Progress (Progress #1) (14 page)

Score one for Julie for finding another. Low self-esteem was the
only
reason I got as much pussy as I did. That didn’t say much about my opinion of myself, but I was more of a realist. We worked with what we had.

“Excellent,” I said, taking another glance in Jake’s direction. “Were you quoting directly from your Christian Singles profile or did you merely want to make me sound like a golden retriever?”

“What?” Jake shrugged, holding up his hands in question. “You don’t like the beach?”

Julie snickered and Eve bit her bottom lip.

The dull conversation made me only wish I’d called Charlie. The present company took too much thought, too many things I needed to remember in order to conduct myself as a normal human being: joke, make small talk, breathe, make eye contact, smile once in a while.

While Charlie was probably fast asleep in her white bed dreaming about a prince to sweep her off her feet, I was there, in a dirty restaurant, trying to score a twenty-minute fix to my salacious hunger.

I would’ve liked to have blamed Charlie for it; she was the one who had absorbed my energy that weekend. I didn’t even have to touch her. Lying beside her was enough to remind me what a solid sleep after a good fuck felt like. I didn’t have to remember how to make small talk, smile, or breathe.

“So you ride a bike,” Eve continued. “And I think it’s safe to say that sand and water are scratched off the list.” She crossed her arms over the table and leaned in, narrowing one eye. “What’s your story, Jesse?”

“So what’s your story?” Charlie said.

“
My story?”

“Did I stutter?”

With her trembling hands and snarky attitude, I had known Charlie was going to be a spitfire. I found myself smiling at the memory and the way she looked when she said it. Adorable.

I focused my vision to find three sets of confused eyes staring back at me.

“You awake, man?” Jake said, snapping his fingers.

“Oh.” I cleared my throat, shaking my head to remove my grin. “I don’t have a story,” I bit out and rose from my seat. “I’ll be right back,” I said, heading for the front of the restaurant in sudden desperate need for a cigarette.

The door slammed against the wall when I hadn’t thought I’d pushed it that hard. Swiping my Zippo from my back pocket, I lit my smoke and slipped it back in.

I couldn’t very well get into Emma’s panties if I had Charlie stuck in my mind.

Errr, Eve’s panties.

Whatever.

A picturesque young couple—one dressed in khakis and shiny black shoes, and the other in a pink sundress with flowers and shit on it—walked up the sidewalk and through the door arm in arm. She had a nice ass, but from the way her boyfriend glared at me, it was obvious he didn’t appreciate my appreciation.

Too bad for him I didn’t give a shit about what he thought.

I sucked down my cigarette, pull after pull, and lit another with the butt of my old one.

If I stay, I’m going to have sex with this girl. All I need to do is smile and wink and I’ve got her. So predictable. So bland. The setup is perfect. I can do this. I just can’t access any part of my brain where Charlie resides.
Should be easy enough.

There was really only one place that Charlie hadn’t gotten to.

I’d just have to think with my dick.

Chapter Two

Jesse

There was no pressure to be someone or something with Charlie. Why did I always feel like I needed to be someone better? Why did the people I wasted time with—every teacher I’d ever had, the doctors, the lawyers, the meds—all want me to be someone I wasn’t? Why couldn’t I just be? It didn’t seem to bother Charlie. I was who I was, and that was good enough for her.

I wanted to go back to when I was a kid. Or at least go back to a time when shit wasn’t so complicated. I didn’t need medication then—why do I need it now? I was a free spirit, had a lot of energy, and told the truth. If I did that as an adult I’d be a fucking nutjob.

If we were smart, then we were know-it-alls; if we were polite, then we were pussies; if we were educated, then we were pompous.

If we spoke candidly, we were assholes. If we were just in it for the pussy, we were dicks. And if I was a free spirit, I was psycho.

The music I listened to made me a punk. The clothes I wore made me a slacker. The job I couldn’t hold made me a freeloader.

What was with all the fucking labels?

But if I hid my intelligence, then I was the most brilliant of them all. It helped to avoid the blank stares, the judgment, and the assumptions. Because being smart didn’t make me a know-it-all, dressing in baggy jeans and concert tees didn’t make me a punk, and listening to ska didn’t mean I was a drug addict.

I was Jesse Anders: a complex guy with a simple life. The less you got in my way, the better off you were.

Maybe one day I’d figure it all out. The time would come when I would perfect myself, not letting all the heavy stuff weigh on my mind or contribute to my shitty attitude.

But that day wouldn’t be today.

When I woke the next morning, Eve had scribbled her number on a piece of paper and left it on my nightstand before she left. I rolled my eyes and tossed it in the trash.

At least she didn’t wake me for a goodbye kiss. Those always got awkward when I was shooing them out the door without responding to the request. A goodbye kiss elicited hope. And that was the last lesson I was going to teach anyone.

It wasn’t that I was a rotted soul. I could be quite soft when the situation called for it. Rare, indeed, but not something that required me stooping to any level. I was still a guy and had more pride than I knew what to do with, but I wasn’t always a dickhead. I had my moments.

I’d just returned from riding when I hopped in the shower. I scrubbed the dirt, sweat, and Eve from my skin along with the scent of her perfume. I should have at least scrubbed my dick before I’d left that morning, but my energy had spiked and I had to get out of the Madness.

Madness
was what I called the flicker point; the switch that could be so easily swayed into the wrong direction. When my mind spiraled and I needed to find something solid and stable quick, I’d fall deep into the Whirl.

The Whirl
was the pinnacle; the summit or peak when there was no turning back and I just had to ride it out. The episodes used to scare me, but I’d done the best I could to embrace the moments as they came hard and fast, and it was a hell of a ride.

Madness found me more often than I would’ve liked. The sensible part of me knew that I had to keep myself in check. But the Whirl had only recently picked up in its occurrences, hitting me three times in the past year. All the books said it got worse as we aged, and meds needed to be adjusted more often.

And the worst of them all was
the Grim
; it always followed shortly after
the Whirl
, and there wasn’t enough of a smooth-talker inside of me that could pacify that beast. The Grim could last for a week or months, and every day was worse than the one before.

Bree had seen the most of them. I was a puddle of goo around that girl. Something about her took me back to that innocence as a kid; it made her untouchable, pure, and made me a better man than I’d ever been in my life. My shrink once tried to pin the reason I loved Bree so much on the guilt of my sister’s death. But he put too much stock into that theory; I rarely thought about my sister at all.

A shower cooled me down. The open window in my room brought the cold morning air in with it, and goose bumps ignited over my body. I quickly pulled on a pair of briefs and threw a T-shirt over my damp torso, waiting for the warmth to come.

“Hey Jess,” a soft voice came from behind me.

I whipped around quickly, and my eyes tried to catch up with my heartbeat.

Bree.

Goddammit.

A timid mouse facing a hungry panther, she was tiny, frail, and didn’t stand a chance.

“Get the fuck out, Bree.”

“Will you please listen to me?” she pleaded, keeping her head down and taking a step forward.

“Stay away from me.” I shook my head and put on a pair of jeans. “What are you doing h—”

“I miss you,” she cut me off. “So much.”

I zipped up my fly and laughed. “Right. You missed me so much that sucking Jake’s cock was your best bet at getting me back.” I walked past her and down the hall. “The logic makes perfect sense. Probably thought if you swallowed, I’d put a ring on your finger,” I mumbled, walking to the kitchen.

I took the meds from the cupboard and put my mouth to the tap to wash them down.

“Please, let me say something,” she asked again. Her small frame drowned in my old Toots and the Maytals T-shirt, and I couldn’t help but remember when I gave it to her. Mornings like those were the best—some of the only memories I kept.

“You have three minutes,” I snapped. “Make them good.”

“I came here the other night looking for you. But you’re always gone, and your cell phone is always disconnected.”

“Easy solution: stop calling.”

She grinned, and my heart fell to my stomach. “You know I can’t do that, Jess. I’ve been trying for months to get ahold of you, and when I saw Jake at the bar, I asked him to bring me to you.” She shrugged, wiping her new blond hair back.

I liked her better brunette.

“When he said you were probably out with someone else, I knew right away what you were doing,” she added, stepping closer. “And I hated it.”

I turned my head to the side, trying to concentrate on anything besides the fact that she was inches from me. “How long are we going to do this? You’re twenty-one years old, I’m almost twenty-six—”

“As long as we have to, babe,” she whispered, her skinny fingers wrapping around my arms. “You and I will always be something. I know you can feel it. I feel it now. That kind of thing never goes away.”

I bit down, grinding my teeth, and my temper rose. Bitch just couldn’t let the past stay where it belonged. “It doesn’t matter, though, does it? We aren’t going to solve the world’s problems by debating politics all night, only to end up fucking out the resolution. Just because your fiancé is on the way to the presidency and doesn’t have time for his girlfriend’s kinky shit isn’t my problem.”

“He’s not running for president,” she laughed.

“Good. Because your scandalous past alone is enough for him take millions from the taxpayers in investigations. Keep your tongue in your mouth and leave the jerking off for your lonely, cold, morning showers, Bree. The minute you figure out you’re not wanted or needed here, the better off you’ll be.”

“I love that prick mouth of yours.” She bit her bottom lip. “I love your passion.” Leaning in, she grazed her mouth against mine.

I flinched away. “I don’t have that passion anymore, toots. There’s no solving any of it. And there certainly isn’t enough time in my life for an aristocratic liberal like yourself—not hiding under my bed, between my sheets, or making pillow talk. There’s some shit that was never meant to be.”

“I’ll keep coming back,” she said. “One of these days you’ll cave. You always do.”

“And I’ll keep listening to my gut.” I pulled her hands from my arms. “Don’t underestimate what my mind is capable of remembering. And quit using the way my mind works to your advantage. Consider yourself lucky that you spent as much time with me as you did.” I shook my head. “Walk away.”

***

“I need a drink,” I spat, sitting in Charlie’s booth after my shift that night.

She closed her notebook and took off her glasses.

“When did you get those?” I asked, pointing to the red-framed reading glasses on the table.

“I only need them when I read or write,” she said.

“You write?”

She shrugged. “Nothing exciting. Mostly journal entries.”

“Not eating tonight?” I asked, noticing the lack of dinner plate and a lonely glass of water.

Before she could answer, Paulina brought me a beer, and I grabbed her wrist. I tipped the mug back and downed the drink in twenty seconds, then handed it back to her. “Another. Keep them coming.” I winked. “Please.”

Charlie crossed her arms over the table and chewed on the inside of her cheek, giving Paulina an apologetic smile. “Bad day?” she asked me.

“The worst.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Not at all. But maybe I should’ve. I scratched the back of my neck, trying to block out the thoughts, but they kept coming.

Then the dizziness started, and Charlie’s face became blurry, hazy.

Shit.

Too many thoughts at once flew past my eyes. I saw things, memories. Bree, Charlie, my father, Lily, barnyards and bullies, train stations, cars, weed, stained bed sheets and white pillowcases. Garbage trucks and suitcases, Zippos and tattoos, smoke, fire, water, cold breezes, and never being able to be warm enough.

Quicker than ever before, the Madness came, and I couldn’t seem to get a grip. Not even looking into Charlie’s eyes was working, when it always had before.

I wanted to tell her more about Bree, but I had no idea where to start. I’d had it all figured out when I spoke to Bree that afternoon; I was coherent and focused. I’d patted myself on the back for coming up with the words so efficiently. Sitting with Charlie only brought a visual of her walking up through the grass from the lake, bending to pick up her shirt, and walking with her head held high.

But for all the visions that came, it still hadn’t been long enough for Charlie to be uncomfortable that I hadn’t answered her question. They came so fast that only seconds had passed. I rubbed my eyes and cleared my throat to respond.

“No.”

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Why? Do I not look okay?”

Paulina flew by, dropping a beer in front of me.

Charlie glanced down at my green T-shirt and half-smiled. “No, it’s not that. I just…you seem off.”

She exposed me. She always had. Maybe that was the pull I had toward her. Or maybe I thought she knew more than she did. But I wanted to hear her say it. I needed to know if it was just my imagination.

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you see? What can you see when you look at me?”

She shook her head, not comprehending why I’d ask. “Rephrase the question,” she said with a small crease between her big blue eyes.

“What do you feel? How do you feel when you look at me?”

She flushed pink, a darker shade than I’d ever seen on her before. Tugging on her lip and looking down, she swallowed.

“Not that silly crush shit, Charlie. Yeah, I got it, you want me. I’m talking about the stuff that runs deeper. When you look at me, who do you see? What do you feel?”

“You think I have a crush on you?” she asked, almost appalled.

I narrowed my eyes and set my jaw. “
That’s
all you heard from those questions? Like it’s a big shocker that you’re jonesin’ for my cock. Let it go.” I raked a hand through my hair and exhaled my anger. “I’m talking about who you think I am! What kind of person do you see when you look at me,” I said with my voice louder than I intended.

She rolled her eyes, trying to make them dry. “Maybe we should have this conversation somewhere else,” she whispered.

My fist collided with the table, creating a boom that echoed through the room. “Now, dammit! Answer the fucking question!”

She slouched, trying to avoid the stares from the room. The vein in her neck pulsed and her hands began to shake. I sighed, acutely aware of what I’d done to her.

More stares.

More whispers.

More quiet laughter.

“Jesus, I’m sorry Red,” I whispered, reaching my hand across the table and offering an open palm. “I’m not crazy, I promise. It’s just been a bad day.”

“You make me dizzy when you’re like this,” she said softly, keeping her eyes to the wall. “That’s what I feel.”

She accepted my hand and I closed my eyes with relief. Not the relief that she took my offering, but from the speeding thoughts that disappeared with her soft touch. The Madness instantly dissipated, and I had to pause until my mind stopped spinning. The euphoric high faded, and my heart rate slowed to a manageable pace. Charlie’s soft pink skin came into focus, and I feared closing my eyes again, even if it was just to blink.