’m trying my best to get it together somehow, but I’m unraveling, searching for something that doesn't exist anymore. Screw you, Aster, for being so clever.
I pass the bar, resolving to not stop for the drink I so desperately need. I can always have one at home anyways. “Bye, Brock,” I mumble arrogantly as I pass him. He smirks at me. He’s handsome, with adorable crinkles around his eyes when he smiles. Tugging my keys from my pocket I unlock the car door and plop down into the driver’s seat. What else can I do to keep my mind from him? A job would be good but can I actually commit to that? Jesus, there’s too much to think about. I suck in a deep breath and put the car in reverse to head home. I don't know how I’m supposed to feel right now.
A cloud of dust follows the car into the parking space. I fold out of the car lazily, walk into the trailer and look around. I really need to make this more livable. It’s depressing and mostly empty. Tomorrow, I’ll get up and hit a Walmart or Target. I sit on the floor and stare at the thread-worn carpet. My chest aches constantly for him. The loneliness consumes me. I don’t recognize myself in the mirror anymore. I don’t know who I am without him. I don't know how to be a whole person under the weight of my guilt. I feel like some kind of Frankenstein waiting for a shock to bring me back to life. The pain of that day is magnified by the events that happened before he came home. Why couldn't he have come home when he was supposed to? Why did he have to make that last run for Ezra? The tornado of questions brings tears to my eyes. I drag myself off the floor and push the door open, stumbling out into the Arkansas sun and fresh air. I collapse to my knees and stare at the dirt. Dirt. I hate dirt. I want flowers. I want grass. I want home. My stomach rolls and I throw up into the dry, brown dirt. If I can't have him back I just want what he took from me returned - my heart.
“You alright?” a husky rough voice asks. I snap my head up and wipe the drool away with my forearm.
“Just peachy,” I answer flatly. The gruff but handsome man throws his arms up in the air in mock surrender. My embarrassment crawls up my neck and face in the form of scarlet red. I adjust myself so that I’m sitting on my butt instead of my hands and knees and stare at him.
“I’m Magnolia. I guess we’re neighbors but I don’t like people,” I blurt. I just need him to go away.
“Good to know. Have a great day, Magnolia,” he smirks and disappears beyond the next trailer. Well that went well. He didn't even tell me his name. He also didn't seem to give a shit that I was surly and rude. Arkansas is full of strange people, people who apparently are just like me, just want to be left alone. I lie back, letting my hair splay out in the dirt and stare up at the cloudless afternoon sky. I can’t live like this. I don't know what to do. No one from a normal family, who lived a normal life, can sustain this life. A white streak from a jet is drawn across the sky. I stare at it, unblinking, lost in my thoughts.