"I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary."
-Margaret Atwood
ONE
He thinks she's crazy. She can tell by the way he tilts his head to the side when she speaks, his eyes narrowing. At first it annoys her. Then she feels a little embarrassed by it. Finally she decides to not give a fuck anymore. Not caring is freedom, she's learned. There are 8.2 million things in her life she can't control right now and all of them are more important than what Sheriff Alex Romero thinks of her.
Norma shifts in front of him. It is after hours in the local precinct and they are the only ones left here. She doesn't care if she wastes his time. "My brother is visiting."
"How nice," he says, and straightens a pad of sticky notes on his desk. "Why is that my concern?"
She rolls her eyes and sits down on the edge of his desk. Not caring is freedom, or so she tells herself. She crosses her legs under her skirt. Wedges in to make herself comfortable. His eyes flicker to the expanse of exposed skin. She smiles. There is a trigger there, and she is slowly learning how to push all of his buttons. "These types of men seem to follow me."
"You're referring to Jake Abernathy?"
"My brother is like him. But he doesn't manipulate. He just… does things. Bad things."
Romero shifts in his chair, rubs his eyes. It is late. He drops his hands. "Say what you mean, Norma."
"He's like a weed. If we don't get rid of him right away, it'll be impossible."
"I can't just off everybody you—"
"Not everybody. Just him."
Romero sighs. He stands up. He moves in close to her, so close she can feel his body heat. Is he judging her? Maybe, but it doesn't matter. His body betrays him. She can see how the thought of her has already taken root in his mind. "He's your own flesh and blood."
She snorts. "Flesh and blood is an excuse to do bad things."
"I'm the sheriff."
"You do what you want, when you want."
She says it forcefully, like she's trying to remind him. Like she's desperate, and she is but she doesn't want him to know. There is something so satisfying about being able to mold a man to your will. And she is going to mold him; she will twist him and torque him to her desire, no matter what it takes.
He leans forward and kisses her softly on the cheek. Her whole body burns. Turns to liquid and pools on the floor.
Damn.
But if he can play with fire, she can, too.
"Good night, Norma," he says, and opens the door for her to go.
He's started falling asleep with a picture of her in his mind. It's the same picture he focuses on when he wraps his hand around his dick in the shower and shudders into the hot water.
She's insane.
So what does that make him?
It started with the Abernathy mess—when he went to check on her at the motel and she'd been sitting in the office, so melancholy. He'd yelled and she'd gone all silent and soft. It is the contradiction there that fascinates him. The division between light and dark inside of her.
A day after their conversation in the precinct, he's lying in bed thinking when his cell phone rings and her voice, breathy, stressed, rings through the receiver. "I need you to come over here."
"It's late."
She breathes. Desperate. In the same tone she held that day in the office, she tells him that her brother's car is there. "Please, Alex. My kids are in the house. I can't do this with them here."
"Do what?"
She exhales. The tension vibrates through her voice. "He's a weed," she says quietly. "He has to be taken care of."
"You called the cavalry, huh?"
Her brother's voice is low. It sounds raspy and clotted in the confines of the cramped motel office. Romero's tires kick up dirt as he jumps out of his truck in front of them, rifle in hand, his mouth set in a grim line.
Inwardly, Norma smirks.
She knows his triggers now; his faults; his preconceived notions. Manipulating a man is as easy as knowing his biggest fear. Romero is afraid he will never be able to control her.
She pushes past her brother but he catches her wrist and holds it. The motel sign casts a glow across the land in front of them, swathing them in false luminescence. For a moment, she falls into a blind rage. It is so typical. The whole thing is fake. Her whole life is a fake and she's hanging on by a thread who is a sheriff that wants nothing more than to stifle her.
She will not be stifled.
Norma rips her hand out from Caleb's grasp; he clips her in the chin. Pain blossoms. She spits in his face but he doesn't move. "Get out," she growls. "Don't make me say it again."
He laughs. There is blood in her mouth. She can't taste it but small droplets of it have landed on Caleb's face and he wipes them away just as Romero takes his place by her side. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Three's a crowd, man—"
"I think the lady asked you to leave."
"Oh come on, Norma."
He smiles that tried and true smile. Of champions and secret rapists. Of people who are charming one moment and evil the next. She sees a little of that smile in her own, deep down in the way her face twitches and the creases that line her mouth. "Leave."
"What if I don't want to?"
He starts to laugh but Romero shuts him up by grabbing him and shoving him against the wall. The two men stare at each other, breathing loudly, and it sickens her. Dear God, another pissing contest, she thinks. They are just like her two sons except one of them has been lodged inside of her for forty years and she's vowed to expel him even if it kills her.
She pulls Romero off of Caleb. Takes his place. She can smell the sweat on her brother's skin, the blood. Her blood. "Listen carefully. I'm not fourteen anymore. And the last man that tried to touch me ended up at the bottom of the bay there. Do you understand what I'm saying, Caleb?"
His face betrays nothing but his breath hitches. She watches his eyes go from her to the shiny sheriff's badge on Romero's chest. Thinking. Slowly. He was always so slow. So stupid. She started off stupid, too, but she grew up. She learned not to trust anybody. She learned that everyone will take advantage if you let them.
Finally he puts his hands up. "Alright," he says. "Alright."
He walks away.
Romero watches the other man's car until the headlights have faded from view. Then he turns to Norma. There is a cut on her lip, a small one that has clotted quickly but he still finds himself running a thumb along it, wiping away the remaining blood. "Nice family you got, Norma."
She breaks into a grin. The most beautifully deranged woman he's ever seen. "He left."
"I think you scared him."
"Yeah, I got him to leave on my own. How bout that?"
He stares at her hard. She seems to be having some sort of revelation. She is happy or something like it. He pats her arm and turns to go. "Good night, Nor—"
"You're leaving?"
He stops. Turns and quickly assesses. Inside her elation, there is worry. He feels worry, too. He feels worried that he will stay here tonight. That he made the decision as soon as he heard her voice through the phone.
How can she doom him like that? Norma is a fate settler. Her boys are settled, their coffins handmade and lined with soft satin, and he's starting to think that he will be the next to go. She's lodged deep somehow. He wants to expel her out but can't.
"You don't feel safe alone?"
She opens her mouth and then closes it again. The silence pools between them. Romero feels anxious. He doesn't play games like this. He's always been a fuck and fly guy but this is something different and that's what makes him hesitate. "It's late," she finally says.
"You'll be fine. It seems you can take care of yourself just fine."
"What if you get tired driving home?"
"I'm starting to think I came here to protect him from you."
She smiles and takes a step closer to him. She smells of sugar and spice and all the things in life that will kill you but are so fucking good you can't resist them. He can't resist. "I've got an empty room."
"I'm not tired, Norma."
She practically leers at him. "That's okay. I'm not tired, either."