Tonic by Staci Hart Page A

an original is never as good. Like a fax, distorted by perception, made grainy by misinterpretation.
    And now, here I was. I’d have to talk about Liz. On camera. I’d been warned, and I believed every word Annika said.  
    Annika.  
    I was still chewing on the exchange, just as I had been all day. We’d been having a go at each other, all right. And at the mention of it, I couldn’t help but think of Liz again in comparison. I’d done this before, survived a relationship fueled by gasoline and a hot match. Barely survived. And now, after all this time, the first girl to wake me up wasn’t much different.  
    Part of me wanted to justify their differences. Annika wasn’t Liz, not by a long shot. We pushed each other, but it wasn’t destructive. Was it?  
    After her display that morning, I wasn’t so sure.
    The difference between Annika and Liz was that Annika was sorry. She apologized and meant it, I thought, at least. Liz and I would just wake up and pretend like nothing had happened. Nothing was ever solved, and so the wheel would turn again and again, over and over, to no end.
    But I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to push. I just wanted to be happy.  
    My head ached, and I popped some ibuprofen between clients, wishing there were a pill to set the rest of me to rights. Annika said she wasn’t interested in me, and that was probably for the best. The whole ordeal was doing its best to remind me why I’d been single for so long, resigned to be alone, maybe forever.
    I took a long pull from my water bottle as I waited for my next job to walk in, and Patrick rolled his chair over to the short wall between our stations, his eyes somehow bright and dark, searching mine.  
    See, Patrick knew me, and he knew me well. He’d come into the shop near ten years before, all arms and legs, eyes sunken into his head, with a sketchbook under his arm packed cover-to-cover in promise. So I hired him, the quiet boy, the drug addict, and I gave him a place to stay, a place to work, a place to call home, which wasn’t something he’d had much of in his life. And in doing that, he became like a brother to me and to Shep.
    I smiled at him to cover for the fact that I was broody. “Going okay over there?”
    He nodded and leaned on the wall. “How about you? Doing okay?”
    “Never better, man. Never better.”
    He jacked a dark eyebrow. “That so? Penny spilled the beans about earlier with Annika.”
    I chuffed. “She would. It really wasn’t anything to talk about.”
    “You cussed her out in front of half the crew.”
    I shrugged. “She had it coming.”
    He laughed at that. “I’m sure she did.”
    “Really, it’s fine,” I reassured him. “She just hit a soft spot, that’s all. Wanted to talk about Liz and did it in a way that wasn’t copasetic. But she came up after and apologized, so we’re good. And that’s all there is to tell.”
    “What’s going on with you two? There’s been a lot of talk that you two have a thing going.”
    I wasn’t sure if I could evade him, so I only gave it a half-assed attempt. I sighed. “There’s nothing going on.”
    “But you want there to be something going on.”
    I sniffed and scratched at my beard. “Doesn’t really matter what I want.”
    He made a face. “Why are you being like this? It’s not like you to make me drag details out of you.”
    I sighed again and pulled up a little closer, hanging my arms on the wall next to his. “I don’t know, Tricky. I really don’t. It’s just that from the second she walked through that door, she’s been under my skin, and I can’t shake her.”
    He nodded. “I know how that goes. What’s the deal with her?”
    “She’s resisted my charms on all fronts. Asked me to stop, told me she wasn’t interested.”
    His brow dropped at that. “Yeah, that’s final.”
    “And she gives me the signals, but I’m not about to chase down a chick who’s telling me no. It’s just that … I dunno. I can’t help