Smoke curls around my living room like a dense fog. I haven’t done anything but sit on the couch since I kicked everyone out of my place today.
The blinds and windows are all closed, so it’s almost like it’s nighttime, even though the sun has been up for hours.
My head hurts, but I haven’t taken anything. Don’t like all that unnatural shit in my body, which some people think is ironic since I medicate in a completely different way every day.
Pushing to my feet, I see the paper on the table this morning. My hand itches to grab it like I’m still back in that sea-colored diner and still have a chance to keep that one smoke screen in place. I think of her curves and her eyes and that little black mark painted on her face.
I have to fix this. Pull that mask on tight to make up for the glimpse I left behind. It’s not like it won’t be fun. Even through all the f**ked-up feelings that swam through my head when I saw her this morning, I still felt the burn of her beneath my skin. The part of me who sees a challenge and wants to overcome it. I want to turn her into a girl at a party who wants to pass the time with me as much as I want to pass it with her. A flicker of a moment when we’re nothing but hands, and lips, and tongues, together and nothing else matters, before we go our separate ways.
I need a distraction and the girl with ghosts in her eyes is as good as anything. And while I play the game, maybe, just maybe I’ll be able to forget the rest of it.
When I can’t rub the sandpaper out of my eyes, I go to my room, unlock my closet, and look at the picture of the little boy with the big, brown eyes. “I’m sorry, Ash,” I tell him, like I do every day. I might not be able to say it to Angel and I know I’ll never repent enough, but I need to do this.
Closing the door, I kick off my shoes and fall into bed. My hand latches on to the tiny shirt under my pillow. I hold it tight and close my eyes.
Tonight, I’ll again lock the demons away that have showed their faces too much since the morning at the cemetery.
* * *
Oscar, one of the guys I hang out with, is always down for a good time. He’s different than Colt. Colt might not have known it, but he hated the way we lived our lives. There was this sort of sadness inside him that wanted more for himself. He didn’t always act like it, but he knew right from wrong. Knew what he wanted for himself but had to pull his head out and go for it.
I don’t have that problem with Oscar. I tell him I want a girl, he goes with me to find one, no questions asked. I tell him I’m having a party, he makes sure people are there. Hell, half the time, he doesn’t even wait for my invitation and I usually don’t care either.
So, when I need someone to chill with tonight, someone I know will go along with whatever I want, he’s the guy I go to.
“What’s up, man?” he asks when he shows up at my place.
First thing he does is take the bong from my table and fill his lungs with smoke. I don’t tell him what’s up and he doesn’t ask again. He takes a few shots and I laugh and talk shit and it’s like every other night of the week except I keep running over poetry lines in my head. Thank you. I shouldn’t have ended it with thank you since she wanted the same thing as me.
But then, who the hell am I to pretend to know what she wants?
I kick Oscar’s ass on the PlayStation and the whole time he doesn’t shut up.
“Where’s Colt been lately?”
“Happy.”
“Did you see that chick in the red dress last night?”
“Yeah.” What I don’t say is I didn’t give a shit.
“You disappear with some girl?”
“You know it.” My memories, is more like it.
I wait until about eleven before telling Oscar I’m hungry and that we should go out. He’s too blazed out of his mind to drive. Since I didn’t drink, it’s a no-brainer that I’ll be the one behind the wheel.
I don’t even know if she’ll be there or not, but the closer to the diner we get, the more the competitor in me amps up. With the ghosts in her eyes, she got me to show a part of myself that no one else sees. The next score will go to me.
The second I walk inside, my eyes find her. Her dark hair is pulled back and she’s speed walking through the place. There are more people in here than there were last night, so I know it’s going to be a little harder to do what I want to do.
The hostess gives me a shy smile when I walk in. “What’s up?” I wink at her, playing the game that’s engraved in my memory.
“Um… hi. Just two?” Another smile.
“Depends. What time do you get off?” I ask her. “My buddy here wants to know.” I slap Oscar on the shoulder and know he’s not going to argue. He’ll get her a whole lot easier if I help him than he would on his own.
“An hour.” The blonde looks at Oscar, me, then back at Oscar again.
Which means that’s probably when the diner slows down, leaving only Delaney and the cook. It’s a Thursday night and I know they’re busier and staff heavier on the weekends.
“We’ll be here,” I tell her.
“Okay.” She leads us to our seat.
“Fuck yeah,” Oscar whispers in my ear, and I fight the part of me that wants to tell him it’s ridiculous. That all of it’s fake and not important and that he’ll forget her name in a week, but since I’m an illusion, too, I have no room to talk to him.
“Have a good meal,” she says before walking away.
I turn and catch her looking at Delaney, fanning herself and then nodding toward us. Delaney’s eyes follow hers. When she sees me, her feet plant to the floor, grow roots like an old tree, growing for all of eternity.
I nod. Smile. Game on, I want my look to tell her.
We sit in the booth and Oscar mumbles about the blonde and it being his lucky night, but I keep my eyes on Delaney. Watch her as she fills glasses of water. See her shiver and wonder if she knows my eyes are on her. Then as she comes toward me, there’s this confused look on her face. Maybe it’s not her who’s confused, but me. All I know is that I can’t read her, but she keeps coming and I know whatever it is, she’s going to play through it.
Good for her.
“Coffee?” Her voice cracks slightly. It’s still that sweet, girl-next-door tenor that tells the story that she’s always been good. That she’s fresh and innocent. If it weren’t for the ghosts in her eyes, I might believe it.
“Hot chocolate,” I reply.
The corners of her mouth tilt down slightly and her face tenses. She knows I’m trying to keep her on her toes. This might not be as easy as I thought.
“Whip cream?” she tosses back.
“Obviously.”
She turns to Oscar and he blurts out, “You are really f**king beautiful. Like unreal beautiful.” His tongue is practically hanging out of his mouth and I bite back a groan. Idiot.
“Simmer down, Romeo,” I tell him, and then look at Delaney. “You’ll have to excuse my friend. He loses his head in front of beautiful girls.”
This is the part where I wait for her to smile at me like the hostess did. Maybe watch as her cheeks turn pink or she shyly looks toward the ground. When none of that happens, I wait for the anger. For her to give me hell for being a sexist pig, but she doesn’t do either of those things.
She laughs.
It takes her a few seconds to settle down. Annoyance slowly rumbles through me while I wait to see what she’s going to say next.
“Really? Did you guys plan that before you came in?”
I shrug. “Maybe we did, maybe we didn’t. Doesn’t hurt for you to know the score up front, though. I came back here for you.”
She gasps and I’m not even sure if she realizes she did it. She pulls that bottom lip into her mouth and I know she didn’t plan on my words.
I don’t turn away, waiting to see how she’s going to reply next, and when I see her face pale slightly, I wonder if I screwed up. If I overstepped some invisible walls this girl has built for some reason.
Surprising me, she recovers quickly. “I’m sorry you wasted a trip.” She points to the menus in front of us. “While you look that over, I’ll go grab your drinks.”
“You know her?” Oscar’s playing with the sugar container.
“Maybe.”
“I hate it when you answer with that cryptic shit.” And then he laughs. “Though I guess I’d want to keep her to myself too.”
I don’t pretend to laugh. I’m running over our conversation in my head and trying to figure out how I’m going to swing it to my favor, when she comes back. I take the hot chocolate and order the pancakes again. Oscar gets a burger and soon we’re eating and some of the customers are starting to thin out.
Questions I have no business wondering climb the wall surrounding me before plunging over the other side, echoing as they go: Did, did, did, did, she, she, she, she, read, read, read, read, it, it, it, it? Before they smash to the concrete below.
The hostess gets off work, and Oscar tells her to sit with us. Her name’s Jamie and he tosses game at her that she gobbles up.
The whole time I’m watching Delaney, trying to ignore my question as it goes for the wall again. “I’ll be right back,” I tell them. She’s at the counter by herself. Only two other customers are in the place and the cook’s safely in the kitchen.
“You owe me a night out,” I tell her as I lean against the counter.
“How do you figure that?” She doesn’t look at me when she talks.
Because I want you out of my system. “You were going to say yes to the party. I could see it, but your brother came chomping at my ankles.”
At that she whips around. “How is it my fault you got scared away? And you’re not going to get me to go anywhere by insulting my brother.”
I shake my head. “Not scared. I was showing respect. That should earn me some points, right? As should honesty. I told you up front I came back for you. Come on. You’re obviously new to town. Let me show you a good time.”