Текст книги "Lovely Vicious"

Автор книги: Sara Wolf

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

-12-

3 Years

17 Weeks

5 Days

We drive forever. Fiveever. Sixever. Sevenhundredever. We wind past decrepit buildings skinned with age and scabbed with graffiti. A murder of crows fight over a loaf of bread a homeless person scatters about. Huge neon signs in Korean and Chinese blare in all colors of the rainbow, the smell of fried chicken and sesame seeds pouring in. It’s the exact opposite of the clean, fancy area of town I was vomiting all over.

“Are you taking me to a black-market butcher to sell me for body parts?” I politely inquire. Jack pulls into a parking space and takes the keys from the ignition.

“Get out. It’s a bit of a walk.”

He gets out and I follow his stride down the dark sidewalk.

“You know, if you wanted my liver, all you’d have to do is ask nicely. I’m sure we could work something out. With my fist in your face.”

“Body parts aren’t on the menu with you. Tonight, or any night in the future.”

“Oho! Was that a double-entendre? Thanks, but when you’re as fantastic as I am you can’t afford to sleep with nerds.”

He suddenly veers right, into a tiny alleyway. So this is where I meet my end – in an alley of Chinatown, chopped up into little pieces and shipped to China to replace some old businessman’s cirrhosis-infested liver. My eyes widen when he pushes open a tiny door and walks three or so steps down into a restaurant. A counter sits in the middle, glass cases holding gleaming ruby slabs of tuna and pale swathes of yellowtail. Sushi chefs expertly slice and dice and mash rice. Only a few people are at the bar, and the hostess, a short Japanese woman with a dimpled face, quickly darts to us.

“Jack!”

“Fujiwara-san,” He inclines his head. She reaches up and, to my utter shock, pinches his cheeks like he’s a child.

“Look at you! All bones, no fat! You haven’t been eating!”

“I eat well enough.” Jack insists, not even trying to push her away as she straightens his shirt collar for him. Her dark eyes lock onto me, and she smiles.

“Who is this? A friend? You’ve never brought any of your friends before. Was beginning to think you didn’t have any!”

“She’s not my fr – ” He starts, then gives up. “Fujiwara-san, this is Isis Blake.”

“Ahh, Isis-chan!” Fujiwara bows, and I bow back and almost take down the tiny bamboo plant on the counter. “It’s good to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” I say. Fujiwara turns to Jack.

“Usual?”

He nods. “Please.”

“Right this way!” She crows. She totters in traditional wooden sandals over to the bar, seating us at two stools. She’s quick with the drinks – two cups of bitter, yet refreshing green tea. She hands us the menus and pats my back, black eyes gleaming into mine.

“Please enjoy.”

“I will. Um. Thank you.”

Jack peruses the menu in silence. The Asian couple next to us eats and laughs, talking with their sushi chef in Japanese.

“How did you find this place?” I whisper.

“Fujiwara’s daughter was a client of mine,” He says. “She took me here once. It’s got the best sushi in Ohio.”

“And…what about the client?”

“She left. Got married, actually, to an American businessman, and went back to Japan.” He opens his wallet and pulls out a picture of a fat, happy Japanese baby in a Santa hat, showing it to me. “She sends me pictures of their son.”

“Do they all do that?”

He puts the photo back. “No. Yukiko was special. She...understood me more than most do. She was the only client of mine who was held my interest for more than five seconds. So we keep in touch.”

“That’s actually pretty cool, that you got to meet so many different people.”

He shrugs. The sushi chef says something to him in Japanese, and he talks back in surprisingly smooth-sounding Japanese. He looks to me.

“Do you know what you want?”

“This thing.” I stab at the menu. “Whatever that is, I want two of it.”

He snickers and says something to the chef, who nods and starts chopping fish and taking out rice. We watch him work, since I don’t know what to say and Jack is quiet.

“They spend years washing rice,” He says finally.

“What?”

“To be a sushi chef, you spend years washing rice. Two, at cheap sushi places. Ten at the expensive, traditional ones.”

I suck in air. “Jesus! Just making rice? The entire ten years?”

He nods. I look at the rice with a newfound admiration. It’s gotta be some damn good rice.

I sip tea and nervously realize I’m on a date with Jack Hunter. I gulp tea and scald my voice box. I gasp, and Jack cordially hits me on the back a few times to make sure I’m not choking. The chef gives me a concerned look, but Jack waves it off.

“Why?” I gasp.

“Why what?” Jack looks to me, icy eyes piercing.

“Why did you take me here?”

“You’ve never been on a date.” He says it like a fact, not a question. I glower.

“Duh.”

“So. This is your first date. Consider it a learning experience.”

“What am I supposed to do? Talk about my hair? Ask you about your job? My hair is flawless and I already know what your job is!”

“Normally, a male and a female on a date will talk about whatever comes up naturally.”

“Uh, right, but you and I ain’t exactly natural.”

“An immovable object meeting an unstoppable force,” Jack says lightly.

“Two unstoppable forces crashing and careening off a cliff to their untimely deaths,” I correct.

“Oil and water.”

“Oil and firebombs.”

He raises an eyebrow in partial agreement and takes a sip of his tea. The sushi arrives, and octopus and eel and tuna melts in my mouth. Everything is so fresh and delicious I can barely stand it. I wiggle my butt and make contented humming noises. Jack looks at me.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m happy! It tastes awesome.”

“So you squirm and make tuneless little noises when you’re happy?”

I frown and become conscious of it. I eat with more decorum, but Jack scoffs.

“I didn’t mean – it’s fine. It’s just…interesting of you. Almost cute.”

I feel an electric surge crawl up my spine and settle in my brain, buzzing. Cute. Cute. Jack just called me –

“In a deranged puppy way.” He adds. The electricity leaves and I realize how stupid I was for thinking anyone would willingly call me cute. I’m not cute. Loud, sure. Rude, yup. Not cute. Never cute.

The sushi goes quickly, so we order seconds and wait.

“So, I mean,” I start. “How did you get into, um. You know.”

Jack sips tea thoughtfully, then puts the cup down.

“There’s a surgery. It’s expensive, and experimental. But it’s got a decent success rate and it would give Sophia years to live. Maybe even get rid of the thing for good. I’ve been taking on double shifts to make the down payment on it, and I’ve almost got enough. The two hundred you gave me for Kayla will put a nice dent in what’s left.”

“That’s…great. That’s really great news.”

He sighs and leans back. “I used to work tables. Waiting at a French restaurant in Columbus. It was good money, and it kept her bills afloat, but then Sophia started getting worse. The surgery came from Sweden. My money was good, but not enough to pay for that. And then one night, I waited the table of the founder of the Rose Club. Blanche Morailles. She gave me a much better option, with higher pay. High enough to make the money for the surgery in a year and a half. I didn’t know if Sophia would last that long, so I –”

Jack shakes his head. “She’s been doing well so far. I’ve got another month to go, and then I’ll have enough. She just has to hold on for another month.”

I stir my drink, and Jack frowns.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“Doubtful,” I say.

“You think I shouldn’t escort. You think it’s bad, or unlawful, or whatever.”

“You…you have to sleep with people –”

“Sleeping with people is easy,” He says tersely. “It means nothing. It’s a simple, mechanical action. It requires nothing of me I am hesitant to give. The women are usually considerate, and well-spoken, and gracious. Sometimes they’re difficult, or into darker things, but I adapt.”

“They use you.”

“And I agree to it. So they don’t really use me. If anything, I am using them equally. It’s not all one-sided. It’s a mutual agreement. And as far as escorting businesses go, it’s a good one. No men. Blanche doesn’t make me take male clients, and for that I’m grateful. It’s a good deal. A good, easy job that can save Sophia. So I’ll keep doing it, for however long it takes.”

His voice finishes with a hard, determined edge. Our next round of sushi arrives. We eat in total silence.

“Are…are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” He says, face icily passive.

“Yes, well, it’s a little hard to tell considering I’ve seen constipated rocks display more emotion.”

“I don’t need a moron asking how I feel.”

“I’m just trying to be nice! You’re such a fat doodoo shitbaby!”

“Occasionally I have fantasies of intellectual conversation,” He sighs. I’m so angry I start up from my stool only to bump into Fujiwara, who’s behind me carrying a tray of tea. Boiling tea. It spills all over me, drenching my jacket. I yelp and unzip it quickly, throwing it to the ground.

“Oh, Isis-chan, I’m so sorry!” Fujiwara cries. “I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t see you, it’s my fault –”

“It’s okay!” I assure her. “It’s okay, really, I was the idiot who didn’t look –”

“No, no, it’s all my fault –”

Jack stands, and together the three of us pick up the tea cups and help Fujiwara mop up the mess, even as she refuses help and apologizes in an endless stream. She mumbles something about ‘making up for it’, and disappears into the double-doors of the kitchen. Jack and I sit down, and the bar settles, and it’s only thirty seconds of having my jacket off before I realize what a horrible mistake it is.

The pink blouse. I’d forgotten all about it. It shimmers and quivers with my every movement. My shoulders are exposed. You can practically see through the translucent material to where my polka dot bra is. I look stupid. I can feel everyone looking at me and I know they think I look stupid, and ugly, and that it doesn’t suit me.

Jack’s gone still, frozen halfway between raising his tea cup to his mouth. His eyes are on me, on every part of me as he looks me up and down with a slow, deliberate gaze.

I start to pull my jacket back on, but Jack’s hand stops me.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s not right,” I hiss. “I didn’t mean to – I wasn’t supposed to take it off. It looks stupid on me –”

“No.” He interrupts. “Not at all.”

“Just –” I reach for my jacket.

“It’s beautiful,” He says softly, then clears his throat. “You look…beautiful.”

An iron fist squeezes my heart, my throat, my stomach, and then lets go, a bittersweet burn spreading through my body like fire. I savor it one moment, and then suspect it the next, and then I realize what’s really happening.

“I get it!” I smile. “You’re still in escort mode from all that time with Kayla! It was only a few minutes ago your guys’ date ended, after all.”

“What? No, I –”

“It’s okay, really! You just forgot to flip the switch back from escort you to regular you. Totally understandable. Work and life are hard to compartmentalize. Thanks for the compliment though! I bet I’d have to pay at least ten bucks to hear it if I was a client, huh? But I got it for free. Score!”

“Isis – ”

Jack’s cut off by Fujiwara crowing apologies as she comes between us with a tray of tiny tea cakes, cookies, and a few scoops of green tea ice cream. I pull my jacket on and zip it all the way up to my chin. I chat with Fujiwara excitedly the entire time I eat dessert, talking about how good the sushi was, and where she gets her fish from, asking the best tips for getting green tea stains from jackets, and thanking her for the sweets. Jack’s silent, picking at the cookies, and Fujiwara brings him the bill.

“I’ll pay half,” I offer, leaning over to look at the price tag. My eyes practically bug out. Jack waves the envelope I gave him the money in.

“You already have.”

We drive back to the Red Fern parking lot in silence. I busy myself with my phone, trying not to see the white knuckles Jack has on the steering wheel.

“You must be tired,” I say when he pulls into the parking lot and I get out. “Get some rest, okay? And thanks for the practice date! Not that I’ll ever need to practice, since, you know, it’s never going to happen, but it was a nice thought. I had fun.”

“You’ll have more fun,” Jack says, hands in his pockets and a faintly pained look in his eyes. “You’ll go on more dates, with other guys. And you’ll have fun.”

I shake my head. “I won’t. I told you – that kind of stuff isn’t for me.”

“It is.” Jack insists. “You’ll fall in love someday.”

I laugh. “Nope. Never again. It’s been three years, and it’ll be a hundred more. Drive safe, okay?”

I whirl around and start walking to my car. I swear I feel fingers glance over my hand, but they pull away just as quickly. Or maybe it was the wind. I don’t look back. I drive home. When I check on her room Mom is mercifully asleep, safe and sound. I pull my shirt off as soon as I can and throw it in the closet to rot.

Beautiful.

***

Part of me wanted to grab her. To pull her back. To hold her.

Another part of me knew she’ll hate the first man to do it after so long.

And the third part of me is afraid.  Afraid at her conviction. Afraid of how convinced she is that she’ll never love again. Afraid of how pretty she looked in that blouse. Afraid of how sad she sounded when she convinced herself I didn’t mean what I said.

I am afraid of the things I am beginning to feel.

Because I haven’t felt anything new, for anyone new, for so long.

***

I wake up to Kayla’s texts filled with smiley faces and exclamation marks, describing her date – how kind Jack was, how good the food they ate was, and how he kissed her like he loved her. She’s going to ask him out again on Monday, and she thanks me a million times for whatever I did to get him to go out with her.

Mom’s at the table, sipping coffee.

“Sleep well?” I ask.

Mom smiles and nods. “Pretty well. You must’ve gotten in late, I didn’t hear you. Did you have fun?”

I recall the sushi place, and how delicious it was. I remember the tea and puking and Jack’s soft eyes –

Beautiful

“Yeah,” I force a smile. “It was fun.”

“Boys?”

“Just one.”

Mom quirks a brow, smiling. “Oh really? Not a dozen guys, this time? Just one? He must be special. Care to tell me about him?”

“Nothing happened! I just – there was a guy.”

“Booze?”

“Not even a bit of sake.”

“So it was a sushi place? With a boy? Sounds very suspect, young lady. Did you use protection?”

“Mom!” I snap, my face heating. “I’ve told you repeatedly; boys have cooties and bad hygiene. No one likes them except other boys and people with no sense of smell.”

“So I can expect you to bring home a girl one of these days? I’ll try to act shocked.” She smiles.

“I’m not bringing anyone home!” I wail. “I know it’s hard to believe, but some people my age aren’t entirely obsessed with the idiotic game called dating! Some of us have lives! And generally higher goals than messing around in the mud with the opposite sex. I’ve got colleges to apply to! And friends to hang out with! And an entire life to plan!”

“Whatever you say,” Mom singsongs, smiling knowingly. I take out a pan and start the burner, taking out a few eggs and slices of bacon. I can feel Mom’s eyes on my back, watching me, contemplating how much I’ve grown up or something equally annoyingly parental. The smell of sizzling bacon fat fills the kitchen. The birds chirp outside, sun streaming through the curtains. It’s beautiful.

Beautiful.

My skin prickles as his voice reverberates in my head. It makes me fumble with the pan and nearly sends all of breakfast casually crashing to the floor. Goddamn him! Even if he didn’t mean it, it still sticks in my head, like a grass thistle in my clothes.

And to put the shit-cherry on top of a shit-sundae, I can’t even lash out at him over it. The war is over.

I know that from how happy Kayla seemed. With her now satiated, I have no reason to attack him, other than general dislike and boredom. And those are petty. So petty I don’t know if I’ll have the heart to fight him with them.

It’s over.

I’m supposed to be happy. I won, more or less. Or we ended on equal terms, with me slightly winning. Or am I losing? Did him calling me that awfully wrong word mean he won? Does it even matter who won or lost? It’s over, and now I have nothing to look forward to. Nothing to scheme, nothing to plot for. Just emptiness where the war used to be. And somehow it hurts more than it should. I’d gotten so used to it, to exchanging barbed words with Jack whenever we passed in the hall or catcalling him with insults that I’ve forgotten how to be normal. Do I just smile at him? No, that’s repulsively, completely, definitely gross. All the other girls do that.

I spend the rest of the day finishing my college applications. I stare at them all – Seattle, Oregon – and secretly I know I’m only going to be sending off the one to Ohio State. It’s the closest. It’s the only one that’ll let me still look after Mom and get a college career at the same time. I don’t have siblings – I’m the only person she has left. I can’t leave her, hurt her like everyone else has. I dipped into my Europe travelling fund to pay for Kayla’s date last night. I’ve pretty much all but given up on that dream, anyway.

But it’s for the best. It’s the right choice. Not the one I wanna do, but the right one. And that’s all that matters.

 -13-

3 Years

19 Weeks

0 Days

 

If it’s one thing in this world I’m certain of, it’s this: Jack Hunter’s gotta die.

Or he can cry like a huge nerd.

I’m not picky.

He’s stepped over the line one too many times. Now it’s faded and scuffed and I’ll have to draw it back on with paint, carefully, and it’ll probably take hours and my back will get sore and honestly he had no right to kiss me or take me on a date even if they were fake and he certainly, absolutely, positively had zero right to call me beautiful without my express permission. It was uncalled for and mostly a huge fat lie and lying is punishable by death. Or it should be. Uh, except for me. Because I’ve lied a lot. To Mom, to Dad. To myself. I should get exiled instead. To Maui.

I park and give an explosive sigh into my car. The war might be over, and I might be exhausted, but I have to get him back one last time. Just once, for messing with my feelings. Not that he did. Just, uh, he sort of kind of toyed with them, but I knew it was fake all along, so he didn’t really. But still. The fact he even said those lies to me objectively deserves some sort of minor capital punishment.

Also, because Jack is now going out with Kayla.

I get out of the car and make my way to Principal Evans’ office.

The first day Kayla grabbed Jack’s hand and he let her and they walked down the halls together, you could practically hear the hearts of a hundred ladies breaking in two. Poetry girl had burned her notebook. Dramaclub Wailer performed the greatest tragic screaming monologue from Shakespeare the drama teacher had ever seen. The girl who’s making the statue almost smashed it, but the art teacher convinced her to put it aside and finish it later, when she was in a better state of mind. A huge majority of lady teachers took sick leave to go cry into tubs of ice cream and watch Sex and the City.

I see the legendary couple as I walk through the quad before the morning bell. They’re sitting on a bench. Kayla kisses him on the cheek, and he nods. Just nods, doesn’t smile. Doesn’t say thanks or kisses her back. It’s like he’s just tolerating her. But Kayla can’t see that.

She gets death threats in her locker and nasty glares, so I’ve taken it on myself to be her personal bodyguard. I just never say that out loud. It just sort of is.  Homeland security for Kayla. And her fabulous breasts. Kayla’s so wrapped up in love, she’s all but oblivious to everything else, so that means I get to pull hair and wave warning fingers and punch a few harlots. Or five harlots. Evans isn’t happy.

The secretary, now completely used to my venerable presence, waves me through. I throw my backpack on the ground and flop in a chair.

He folds his hands on his desk and sighs.

“The papers are right there.”

I pull the stack of papers towards me, and get out a pen. In exchange for not being expelled like I was at my previous school, I get to help Evans grade math homework. He somehow found out it’s the one thing I’m good at, probably from Mrs. Gregory, the snitch. I knew I should’ve played dumb in her class.

He usually drinks coffee and answers emails, but today he watches me work. I flip through papers, making tiny tick marks and writing the correct answer by each wrong one. The first day he offered the answer sheet to me, but I brushed it off. He later checked my work against it. After that he hasn’t offered the answer sheet again.

“You are very good at this, Isis.”

“Yup.”

“Your SATs were rather miserable, though. Why is that?”

I sneer. “Well golly gee, Mr. E. Maybe it was because I didn’t eat breakfast that morning! Or maybe it was because I had explosive diarrhea! Or maybe it was because I was going through a bit of an emotional crisis! I was eighty-five pounds, with a boy -”

Ugly.

“– with some problems! Wow. A teenager with problems. Imagine that.”

He glowers and takes a sip of coffee. We both know I haven’t forgiven him for the picture incident, and I never will.

“You should take them again,” He insists. “There’s still time, before college applications are due. You could get a very high score.”

“And make your school look even better,” I mumble. Mr. Evans frowns.

“Come now, Isis. It’s not just about our reputation. Any school would be happy to have a female who can do math so well and easily. And according to your report card, your English isn’t bad at all. You could go to some very prestigious schools with those kinds of SATs. You could further your own life; make a great start for yourself.”

“Ohio State is fine with me.”

Mr. Evans laughs, and then when he realizes I’m not joking, his face falls.

“Isis, are you serious? I’m talking MIT, UCLA. State is for people who aren’t smart enough or aren’t rich enough for anywhere else. You could go where you wanted! Wherever you wanted in the country! Possibly out of the country! There are programs in China, Brazil, Europe!”

I flinch at the last word and scribble an answer.

“I-I have no interest in travelling. It’s full of rude people and food poisoning.”

Mr. Evans falls silent, and watches me work for a while longer. I press on, determined to ignore his gaze. Finally, he turns his computer on and starts answering emails.

Wren comes up to me at lunch. Kayla’s stopped sitting with me long ago, instead sitting with Jack at his usual empty table. She tries to feed him soup and he grimaces, but she laughs. She sees me staring and waves, smiling. Jack looks at me, and I quickly turn around and bury myself in my PB and J. Wren stares at the couple with his intense green gaze.

“It’s true then? They’re really going out?”

“You just heard about that now?”

He shrugs. “I’ve been working in the council office most of the last few weeks. Crunch time is coming for the budgets, and I’m training Miranda to succeed my position when I leave next year, and the food bank was broken into last night, and they can’t afford a new lock, so I called in some favors with Arnold’s locksmith father –”

Wren sees my eyes glazing and sighs.

“Sorry. I’m rambling about completely uninteresting things.”

“Duh. But that doesn’t mean I’m not sorry. It sounds rough.”

“It’s just presidential duties,” He smiles wanly. His eyes flick over to where Kayla is laughing at something Jack said. His stare dulls, eyes almost ashamedly looking away.

“You like her,” I say. It isn’t a question. I expect Wren to get flustered, or change the subject, but he just stares at Kayla again, and nods.

“Yes.”

“And Avery was pushing her towards you for a while.”

“To get funds for her club. I know how she works. But I –” Wren looks wistfully at Kayla over my shoulder. “Kayla was paying attention to me on her orders. But I tried to push that out, and just focus on her attention. Kayla, talking to me and listening to me and laughing with me, when she’d never even given me the time of day before. I tried to…selfishly pretend she was doing it because she wanted to, not under Avery’s orders.”

Wren falls quiet. I touch his hand.

“Shit, dude. I’m sorry.”

Wren smiles. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not fine. But as long as she’s happy –” He looks to her again. “ – Then I’ll be alright.”

“You’re a good guy.”

“No,” Wren laughs. “I’m a stupid guy. And Jack’s a frightening guy. So I’ll watch from afar, and make sure he won’t hurt her. Even if that’s creepy, and pathetic.”

“It’s not. It’s sensible!”

“Avery’s pissed too,” Wren says, jerking his head to Avery and her tableful of likewise fashionably dressed girls. Avery glowers at Kayla, stabbing her salad with unnecessary enthusiasm.

“Why?”

“Kayla stopped talking to me. Fake-flirting. Avery came to me this morning and tried to flirt instead, but I wouldn’t have it. I guess Kayla refused to take Avery’s orders.”

I smile, pride welling in my chest. “She’s getting stronger.”

“Yeah,” Wren murmurs. “But at what cost? What if Jack – what if he –”

Wren takes a bite of burrito and swallows nervously.

“What did he do, Wren, back in middle school? Give me a hint. Just one tiny dust bunny-sized hint.”

Wren’s silent, glowering.

“Avery told me she hired guys from her parent’s docks. She said she hated Sophia. What did she hire them to do? I know you know. I know you were there when it happened.”

He flinches.

“Avery told me to film it. That’s the only reason I was there. I was head of the film club in middle school. I had access to all the cameras, so she bribed me into coming to the park and hiding in the bushes with her and filming it.”

“Filming what?” I hiss.

The lunch bell rings before he can answer, and he gets up and leaves quickly, shame crippling his face.

I walk alongside Jack and Kayla as they go to their next class. I zap a revenge-suspect with a glare, and she veers off course with her handful of shaving cream. That’s right, keep walking. There’ll be no shaving-cream-on-Kayla-lovely-face today, thank you very much. Or, if there is, I will shave you. Down to the bone.

“You’re making threats aloud,” Jack deadpans.

“It’s good for business,” I chime. Kayla smiles, and links her other arm with mine.

“I’ve got two of my favorite people right here. It’s amazing. You’re amazing!”

I shoot her a sheepish smile and she ruffles my hair. How could I have ever been jealous of such an innocent, lovely girl? I’m ashamed of myself, a hot knot working its way into my throat, chock full of guilt. She deserves a better friend than me. She deserves castles and kingdoms and all the fairytale endings that still exist in this meager world. All of them should be hers.

She kisses Jack on the cheek and goes into the Chem lab. Jack and I stand outside the door, each with different classes, but a tense thread rooting us to our place in front of the mottled glass.

Jack speaks without looking at me.

“You’re happy.”

“Generally, yeah.”

“No. Not generally. Generally you’re miserably sad and dour, hiding it behind the jokes and passionate outbursts. You’re like fire. But it’s a sickly fire. Everyone can see that.”

I open my mouth to argue, when he interrupts.

“But when you’re with Kayla, when she’s happy and smiling at you, that fire turns. It goes from sick to full, healthy, lively. She makes you happy.”

“She’s the first friend I’ve ever really had.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“Why are you cheating on Sophia with her?”

He doesn’t flinch, but his eyes splinter with a fraction of pain.

“I’m not cheating. I visit Sophia every week – ”

“But why go out with Kayla all of a sudden? I thought…I thought you didn’t really like her? You kept saying she’s annoying. So why go out with her?”

Jack fixes his icy eyes on me, hair falling into them a little. He doesn’t answer, and pivots and strides away, the crowd parting around him. For him.

***

Isis looked up at me with those warm, burning, flame-mahogany eyes and asked me.

“So why go out with her?”

She’s oblivious. I still don’t believe it myself. But I know it’s the right thing to do.

She has no idea how much Kayla’s smile makes her smile. Unconscious, soft grins form on her face when she looks at a happy Kayla, and full-blown joy crackles across her features when she laughs with Kayla. Kayla reminds her of who she used to be, maybe – naïve and innocent.

But as Isis cocks her head and waits for my answer, she doesn’t realize in that moment she’s just as innocent as Kayla. She’s never been loved. She’s only given love. She has no idea why someone like me would go out with her friend, if only to make her friend happy, and her happy in turn. As long as Kayla can kiss my cheek and talk about Vogue and Nicki Minaj with me, Isis smiles. Real, true smiles. Smiles free of pain or jaded bitterness. Isis truly doesn’t believe anyone would like her enough to kiss her, let alone do something to make her smile. There’s no coyness in her question. She simply has no idea what it’s like to be loved.

Love? I frown and scratch the notion out with an imaginary mental pen. But as I walk away from her, the answer too hard to say, the urge to turn around and look at her just one more time before I go is overpowering.

It’s evidence.

It’s cold hard fact that mental pens don’t need to scratch anything out.

When had it happened? How stupid and predictable was it? The new girl – the manic, rambunctious, permanently-sugar high girl – barreling into town like a whirlwind and demanding I pay attention. Demanding I fight. Demanding everything but the one thing that’s begun to grow inside me.

I should burn it.

The plant is still young. It hasn’t flowered yet, its roots haven’t laced over my heart just yet. I can still stop it. It’s not too late. Sophia is still a strong flower in my chest. She’s the only one who should matter. Guilt sickens me. Sophia. I’m being unfaithful, aren’t I? Escorting wasn’t truly cheating – I loved none of the women. None at all. They were cows to be milked for money, and that was it. I love only Sophia. Sophia has always been there. Sophia is sick, and she needs me. I can’t abandon her, or leave her. I’m the only one she has. It was never a problem, since no other woman ever held my attention. But now…