“Maybe you shouldn’t go back for a while.”
“Gina,” Dad snapped from the kitchen. “Let her be.”
Mom glared at him. “Don’t tell me what to do, Glenn.” Didn’t that sound familiar?
I put my hand on my head. Where the hell was that pain medication? “Please, can you just leave me alone? I’m tired.”
Mom started to protest, but when I closed my eyes, she sighed and got up.
“Let me know if you need anything, okay baby?” she said, kissing the un-scratched part of my forehead.
“I will. Thanks, Mom.” I watched as she went back into the kitchen and I scrunched back down on the couch.
“It’s okay,” I heard Dad say.
She sighed. “I know, I’m just so worried.”
“I know, Gina, but she’s strong. Like you.” I could hear him smiling and I could imagine her smiling back. A second later I heard him humming and the shuffling of feet as they danced in the kitchen and mom laughed softly.
***
By Sunday night I was so ready to get back to school I almost stole my mother’s car to drive back myself. She worked the night shift managing the bakery at a grocery store, so Dad drove me back early Monday morning before he had to work.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?”
“Yeah, Dad. I’ll be fine.” I barely put any effort into saying it.
“You know you can talk to me about anything, right Katiebug?” I cringed at the nickname.
“Yeah, Dad. I know.” Been there, said that. All he and Mom had done was talk at me. Not to me. They’d lectured me, even though they said they weren’t going to do that. They were parents and they had to do their thing. The problem was that everything they said I’d said to myself at least a hundred times. They also got me appointments with a therapist back at school and there was no way I was getting out of that because they were going to call and check after every session.
Mom also couldn’t hide that she was devastated about Zack. He’d charmed her, and that was going to be a hard habit to break. She wouldn’t shut up about how every time he brought me flowers before a date, or chocolates, he’d bring her a little something. She thought it was sweet. I saw it for what it was. Buttering her up so she wouldn’t mind when he brought me home late, or decided to spend the night. At the time I hadn’t cared.
Dad gave me a huge hug when he dropped me off, being careful not to hold me too tight. He had to bend down pretty far.
“Call me tonight, Katiebug. I love you.”
“Love you too, Dad.”
I glanced up at the dorm and realized I didn’t want to go in. Just moments ago, I’d been so eager to get back, but now that I was here, I wanted to be anywhere else.
A few people walked by me on their way to and from breakfast or class. Some of them were laughing, and all of them looked so free. Careless and young.
I felt old and bitter. God, what had happened to me? Just a few months ago, all I’d been thinking about was how great college would be, how much fun I’d have and how many parties I’d go to. Now it all seemed…pointless. A few of them glanced at my face, which was still splotched with bruises that I hadn’t bothered to use makeup on.
Turning from the building, I got my keys out of my purse and headed for my car. I was still stiff and my face was anything but pretty, but he wouldn’t care. I needed to see him.
I didn’t even know if he would be home, but his current car project was parked in the driveway. I walked up the porch and banged on the downstairs door. He shared the entrance with the tenant on the first floor, but I’d never seen or heard anyone coming or going.
It took two tries before the door opened.
“You’re back.” He was just pulling a shirt over his head, so I must have woken him up. His hair was all over the place and it made me think about sex.
“I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just wanted to see you.”
“Come in.” He waved me in and we walked up the stairs as he wiped his eyes and yawned.
“Late night?”
He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Something like that.” The way he said it made me uneasy, and I didn’t know why.
“How are you feeling?” he said as he opened his front door. I shrugged as an answer.
“My parents are making me see a therapist,” I said.
“I figured,” he said as he shut the door behind me. I’d been here before, but I hadn’t really been paying attention to the room at the time.
The space was wide and open, almost like a loft. Only furniture separated the living room from the kitchen and dining area. Two doors at the other end of the room were his bedroom and bathroom. Stryker had a sparse style when it came to furniture, except for the fact that there were musical instruments and books and other crap piled everywhere. Drum kit, standing bass, a ukulele on the coffee table. There were also a lot of empty cans and bottles and trash around. Like he’d had a party.
He rubbed his head, messing his hair even further. “I wasn’t expecting you, or I would have cleaned up. I had a little session last night and haven’t had a chance to recover.”
“Session?”
“Music. I had some friends over and we played for a while. I had to get my mind off things.”
He went to the kitchen and started pulling things out of the cabinet.
“Coffee? I think I’ve got some cereal here somewhere, too.” He held a cup up to illustrate.
“You don’t have to do that. Feed me and take care of me and everything. I just came to say that you were right and I don’t think we should see each other anymore. At least not like this. I’ll still have sex with you, but the talking and the soul-sharing and all that? I can’t do it anymore. I’ve got friends and a new therapist for that.”
He paused, the cup in his hand.
“Is that really what you want, Katie?”
I hovered in the doorway. I couldn’t do this if I came all the way in and sat on the couch. I knew I wouldn’t want to get up again. “Why does it matter what I want? I’m only using you.”
“If I really believed that, I wouldn’t be making you coffee right now when I’m horribly hung over.” He took a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch down from a cabinet and grabbed two bowls. I almost laughed at the silliness of this tatted-up, pierced guy eating Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
“You need to get your head on straight, sweetheart. I get that. You need some time. I get that, too. I’m more than willing to have sex with you, no strings, if that’s what you want.”
“Okay.”
“Fine.” He poured cereal into both bowls and I unstuck my feet from the floor and went to the fridge to get the milk.
Chapter Five
Stryker
Katie and I ate cereal and drank our coffee in almost total silence. I should have been pissed at her for not telling me she was coming over so I could have cleaned, but then I realized she wasn’t my girlfriend. I didn’t have to impress her so I stopped caring. Almost.
She looked like shit, if I was being brutally honest. Her face was puffy and patterned with bluish marks and still-red scratches. She also hadn’t washed her hair and her nail polish was chipping. The girl who sat at my table and stared blankly at the wall was not the girl I’d seen in the pink dress that night at the party. This girl had “damaged goods” written all over her.
“Thanks for breakfast,” she said, putting her bowl and cup in the sink. “I have to get back so Lottie and everyone can fuss over me and make sure I’m not going to slit my wrists like in some tragic TV drama.”
“Slitting your wrists really isn’t an effective way to kill yourself. Too many things can go wrong. You’re better off shooting yourself or taking cyanide. Or being hit by a train,” I said, draining my coffee cup. It was going to take more than one cup to get me back in fighting shape again. I massaged my pounding forehead with one hand, wishing I had listened to my intuition last night.
She froze and stared at me for a moment.
“I wasn’t asking for tips, but thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. How the hell do you know that?” she said.
I joined her at the sink with my dishes.
“Morbid curiosity,” I said turning on the water and grabbing a sponge. Ouch, even that hurt.
“Have you ever…”
“Obviously not, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t tried. When I was seven I found a knife and tried to stab myself. Still have the scar.” I put the sponge down and lifted up my shirt, pointing to the thin white line on my stomach that marked my first, and least-successful, attempt. There had been others, but Trish had always thwarted those.
She looked anywhere but at the scar.
I stepped closer to her and she backed up. “Does it scare you?”
“No.”
“Then why won’t you look at it?”
“Because I don’t want to.” She pushed me away and rushed to the door. “I told you. Sex only. None of that other stuff. I’ll call you.”
With that, she yanked the door open and rushed down the stairs. I really knew how to clear a room.
***
Katie didn’t call me for “just sex” for a week. In that time I didn’t see her at all. I only had secondary information about how she was from Zan and Trish. I also got a lecture of epic proportions from Trish about respecting women. It was one of her more-impassioned speeches. I always thought she would make a good politician or leader of some sort of political group, but she thought all those people were self-righteous losers. I told her to look in the mirror and then we ended up fighting until one of us stormed out. We would meet up later and things would be normal again.
When I did finally see Katie, she looked marginally better. Her hair was clean and pulled back, and her pinks all matched again. We met at my place, which I had since picked up a little.
She attacked my mouth and my body with more ferocity than the first time, if that was possible. The sex was quick and angry and when it was over we were both panting. She’d kept her eyes closed nearly the entire time.
“Why the f**k do you wear so much pink?” I said as she pulled her pink underwear off the lamp where I’d tossed it.
“Why do you care? I told you, just sex. No chitchat.” She covered my mouth and I licked her palm.
“Ugh!” She pulled her hand away and wiped it on the couch.
“You’ll take my dick inside you and my tongue down your throat, but some of my spit on your hand grosses you out?”
“Stop asking so many f**king questions!” She fastened her bra and grabbed the rest of her clothes as she headed for the bathroom.
“Crazy girl,” I muttered.
She came back fully-dressed with her hair smoothed.
“Look, I don’t need a boyfriend. I don’t need a friend. I just need someone to f**k me. That’s you.”
I have her a thumbs up. “I’m your f**k guy. Got it.”
“Good.” She reached for her purse but in her hurry, it upended and everything went flying. “Shit,” she said, scrambling to get her stuff. “Everything is just so screwed up.”