helps you sleep. ”
I toss my hands up. I don’t
appreciate being treated like a shit stain, and I fucking hate assumptions. My
nostrils flare, and my blood threatens to burn clear
through my veins if I don’t do something quick. I could stand here and explain
myself to her, give a crash course in my life that would leave her disturbed,
tell her things she’ll never be able to un-hear.
Or…
I can just leave. Walk away.
For the longest time, I didn’t
have that option with Josiah.
I have it now.
I can just walk out of here and
mourn the words I’ll never have a chance to say because no one tries to fucking
understand.
Besides, I don’t need to explain
myself to her. My life is none of her damn business. I’m not sure what I ever
saw in her anyway aside from the fact that she was a sexy as fuck, impossibly
uptight virgin I was dying to unwind. I thought I maybe there was something
good in her, something worth salvaging. A hunger for
something real behind those pale blue eyes.
I was dead wrong.
Fucking waste of time, is what she is.
That’s fine.
We’ll live like two passing ships
in the night for the next few months. As soon as August comes, I’ll slip out of
here and buy a bus ticket to L.A. She can marry some secret polygamist who
receives her father’s stamp of approval, and she can pop out a bunch of babies
and judge people to her little heart’s content.
I must have blacked out between
that moment and now, because suddenly I’m sitting behind the driver’s seat of
my truck, my left foot on the clutch and the right one on the brake as I start her
up.
She’s loud as hell, and I might
wake up the whole neighborhood, but I don’t care. I fly across town, getting
the fuck away from the Miller Circus, and speed into a parking spot outside the
shop. The light is on at Liberty’s place.
I’ve only worked with her a
couple days, but she seems like a pretty cool chick. She’s the only friend I
have in this stupid ass town, and right now I need to get as far away from
everything as possible.
“Hey,” she says as she pulls the
door open. She lives in a little apartment above her father’s shop. “What are
you doing here? Need into the shop?”
There’s music coming from behind
her, which I assume is her guitar-wielding boyfriend,
Kian. I met him at work yesterday when he came in to drop dinner off for her.
She examines my face and chews on
her lip. “Shit go down at Uncle Mark’s?”
I shrug.
“Oh, God. What’d he do?” Liberty
pulls the door wide and welcomes me in. I lock eyes with Kian, who’s cradling a
cherry red Fender guitar and gives me a tightlipped smile.
Kian’s wearing a
white tank top that shows off his sleeves. Every inch of his arms is covered in
multicolored tats.
My
people.
“Mark didn’t do anything,” I say,
taking a seat on a stained, velour sofa. I’m not sure what color it’s supposed
to be, but it ain’t pretty. Judging by the general
appearance of her apartment, it’s been ridden hard and put away wet one too
many times. Empty beer cans line the kitchen sink, and there’s a perpetual
beer-burp scent in the air. These are the people my father warned me about, and
they’re the nicest, most laidback people I’ve ever met in my life.
“Oh.” Liberty scratches the side
of her head and slides in next to Kian, resting her head on his shoulder as he
picks the strings of his guitar like he’s in his own little world. “Waverly?”
I shrug, as if to neither confirm
nor deny. She sees right through it.
“Not Waverly.” Liberty laughs.
“She’s so sweet and innocent.”
Kian puts his guitar down and
pulls a cigarette from a pack in his pocket. He lights up and passes it to
Liberty, who takes a long drag and gives it back. Watching them together is
like watching the inner workings of a clock: intricate, intentional, and in
sync.
“What’d she do?” she asks,
exhaling a lungful of smoke.
“Not in the mood to talk about
it.” I recline in my
I toss my hands up. I don’t
appreciate being treated like a shit stain, and I fucking hate assumptions. My
nostrils flare, and my blood threatens to burn clear
through my veins if I don’t do something quick. I could stand here and explain
myself to her, give a crash course in my life that would leave her disturbed,
tell her things she’ll never be able to un-hear.
Or…
I can just leave. Walk away.
For the longest time, I didn’t
have that option with Josiah.
I have it now.
I can just walk out of here and
mourn the words I’ll never have a chance to say because no one tries to fucking
understand.
Besides, I don’t need to explain
myself to her. My life is none of her damn business. I’m not sure what I ever
saw in her anyway aside from the fact that she was a sexy as fuck, impossibly
uptight virgin I was dying to unwind. I thought I maybe there was something
good in her, something worth salvaging. A hunger for
something real behind those pale blue eyes.
I was dead wrong.
Fucking waste of time, is what she is.
That’s fine.
We’ll live like two passing ships
in the night for the next few months. As soon as August comes, I’ll slip out of
here and buy a bus ticket to L.A. She can marry some secret polygamist who
receives her father’s stamp of approval, and she can pop out a bunch of babies
and judge people to her little heart’s content.
I must have blacked out between
that moment and now, because suddenly I’m sitting behind the driver’s seat of
my truck, my left foot on the clutch and the right one on the brake as I start her
up.
She’s loud as hell, and I might
wake up the whole neighborhood, but I don’t care. I fly across town, getting
the fuck away from the Miller Circus, and speed into a parking spot outside the
shop. The light is on at Liberty’s place.
I’ve only worked with her a
couple days, but she seems like a pretty cool chick. She’s the only friend I
have in this stupid ass town, and right now I need to get as far away from
everything as possible.
“Hey,” she says as she pulls the
door open. She lives in a little apartment above her father’s shop. “What are
you doing here? Need into the shop?”
There’s music coming from behind
her, which I assume is her guitar-wielding boyfriend,
Kian. I met him at work yesterday when he came in to drop dinner off for her.
She examines my face and chews on
her lip. “Shit go down at Uncle Mark’s?”
I shrug.
“Oh, God. What’d he do?” Liberty
pulls the door wide and welcomes me in. I lock eyes with Kian, who’s cradling a
cherry red Fender guitar and gives me a tightlipped smile.
Kian’s wearing a
white tank top that shows off his sleeves. Every inch of his arms is covered in
multicolored tats.
My
people.
“Mark didn’t do anything,” I say,
taking a seat on a stained, velour sofa. I’m not sure what color it’s supposed
to be, but it ain’t pretty. Judging by the general
appearance of her apartment, it’s been ridden hard and put away wet one too
many times. Empty beer cans line the kitchen sink, and there’s a perpetual
beer-burp scent in the air. These are the people my father warned me about, and
they’re the nicest, most laidback people I’ve ever met in my life.
“Oh.” Liberty scratches the side
of her head and slides in next to Kian, resting her head on his shoulder as he
picks the strings of his guitar like he’s in his own little world. “Waverly?”
I shrug, as if to neither confirm
nor deny. She sees right through it.
“Not Waverly.” Liberty laughs.
“She’s so sweet and innocent.”
Kian puts his guitar down and
pulls a cigarette from a pack in his pocket. He lights up and passes it to
Liberty, who takes a long drag and gives it back. Watching them together is
like watching the inner workings of a clock: intricate, intentional, and in
sync.
“What’d she do?” she asks,
exhaling a lungful of smoke.
“Not in the mood to talk about
it.” I recline in my
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