Facade
Page 3She jumps, obviously startled, and hits her head on the trunk. “Ouch!”
Shit. That wasn’t part of the plan.
“You okay? I’d offer to kiss it and make it better, but I’m guessing it’s too soon for that.”
She takes a step back, her cheeks this sweet pink that I’m not used to seeing so much on girls anymore. I hold my hands up and smile at her. “Don’t be scared. Other than my shitty lines, I’m not so bad.” Pointing to Colt and Cheyenne, I continue. “My friend’s girl is over there. She’ll tell you I’m nothing but a huggable teddy bear.” I almost throw in a “Wanna cuddle?” but I think it’s too much.
She smiles and I know I just got a point back after making her hit her head. Maybe two.
“Well, then, I think we’re going to have a problem.” Her voice is as sweet as her blush. Her eyes dart around a little and her fists clench, telling me she’s trying to sound a lot braver than she feels.
“And what’s that?” I ask her before taking a step back. Not a big one, but enough to give her a little more comfort.
“I’ve always had a thing against teddy bears.”
Her answer comes out of nowhere, but I have to admit it’s kind of fun. It’s been a while since a girl made me give any kind of chase. “How do you have a thing against teddy bears?”
“Because they’re frauds. I used to have one and thought it would protect me when I slept, but it didn’t. I think that’s their plan. They lure you in with a false sense of security.”
I hold in my laugh. She’s good. Really good. She managed to insult me and shoot down my game in one swoop. It makes me want her more. Want some kind of challenge. Maybe that’s what I need to take my mind off all the things that I don’t deserve to forget. “Now that wasn’t very nice. We don’t even know each other’s names, but here you are calling me a fraud. All I wanted was to be a gentleman and help you with these boxes and then welcome you to the neighborhood by inviting you to a party tonight.”
I lean against her car, watching her. Wanting to see what’s going on in her gray eyes. She’s thinking about what I said, trying to come up with a reply.
“I can’t,” she finally says. She seems a little sad when she says it. She looks at the ground and bites her bottom lip. I really want to tell her I’ll do that for her, but I don’t. She’s gorgeous as hell. Even more so up close than she was from farther away. Plump lips. A little mole under her nose and damned if she doesn’t look both sexy and innocent at the same time.
“You won’t.”
She sighs. “I don’t even know you. Even if I did, that’s not what I’m here for.”
“Maddox, you’re late.” She looks at him and I look at her. She could have saved me a whole lot of trouble by telling me she was taken from the beginning.
“Who’s this?” he says.
“My bad,” I reply. “Have fun with those boxes.”
I’m not in the mood to fight for some girl I don’t know, so I turn and start to walk away. Not like I won’t have more to choose from tonight anyway.
* * *
Sometimes you can’t stop the past from seeping into the present. It’s like an infection festering inside you. No matter what you do, you can’t keep it from spreading. Taking hold of your blood so it can rip through you quickly.
And once it does, it’s got you.
My house is packed with a shit ton of people just how I like it. Since I live in the old part of town, neighbors don’t care. Don’t complain about the music or the people because most of my neighbors are probably here. My landlord is an old lady who doesn’t give a shit about what happens as long as it doesn’t come down on her.
I’m on the couch and have a girl on my arm. I don’t know how she got there, but I don’t care either. Her hand’s creeping toward my crotch and I’m begging for her to hurry up and make her destination.
Colt and Cheyenne didn’t show up. I was pissed earlier, but the longer I’m here, the more none of it matters. Sometimes I think I want it to matter. I mean, it should. It’s life and as much as mine’s been filled with darkness, I’ve seen the beauty. When Angel looked at Ash or when Ash looked at me like he thought I was the king of the fucking world or something. I was amazing to him. Like a superhero who he trusted from his teeny toes to the tips of his curly black hair.
That was fucking beautiful, until it shattered.
Damn, why did that creep in tonight?
I look at the redhead who’s now kissing my neck. She smells like beer, all tangy, mixed with some kind of perfume. “What’s your name, baby?” I ask her. When a girl has her hand slipping down your pants, you should at least know her name. I guess if she doesn’t care, I shouldn’t. I’m not even sure if I really do.
“Ashley, but my friends call me Ash,” she says against my skin, her breath freezing me. It’s like it starts in that one spot and then slowly spreads over my body, cracking my skin and my chest and my heart as it goes. My past is infecting me again. The disease sucking the breath from my lungs. I can’t fuck a girl with the same nickname as Ash. The little boy who thought I held the world in my hands.
The door to Colt’s old room is open. There’s a couple on the old futon I shoved in there when he left. I ignore them and go straight to my room and lock the door behind me. I fall onto my bed, thinking that maybe it would be easier if I was like Colt used to be. If I could just ball my fist and beat the hell out of something, even if it was a wall, until I felt better, until the physical pain eclipsed the emotional.
I see Ash’s big brown eyes. Hear Angel’s cries. Smell the fucking beer on the bastard who hit him as I shoved my fist into his face over and over before they arrested me at the same time as him. He ran over and killed someone I loved, yet they treated me just as they did him.
Which, yeah, means I heard Angel’s cries after. I wasn’t even there when she got home that day. She came back to find me and Ash gone. I had to tell her later that I let him get killed. She told me, fucking told me that day not to let him play out front, but I didn’t listen and now he’s gone.
I pick up The Count, wishing I could focus on the words. Wishing I were Edmond or anyone but me. I reach for my weed but then shove it back into the drawer. Why can’t I lose myself in my own head like I used to? Get lost in my own world to block out the shit at home instead of sucking that crap into my lungs like I do now?
I wonder who that guy was with Angel at the cemetery. If he’s good to her because I’m not there to protect her the same way I didn’t protect Ash. The way Angel always protected me.
Suddenly the music is too loud. People stumbling into my door feels like they’re doing it on my head instead. If I don’t get out of this house right now, I’m going to lose it.
I shove the window open and grab my keys. It’s freezing balls outside, but I don’t care. It’s good to feel something besides the memories. It only takes me a few seconds to walk around the side of my house and get to my car. No one will miss me here. They’ll party till they pass out and tomorrow I’ll talk shit about how fun it was. Right now, I need to be free.
I drive around for hours until the car’s going on fumes and I know I’ll run out of gas at any second. I’ve circled Brenton about ten times and for the millionth wonder why I still live in this state. Maybe it would be easier if I left. Instead I drive by the college that Cheyenne goes to and wonder what it would have been like to go there. College was something I always wanted, planned for, but after Ash, I figured if he didn’t get to have what he wanted, I shouldn’t either. I remember how Angel used to tell me how lucky I was because I was so fucking smart. It pissed her off when I left high school, but we needed money. It wasn’t that long since she’d taken me from Dad and let me live with her. Plus, Ash was coming soon and I needed to help her prepare.
By this point, it’s gotta be almost 3:00 a.m. My eyes are burning as much as my insides. When I see a little all-night diner, I pull in. Shove my copy of The Count and my little spiral notebook in my hoodie pockets before going inside.
I sit in the ugly, aqua-green booth and wonder who in the hell would pick something like this.
Pulling the book out, I toss it onto the table. Grab my notebook and the pen I keep in my pocket, but I’m not sure I can make myself do anything right now. Can’t write. Can’t read. I need some fucking coffee and a time machine, so I put my elbows on the table and bury my head in my hands.
I try to focus on the big, brown eyes in my mind and the huge smile that was definitely a Westfall trait.
“Can I help you?” someone says from beside the table.
I wish like hell I didn’t have to pry my head out of my hands, but I do. I look over and see the same brown hair and beautiful gray eyes from earlier.
~Delaney~
Just my luck that I have to run into the flirty guy from this afternoon. He is super sexy with his dark hair and intense eyes, though. He has brown stubble on his face, but I can’t help but look at his eyes again. They look dimmer than they did earlier. No laughing in them. I almost feel like they could transfer me away. Like you can drift forever in those midnight pools because there’s so much space between what he wants to show and what’s really buried deep inside.
I wonder what my eyes look like to him.
I have no excuse to wonder that. I didn’t come all the way to Brenton to hook up with some random guy.
I can practically see the façade slip into place as he gives me a half-smile.
“If it isn’t the box girl. Your boyfriend’s not going to show up again, is he?”
I shake my head. Almost don’t tell him the truth, but I do. “He’s not my boyfriend. He’s my brother.”
The smile grows slightly. “Why didn’t you say that earlier?”
“Because I didn’t feel like being hit on.” I try not to bite my lip. It feels good to have a guy try and pick me up. Any girl who doesn’t admit that is lying. Whether you want him or not, it’s a boost to the ego. I didn’t date much when I was younger. I was focused on school and was just young. Too busy riding my bike and trying to follow my big brother around. Then Dad got locked up and Mom lost it and boys never had a chance to be important.
“All girls like being hit on,” he says.
“Are you going to order anything or not?”
“In a rush to get back to all those other customers?” He smiles.
Yeah, I didn’t really think about that. I look around and remember there’s only one other person in the place. My eyes wander over the table and I notice the book sitting there. The Count of Monte Cristo. I don’t know why, but it surprises me. He doesn’t look like the read-for-fun type. “Your book?” I ask, even though I know it’s his.
It’s almost like he forgot it was there. He puts a hand on it and slides it closer to him, as though he’s trying to protect it. “I’ll take a coffee.” There’s a slight edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. I’m not sure if its anger, annoyance, or if the tiredness in his features is now spreading to his vocal cords.