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Chapter Seven

Charlie

I’m nervous. What am I, sixteen years old? Pull your shit together. If he really wanted to see me before now, he knows where I work. I’m getting bent out of shape for someone who probably doesn’t really give a shit.

It was late in the evening when I finally arrived at The Crimson. My feet already hurt from the heels, and I hoped to quickly find a spot to rest them.

The bar buzzed with life; patrons gathered in small circles trying to chat over the music, three bartenders rushed to get drinks prepared, and Angie swept past me with a “Hey, girl,” and was gone again before I could respond.

I squeezed between the customers, carefully looking at each booth before I reached the patio doors. Once outside, I spotted Paulina and Marco sitting at a table in the corner and exhaled in relief.

The patio was lit up; white Christmas lights were strung from each umbrella top, and they made the red brick of the restaurant sparkle. Just beyond the patio was a massive ravine with a small pond in the center.

“Holy shit, Chuck! You look hot!” Marco choked on his beer before eyeing me up and down.

I felt good. Better than good. The best I had in a long time. I’d taken Angie’s suggestion for a smoky eye, plucked my eyebrows, and applied a pale lipstick. My hair was twisted and held up with bobby pins, giving it a bit of funk and pulling it away from my face.

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Thanks, Marco.” I blushed.

“God, I hope not. Sit down. Why are you so dressed up?” he asked.

Oh, you know. For a guy that probably won’t even show up.
“Long story. I don’t want to get into it,” I said, taking a seat.

“You do look really good, Char,” Paulina slurred. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this dressed up, and I’ve known you for like twenty years! Oh. Twenty years! We’re so old!” she gasped.

I laughed just as Angie stopped by to take my drink order. “It’s crazy here. I’m making so much money!” She wiped her brow and looked down. “I meant to tell you earlier: you look awesome, babe. What can I get you to drink?”

“Thanks. An iron butterfly on the rocks, please.”

Angie nodded and flew to the next table.

“Are you guys waiting for anyone?” I asked.

“Yes, Troy said he’d stop by.” Paulina flushed. “And Paris and Tanya are meeting us here, too.”

“And I’m waiting for Dom to get off work,” Marco said.

“Do you mind if I sit here for a while then? Just until they get here?”

“Of course you can! You can stay here all night if you want. It’s a party!” Paulina bellowed. When she stopped giggling, she took another sip of her beer and pointed at me. “Are you losing weight? You look skinny tonight.”

“I don’t know,” I lied. “I refuse to weigh myself.” But I knew. I’d weighed myself twice a day for the past few weeks.
Almost twenty pounds down altogether, and I’m about to eat my own arm. I’m so hungry.

All night, fellow employees stopped by the table to compliment me on my new look. Tanya barely recognized me when she joined us, and had to look at me twice. I wasn’t sure how much I enjoyed the new attention, but the liquor had numbed me enough to push it aside and deal with it later.

The casual conversation flew once I had a few drinks in my system. But the first word I slurred cut them off quickly. Any more and I wouldn’t be able to drive home. So I ordered a Cherry Coke and sipped quietly, keeping my eyes locked on the patio door.

My fuzzy mind sobered quickly. It was then eleven o’clock, and the party would end at midnight.

Where is he?

Finally, at eleven thirty, I got a glimpse of Jesse through the bar windows. I sat up straight, crossed my legs, and tried to remain calm. But those damn jitters surfaced again, and I couldn’t help but stay optimistic about his reaction. I sat on my hands just in case they started to tremble.

Jesse slapped open the patio door and it was impossible not to notice his presence. The door ricocheted off a bus tub and knocked over a stack of dirty dishes. They tumbled to the concrete, shattering into pieces. Every person outside stopped to look at who had made the scene.

His eyes locked with mine as if he hadn’t even heard the noise. The bright blue from a week prior had vanished, leaving them a dull gray.

He was drunk.

Very drunk.

Too drunk.

I let out a sigh as the butterflies crashed, and felt the regret hit me in the pit of my stomach.
I’m so fucking stupid. This was a very bad idea.

“Thanks, Jess,” Angie barked at his side and walked into the bar to retrieve a broom and dustpan.

He ignored her.

With sloppy strides he walked to our table, threw himself into a chair next to Paulina, and put an arm around her shoulder. Other than his initial glance my way, he hadn’t looked at me since. Perhaps he had only looked past my shoulder anyway.

He didn’t care that Troy, Paulina’s boyfriend, sat on her other side. Jesse leaned in close, closer than he’d ever gotten to
me
, and whispered in her ear.

I tried not to look—to stare—but just by the goose bumps on Paulina’s arms, I could almost feel Jesse’s warm breath on my ear too.

“Hey Paulina. How ya been?” he purred, his normally gruff voice replaced with a smooth one.

She tried to pull away, but Jesse had a firm grip on her wrist. She swung her head around and pleaded to Troy with her eyes.

Picking up on the cue, Troy cut in. “Whoa, easy there, buddy.”

“Buddy?” Jesse scoffed. “My name is Jesse.” His eyes flickered to mine quickly, and they softened.

I looked away, staring at the concrete floor. From the corner of my eye, I saw Jess shake his head from the place his thoughts had brought him to. By the time I looked up again, his hard façade had returned.

Troy laughed. “Jesse? Isn’t that a chick’s name?” A small snort came from his nose as he chuckled at his own joke.

Uh oh.

Not good.

Jesse stood, kicking his chair backwards. His nostrils flared and his arms bulged outward as he tried to preserve some of the dignity he felt Troy had taken from him. “A girl’s name. Original.” He flexed his jaw. “Why don’t we step out into the parking lot and I’ll show what it feels like to get your ass handed to you.”

Troy obviously hadn’t been let in on the fact that Jesse had a short fuse. Neither had I. Though it would’ve been a safe assumption.

“Whoa,” Troy said, throwing his hands up in surrender. “We’re all friends here. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll order a round.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his money clip.

For as cheesy and pompous I found Troy to be, his tactic was effective. Jesse’s face relaxed as he glanced over at me and picked up his chair.

There was no way I could keep calm. I kept my hands beneath me, but I could feel them shake along with the thumping in my chest. Not only had the tension at the table increased tenfold with Jesse’s arrival, but I also feared what would happen next.

Still, I remained quiet and waited for someone else to trigger his anger.

“Hey, guys!” Adam approached our table.

Oh, shit.

“Hi Adam!” Paulina said loudly, clearly feeling the tension too.

“Hi, Jesse, Paulina, Troy…” His eyes followed the line around the table, and paused when they landed on me. “Damn, Charlie. You’re looking good tonight. What are you so dressed up for?”

“Me,” Jesse growled.

Paulina’s brow furrowed and she looked back and forth at the two of us. Jesse’s eyes narrowed in on mine, and my face burned from humiliation.

“She dressed up for me,” Jesse repeated, and smiled smugly at Adam. “Didn’t you, Charlene?”

I tried to keep my mouth from opening from his audacity, but I couldn’t find enough strength.  My lips parted slightly, and I didn’t understand why he’d do something like that to me.

If I’d thought we had any shot at a friendship, or even something more, that had been whisked away with his last statement. The bastard was just toying with me.

“Hey, Jess! There you are,” a voice sang from the door.

Neither of us looked at her, and we continued to stare at each other with heated glares.

“You ran away,” the girl said, throwing her arms around his shoulders. “Who are your friends?”

She was a waif of a thing, five feet tall, no more than a hundred pounds. Her pink tube top showed off her flat stomach and a sleeve of tattoos down one arm. Curly brown hair fell to her collarbone, and her lips looked like she’d just sucked dry the neck of a mortal.

Jesse’s throat bobbed and he finally looked away from me. His hands covered hers and he gave them a tight squeeze. “They’re no one. Let’s go.” He rose abruptly and guided her back through the patio doors.

“Whatever,” Paulina snipped.

“I thought he was going to kick the shit out of me!” Troy said.

But while they exclaimed unsavory comments back and forth, I sat quietly, trying to hold back my tears and watching Jesse leave through the window.
Stupid stupid stupid.

What was I thinking?

Did I think this dress and some makeup would make me pretty enough for him? It’s just like he said.

I’m no one.

“I should probably go.” I cleared my throat. “I have to work tomorrow.”

“Are you okay to drive?” Troy asked, standing with me.

Nothing could have sobered me quicker than this night.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

***

When I got home, I ran to the bathroom. I scrubbed off all of my makeup, buffing so hard that my eyes and face turned bright pink. I brushed my teeth, turned off the light, and got into bed.

You’re nothing, Charlie Johnson. Nothing. You’re a waste of a human being. A huge, worthless, disgusting human being.

Like so many days growing up, I balled myself up under my sheets and sobbed.

Chapter Eight

Charlie

My life hadn’t equipped me with the emotional maturity I needed to carry on like Jesse hadn’t broken me the night before. I was irritable at work, looking over my shoulder for someone who—according to the schedule—would be there that evening.

Our paths didn’t cross often that night, and when they did, we didn’t speak to each other. That was fine by me. Every time he got within fifteen feet of me, my anger and unease flushed my skin and my flight instincts kicked in.

But who was I to be angry with him? I was no one but a fat slob with an endless supply of cigarettes. There were no signs he viewed me as anything but a friend. My anger was irrational and I knew it, but that didn’t stop it from stinging like a bitch.

If I stayed mad at him, our friendship was done. That’s how friendships worked. Yet his honesty and bluntness were just enough for me to question whether or not I wanted it to be the end. It wasn’t as though he’d feel it necessary to apologize, and for how drunk he was, he probably wouldn’t even remember his snide comments.

“They’re no one. Let’s go,”
he’d said.

Most of what he said wasn’t far from illogical, and for all that I’d internalized when it came to Jesse, that unexplainable pull to know more about him strengthened. My whole life had proven I’d do the opposite with his kind of confrontational nature, but my intrigue was too piqued. And my self-esteem had me in a chokehold.

I wanted to be somebody.

I wanted to be somebody to him.

There was something familiar about his pensive and bitter personality that made ignoring him next to impossible. I’d never been so conflicted with my pull toward someone. Hell, I’d never been pulled toward anyone like that, period.

People flocked to me for advice and for sympathy. They wanted me to tell them they were right. On the other hand, Jesse sought confrontation, made people feel like shit, and tried to prove that they were wrong. We were completely opposite, but drawn together despite ourselves. His sad, gray eyes were too powerful to ignore. They reminded me so much of my own. I knew then that whatever triggered his anger was the same thing that triggered my complacency…a past too painful to remember.

It was the only explanation. We’d both seen trauma and dealt with it differently.

I sat in a booth after my shift, surrounded by loud, drunk regulars. Coupled with the clattering dishes and the music, the crowd did well to hide me in the corner. But just as I took my first sip of beer, Jesse slung himself into the seat across from me, wearing his street clothes and a funny grin.

He plucked a stud from his pocket and wiggled his labret into his chin, then calmly folded his hands on the top of the table.

“So what are we going to do tonight?” he asked.

Was I supposed to be angry with him for making me feel uncomfortable at the patio party? Who was I to expect an apology anyway? I didn’t know how to feel. I set my beer down on the table, tugging at my lip.

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I snapped.

He leaned back in the booth, and I felt the vibration of his leg against the table. “You’re mad at me?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

He chewed the inside of his cheek and leaned into me. “Fickle
and
sensitive. That’s two strikes, Red.”

“Fuck you.” My response was indifferent. I tried to stay tough; I didn’t want him to think I was a crybaby. Why I cared, I had no idea. If anyone before him had spoken to me that way, I would’ve walked long ago. But then, I guess no one had ever really made their insults appear as harmless in nature.

“So I was thinking we could go on a road trip!” He slapped his hands and rubbed them together as though he had the entire night planned.

No! I made the decision to be mad at you! You can’t dismiss it. I was firm. I made the call. I said ‘fuck you’. How can that be ignored?
I cocked my head and scrunched my nose at the drastic subject change. “What?”

“A road trip. You know, driving. On a road. No parking involved.” He winked.

“What makes you think I want to be in a car with you?” I asked.

He shrugged. “For the same reason
I
want to be in a car with
you
.”

My heart fluttered and I tried to ignore it. “Why’s that?”

He looked around the room in a daze, his eyes shifting to glossy. Then he snapped his head back to meet my stare. “For the company.”

Grabbing my glass, he shot it back and almost finished it in one gulp.

“You were kind of a dick last night, you know. I wouldn’t be surprised if Paulina and Troy were mad at you.”

He rose from his seat, bouncing up and adjusting his sleeves. “That would really suck if I gave a shit.” He grabbed his uniform shirt and a CD case from the table and turned toward the door. “You coming?” he said over his shoulder.

What is it about this guy? Is he full of shit or does he really not care? And what does he want from someone like me?

Dammit!

Too many unanswered questions!

I threw a tip down on the table and gathered my purse as I followed him out into the parking lot.

Once I caught up to him, I mimicked his long strides out to my car. “Where did you have in mind? And do you have the gas money for said road trip?”

“No. Don’t you?” he asked, and I noted his sarcasm. “I don’t care where we go. How much gas is in your tank?”

“I could get us about twelve, maybe thirteen miles from here. Payday is tomorrow. And if I have to choose between a pack of smokes and a leisurely drive to Iowa tonight, sorry, but I’m going with the smokes.”

“Fine,” he said, stopping abruptly at the side of my car. “But I want to get out of here. Let’s go find some trouble.”

I cringed at what his idea of
trouble
meant. I wasn’t a trouble kind of girl. And yet somehow I could see that being the only outcome with a guy like Jesse.

I unlocked his door and he got in. By the time I walked around to the driver’s side, he was already putting a Bosstones CD into the player.

Turning the key, I glanced over, and he’d already begun playing the imaginary drums on my dash. Bouncing leg and all.

His enthusiasm was infectious.

Warming.

Alluring.

And fucking sexy.

Dammit.

Oh God, I’m in so much trouble with this guy.

He reached into the side pocket of my purse, pulled the last cigarette from my pack, and lit it. “Well don’t just sit there gawking at me. Get our asses to the store! We’re out of smokes.”

“What is it about you, Jess?” I asked, wondering why I wasn’t mad he’d reached into my purse without my permission; wondering why I wasn’t pissed he snatched my last smoke…

“I love this song,” he said, closing his eyes and moving his head to the music.

…And wondering how someone could change topics so easily without being called out on it.

Why didn’t I call him out on it?

Because I didn’t want to make him go away, that was why. Beautiful boys like him didn’t hang out with ugly girls like me. No matter his candor, I couldn’t ignore that I knew he was better than me. And that I should’ve considered it a privilege he was still there.

I threw the car into reverse and pulled out from the lot. I drove to the closest convenience store and he hopped out.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, popping his head back in through the window. “You need anything?” He took a long pull from his cigarette and handed me what was left.

“No. I’m good, thanks.”

His flippant strides into the store were even worse than when we’d left the restaurant. He was so relaxed that he almost skipped. Either he had really good news that he hadn’t shared with me yet, or the man was fucking crazy.

I sat listening to his music in the car. It was upbeat one minute and mellow the next. The voice was smooth on one note and strained in another. The parallels were uncanny.

After a few minutes, he returned. “Hey, foxy. I got somethin’ for you.”

I swallowed at the name he chose, having never been called anything remotely attractive in my life. “Smokes?” I smiled, avoiding his eyes.

“I got you this.” He held up a plastic bathroom sign, blue with a handicapped stick-person on the front and large white letters that spelled
MEN
.

I took it from his hand and he got in the car. “Thanks. What I’ve always want—” My eyes widened at the realization of what he’d done. “Did you steal this?” I shouted a whisper at him.

“Settle down.” He rolled his eyes. “You’ll treasure this. You’ll stick it in a box when you get home, and five years from now you’ll find it. You’ll hug it. And you’ll relive this night over again in your head.” He laughed. “Isn’t that what chicks do?”

“Oh. Um. Maybe? I can’t say I have many keepsakes like this one.”

“But you don’t have many friends like me, either, do you?”

I snorted a laugh. “Friend or not, I can’t say I’ve
ever
met anyone quite like you. But I do hope this is enough trouble for you for one night. I’d like to avoid jail time, if possible.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so suburban, Charlie.” He lit another smoke and replaced the CD in the player with a different one. “Let’s go check up on your frogs.”

“Okay, sounds good. But I want to stop by my house and get a blanket for us to sit on. Too many crawly things weirded me out last time.”

***

“I can’t stay up all night again,” I said as we walked toward the pond.

“Why not?”

“I had bags under my eyes for two days. I looked like I was forty.”

“Forty? Come on. What are you, twenty-two?”

I nodded and set the blanket down on the ground. “Yep.”

“You know, it’s funny,” he began, finding a seat on the blanket. “I’m twenty-five, and I think about my parents at my age. They had been married for years and already had a four-year-old. I couldn’t even imagine a life like that right now.”

“Your real mom and dad?”

He swallowed thickly and fiddled with a blade of grass between his fingers. “Yeah,” he whispered. His knee stopped bouncing and the look in his eyes distanced. “Bags are nothing. You have nothing to worry about, Red.” He cleared his throat. “You’re beautiful.”

I gasped at the sentiment and was thankful he couldn’t see the doubt in my expression. But the timing was inappropriate—a strange sort of gift to give me when the conversation had already taken a turn. His compliment, no matter how sweet, was misplaced.

“Can I ask you a question? I said.

“Shoot.”

“If it’s too personal or if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“Time’s ticking, Red. You could’ve asked the question already.”

“Okay.” I nodded. “Why were you fostered? I mean, what happened with your real parents?” I flinched, bracing myself for his answer.

It took him a minute before he responded. “I wasn’t a good kid. They were even worse parents.” He blinked slowly, throwing the grass to the ground and lying back with his hands behind his head. “No story there, Charlie. Just one fuck-up after another.”

I leaned in, remaining quiet, and eager for his clarification. But as the seconds ticked by and he lit another cigarette, I realized it wasn’t going to come.

He took a drag and looked at me from the corner of his eye with a smile. He sat up, and then brought his knees up to rest his elbows. “So why haven’t you had sex yet? Waiting for a knight in shining armor?”

I’m really going to have to get used to his random questions.
“No. No knight.” I grabbed a handful of grass from its roots and counted each blade in my head.
One…two…three…
“I’m not really waiting for anyone. In fact, if there was a way I could just get rid of my virginity, I would.”
Four…five…six…
“It’s pretty embarrassing. Especially for someone my age.”
Seven…eight…nine. Please stop talking now.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed about it.” He shrugged. “You are who you are.”

“Sure, a guy like you can say something like that. You have sex kittens lined up every night just waiting for you to call their number. But look at me.” I waved my hand across my belly and hips. “Pretty soon I’ll be thirty and building a maze for my cats. In my parents’ basement, no less.” I giggled. “Not much hope for me, is there? Best chance I got is walking into a bar ten minutes before closing and picking the drunkest bastard in the room.”

“I shouldn’t laugh,” he said, laughing. “Seriously, Charlie. You don’t give yourself enough credit. There are a lot of guys out there who like bigger girls. And there are a lot of guys out there like me who don’t give a shit. Pussy is pussy.”