I was halfway to the house when mom barged out the door. The guys were far enough down the block that they didn't see.
"Where the hell were you?" she nearly exploded.
"Mom," I said, baffled.
"No note," she is nearly raving. "No explanation. No messages. Where's your phone?"
"Oh," I said, realizing that she was right. I hadn't carried my phone with me regularly in months, and I hadn't had to even think about needing to leave her a note in about that long.
"I come home and you're just gone!" she ranted. "You could have been hurt or in the hospital or dead or anything! Where WERE you?!"
"At the movies," I said evenly.
"I-!" she started but was completely derailed. "What?"
"I was at the movies," I said.
She looked at me, then to my truck.
"Who with?" she asked, sounding even more surprised.
"Angelo and Jesse," I said.
She stared at me for so long, I thought about waving my hand in front of her face.
Finally, she let out a big sigh, "I swear, you're going to give me a heart attack, kid."
I didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. She was right. I knew it.
"I..." she began again, looking for the right words while her mind shifted gears.
"Look," she said, "I can't really tell you how glad I am that you went out with your friends. I haven't seen you leave the house other than for work or school since... Well, for a long damn time. But, I would appreciate it, in the future, if you would leave me a note."
I nodded and said nothing.
We walked into the house, and I went to the kitchen, getting myself some water and making myself some food that wasn't chalk-full of processed food stuffs and preservatives.
"What gives?" I asked as mom came into the kitchen, getting her own water.
"Hmm?" she murmured.
"I mean," I said as I pulled out some garbanzo bean salad I had made the day before, "I get that you didn't know where I was and all, but your reaction seemed a little... extreme."
She looked at me, her expression careful.
"If I tell you something," she said, "can I have your word you won't repeat it?"
"Sure," I said. What did I care?
"We have a missing hiker," she said. "We found the camp pretty torn up, and some blood. A local in the area claimed they saw a large bear in the area. With you gone, I couldn't help but think you might have decided to cash in on that employee discount and decide to do some impromptu hiking or something. Call it a crazy mom moment. Just, promise me something; no treks into the wild for a while, at least not until we have the situation resolved."
"Okay, mom," I said, completely indifferently.
We didn't really talk anymore. It was technically the most involved and longest conversation we had had since I had gotten my job. We were used to a level of comfortable disconnection, and I had no problem going back to that. I went upstairs shortly after I finished my meal. I did my nightly workout, showered, and went to bed.
That night, my dreams were different.
I was in the dark, unable to see anything. I could feel the ground beneath my feet, but it felt wrong, uneven, and slightly irregular, as though it wasn't really there or solid. I felt around and around, trying to find something that told me where I was, but after what felt like hours, I was nowhere nearer to finding out what was going on. I was about to give up when something hit me. A hard blow, something like a slap, struck me across the face. It was jarring and frighten and as soon as it landed, I reached around again, looked into the darkness, but saw and felt nothing. I was trying to understand what was happening when it landed again, to the other side of my face, even harder. It focused my attention amazingly well, and despite being unable to see and unable to defend myself, I brought up my fists and settled back, ready and waiting. I wasn't afraid anymore.
My alarm woke me. I got up, doing my Saturday routine. It was the same workout, only slightly more, with some extra free weight lifts, some burpees, and timed push-ups, where I would lower or raise with a count of five or ten. I showered and put back on my Saturday clothes, going downstairs to start my load of laundry before breakfast. After starting everything up and my short meal of homemade granola, I did a spot clean of my room, some other cleaning of the rest of the house while the laundry finished up. Rotating it all into the dryer, I was going over in my mind what I would need to do before I headed out the door for work when Mom came over.
"Where are your headphones?" she asked.
"iPod broke," I said. "Haven't had time to fix it yet."
"Oh," she said, nodding. "Fishing. Will be back late tonight. Will you be here when I get home?"
I thought about it. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't sure.
"I don't know," I said. "I'll leave you a message if I'm not going to be."
"Okay," she said, her voice lighter somehow, easier. "Okay. I'll see you when I see you."
She grabbed her gear and disappeared before the dryer was started.
I packed my lunch, grabbed my phone, which was new, along with my usual keys and my wallet. I headed out the door, driving to work at my usual pace.
I was early and got to work before my shift started. Everything was stocked and well cleaned by the time I clocked in.
"Morning," said Mickie, getting in at ten, the time my shift also started. Her dad was usually here at eight or so, and I got there somewhere in between, depending on how much distraction I needed. Today, I felt like new distractions were starting to open up to me, ones I hadn't really considered before.
"Morning," I said, my voice low, indicative of my mood.
Mickie came up short, looking at me. I looked back.
I hadn't paid must attention to Mickie or her wardrobe for the last year. I wasn't sure when exactly she shifted from loose-fit jeans to something more formfitting. The weather didn't allow for much in the revealing clothing department, but she worked well with what she had in fashion, if not in body shape. She was cute enough, but the stretch cotton leggings and sporty sleeveless number she had on were covering a body that was in no way outdoorsy. If anything, her families marginal money had seemed to have a softening effect. It gave her the appropriate amount of curve, but not much in the way of appealing muscle or the sort of bouncy energy I found that I preferred. Her hair was cut and styled well, in a way that made her stand out, accenting her makeup which was thin if a bit too dark for her hair and complexion. All in all, she was attractive, relative to the girl I knew before, but not enough for me to want to do anything about out it, even if that had been an option.
Regardless of what expression was showing on my face, she seemed to find my gaze complimentary. She looked away, her attempts to hide her smile so pitiful, I had no doubt the attempt was feigned. She actually blushed as I kept looking, as though my eyes upon her meant something more than that I was looking at her.
It was slow at work, so for want of anything else to do, I paid attention to Mickie, and she paid attention right back. It was more and more evident that she had picked up some new habits and tricks since the last time she had shown interest in me, and she did everything she could to display that. She walked differently, a bit more sway to her, as though she were trying for graceful or perhaps sensual, maybe even sexual, but it came off as put upon. She spent times in unusual areas, not usual for her. Standing at the counters, slightly leaning over them, playing with a pen between her teeth, one knee bent with her ankles crossed.
About halfway through my shift, for lack of anything to do for the moment, I took a load of broken down boxes to the large recycling dumpster. However, once I got outside, I realized that it was pouring rain. I made the trip quickly, but my outer shirt was pretty wet by the time I came back in.
"Oh no," said Mickie, a slightly pretentious maternal air about her. "No, come on."
At her insistence, she took me to the break room.
"Here," she was saying, pulling out a box they kept in here full of defunct clothing, busted seams, missing buttons, that sort of thing. By the time she had found one that might fit me, she turned back to hand it to me, finding me, having stripped off the wet outer button up short.
The T-shirt I had on underneath it was a bit small on me but was really comfortable. I liked working out in it, especially since it had almost no sleeve, so it kept me cool, and the material was thin so it breathed really well. With the way the dampness from the rain made it cling, I almost might as well not be wearing anything.
Mickie looked like she had forgotten how to breathe for a minute. Her hand was coming up, less than an inch from my bare shoulder when she realized what she was doing and stopped.
"Sorry," she said a bit breathily. She handed me the shirt, I put it on, handing up the wet one on a hanger.
"Um," she said. "Do you want to go to the beach?"
I looked at her, "I'm on shift."
"No!" she said, a bit exasperated, but mostly at herself. "Not now. After work."
"It raining," I said.
"No," she explained. "Weather is supposed to be clear tonight. There's a party out at La Push. It sounds likes a ton of fun."
"When?" I asked. It sounded like a real potential distraction.
"Seven," she said. "Right on the beach, hard to miss."
"I'll go," I said.
"Great!" she said happily. "We're going to have so much fun!"
I shook my head, "I didn't say I was going with you. I just said I would go."
"Oh," she said, looking dejected, "right. Duh! Well, if you want to... you know, hang out or whatever. I'll be there. And all. Yeah."
She practically fled before I had the chance to say another word to her.
The shift continued as expected, including Mickie not saying a single thing to me other than "catch you later" as she walked out the door. I clocked out, finished up some more organizing, then after changing back into my other shirt, I left the defective one behind, I headed out. Once in the parking lot, I texted Mom, let her know where I would be, that I would be home before curfew, then drove to the beach.
I hadn't been to too many parties before, but this was a bit obvious. If they were doing any drink or anything, they were at least keeping it way on the down low, though the rest of the party wasn't. There was like three bonfires going, and at least fifty people, some from school, some from the reservation, and others from the nearby area. Some were near the surf, some by the fires, and some around a barbecue pit that was cooking just off from the parking lot. There were still a few spots available, so I parked my truck and strolled on down.
Lunch had held me over, so I wasn't hungry just yet, but I was a bit thirsty. I strolled over by a cooler, and as I opened it and took out a bottled water, a boy turned around.
"Two bucks for drinks," he said, and I recognized that voice immediately.
"Oh," said Lauren. "It's you."
I handed him a five. He went back to what he was doing.
"My change?" I asked. He looked at me like I was an idiot.
I turned around and took two more bottle water out of the cooler.
"Hey!" he protested. "That's another dollar!"
"Tell it to someone who cares," I said. "Call it asshole tax."
I went to put the extras in my truck, not wanting to carry them all around all night. I was four steps off when he grabbed my arm.
"Hey!" he said, surprised when he kept moving forward rather than me being pulled back. I liked that. I looked the momentary widening of his eyes, the trace of fear stirring in him. I stopped and turned.
He wasn't quite my height. When I had first come here, he had noticeable weight on me. That wasn't the case anymore. I looked at his arm. He gritted his teeth and didn't let go. I dropped the water bottles behind me. Without thinking, he let go and went for them. I slapped up an arm, taking him across the chest. He would have just stumbled backward a step if my foot hadn't come down just behind his foot. He tripped up, landing flat on his back. Before he could get up, I set a foot on his chest.
"Now," I said, feeling strong and powerful as I stood over him, "you were being rude, for no reason. So, I was rude back. We can leave it at that, or we can have a problem. I'm fine either way. I have nothing else planned tonight."
He didn't say anything. I smiled at his inaction. Turning, I picked up my water. I heard the rustling, expecting it, and sidestepped as the handful of wet sand went flying passed me. I looked back and he was already running back to where he was standing before. I shook my head and went back to the truck. When I got back to the beach, he was waiting.
There were five of them, including Lauren. None of them were as tall as I am, but two were heavier. So was a third, but it wasn't in muscle. Only one looked like he was from the reservation, the others weren't from school. Lauren looked smug.
For a moment, I thought about fighting all of them. With my reach, they would have to be pretty determined to hurt me if they were to win. If I showed how indifferent I was to hurting them right off the bat, they would likely be less inclined to do so. I could beat them down, one at a time, and even if I was hurt too, I would hurt them right back and more so. I was better than them. They just didn't know it yet.
"Hey," said one of the boys.
"Hey," I said back, in the same tone and unfazed.
"You're causing trouble," said the boy from the reservation. "Leave. Now."
I looked at him a long moment. I had spent time here as a kid. I might not remember much, but there were something things that you don't really forget. They did things differently here. You see it play out a time or two, you get to understand it.
"I claim a disagreement," I said. "I seek a wise one to settle it."
The boy looked more than a little surprised.
"What are you even talk-" asked another boy.
"Quiet," said the reservation boy.
He gave me a long look, sizing me up.
"Who do you know?" he asked.
"I am Carrie Hawkins' son," I said. "I am a friend of the Black family."
He nodded, "A disagreement with him?"
He jutted his chin at Lauren. I nodded.
"What the hell is going on?" asked Lauren.
"He's calling you out," said the boy. "If I were you, I would stay where I am and not say anything until we ask you."
"He's talking," pointed out Lauren, point to me.
"When he is asked a question," said the boy. "You best learn from his example, and quickly."
He gave a quick, high call, one I had heard before when I had seen a similar disagreement play out. Everyone from the reservation in the area stilled and quit talking. After a moment, a young woman, easily five years older than me, came forward. I recognized her from somewhere.
"What goes on here?" she asked.
"A disagreement, Sam," said the boy. "A wise one was asked for."
She looked surprised, but her face relaxed when she saw me. Odd.
"You called for me," she said to me, "You go first."
That is when I realized where I knew her from. She was the woman who said that the Cullens weren't welcome on the reservation that one night on the beach, almost a year ago. She was tall and broad, strong, wearing less clothing than most of the people here, but not in a promiscuous way. She just wore shorts and the light shirt, the sort of outfit one might wear in warmer weather.
I began.
"I came to this gathering by invitation," I said.
"Who invited you?" she asked.
"Michelle Newton," I said.
She gave a slight shake of her head, "Continue."
"When I arrived, I went to the cooler for a drink," I said and pointed at Lauren. "He informed me that it was two dollars for a drink. When I paid him five, he refused to give me change."
"I was going to-" Lauren started, and Sam grabbed him. It was the fastest thing I had ever seen, if only because the fastest movements I had been present for were faster than I could see. Her hand came up and she grabbed him by the shirt, around the neck. With the one hand, she lifted him so that his feet barely scrabbled against the sand.
"You will get your chance to speak," she said. "Relax and listen. I don't just mean find ways to come up with what to say in return. I mean really listen. This is an opportunity for you to learn something."
She put him down. He looked scared. I felt pleased.
"Listen," she repeated, then turned back to me.
"When he refused to give me change," I said, "I took two more drinks, getting my money's worth."
"More than your money's worth," she commented.
"I do not deny it or justify myself," I said. "I only point out that he wronged me first, and my slight was significantly less than his."
She nodded, "Then?"
"I went to put my drinks in my truck and he grabbed me," I said, "attempted to scare me. I defended myself by tripping him and ending the fight before it began. He threw sand at my retreating back and when I returned, he was waiting with four others to run me off the beach."
She nodded, "Any particular reason you should get to stay?"
I looked at her, "No more than anyone else, no. But more than him."
"Why more than him?" she asked.
I couldn't rightly point out that he was telling everyone about how he had sex with one of the girls down here. It wouldn't sound too much like I was trying to discredit him, and I hadn't heard it from him directly.
I shook my head, "It doesn't have anything to do with our dispute, so I will not bring it up unnecessarily."
She looked like she was considering compelling me to, but then just nodded and turned to Lauren, "What's your side?"
Lauren looked at me much as he did before, like I was an idiot, but now it looked like he thought I was a smelly idiot.
"I know this kid from school, right?" he said. "He thinks he's some kind of badass, too good for anybody. He doesn't talk to anyone and he has all these girls thinking he's all tough. So when he comes down here to a party thrown by people who didn't invite him and start bumming off our drinks without even looking to see if he needs to pay, I fronted like I wasn't going to pay him, for like two seconds. But then, he turns around and steals from us. So, I decide to run him off. He deserves an ass kicking."
She nodded, considering.
"Any particular reason you should get to stay?" she asked.
Lauren looked affronted, "I didn't do anything wrong. He's just an asshole troublemaker and he needs to go."
She looked at me, "Neither of you are clearly in the right. How would you like to resolve this?"
I smiled, "Combat."
Lauren looked scared, "What?"
"Let the victory stand as a resolution," I said. "I will respect it."
Sam nodded, "As would I."
She looked at Lauren, "Single combat. You fight, and whoever wins stays. Or you could walk away right now. But if you do, I will mark you as a coward before the tribe and give you no favor until you seek redemption."
Lauren looked around. Every person from the reservation had come to join us, standing in a wall around us. Other than Lauren and myself, I couldn't see a single outsider from where I stood.
Lauren realized he couldn't talk his way out of it, and decided to go for machismo over backtracking.
"Bring it," he said.
"Okay," Sam said, "Rules are simple. The fight goes on until one of you gives up or can no longer continue. I will judge and claim a winner and the loser will leave immediately. You will not be welcome back here until after sunrise."
I nodded, and Lauren agreed.
"Shoes off," she said.
I popped off my shoes, and without over thinking it, pulled off both my shirts in one fluid motion. I thought I heard a rumble of something like approval or appreciation or weariness move through the crowd. I swung my arms a few times as Lauren followed suit. He was in reasonable shape but was nowhere near as heavy as I was.
The crowd started, cries and whoops tearing through the night air, jeers and wagers lighting all around us. I waited as Sam stepped between us, her hand raised. She stepped aside and dropped it. It was on.
I didn't move, at first. Lauren came at me, and I could tell by his posture that he was all bluster. But he did the most direct thing he could do; and walked right up and took a swing. I had to give it to him, he wasn't nearly as afraid as I thought he would be. It would just make beating his little punk ass down all the more sweet.
I ducked and weaved, the blows coming again and again. He landed a couple punches, but they were sloppy at best. I sneered at him. He had not idea how to throw a proper punch. His wrists weren't straight and he lost a ton of power by throwing nothing but hooks, not a single jab or thrust. He kept going, managing only to splitting my lip and getting me good once in one eye, but not enough to black it.
Finally, he was tired. He had poor form, less reach, less weight, and now, he was tired. My blood was practically humming. He was mine.
I punched him hard in the stomach, underhanded, like I had before. He wheezed, doubling over. I could have taken him apart, ending him right there, but it wouldn't be honorable. I wasn't the weasel he was. I waited for him to straighten up, then I socked him again, a left jab, hard to the face. He staggered back, dazed. I hit him again, and he stumbled around, trying to figure out what to do. Two more body blows, and he was barely up. Then, I tripped him up, again, almost exactly as before. Standing over him, as before, I put a foot on his chest. I hadn't felt this alive in months.
"I told you that you could have left it where it was," I said, so low that not many could hear, languishing in my definitive superiority. "But no, you had to do things the hard way. Well, prepare to learn your lesson."
I turned to the crowd at large.
"This boy is not a friend of the Quileute people," I said looking slowly around. "He boasts at how easily he beds your women and uses you to prop up his own ego when his strength alone cannot win him the day. He has stood here today, and failed."
The crowd was not longer a happy one. It suddenly occurred to me just how ugly this might get. Then, one of the girls came out of the crowd, walked right up to Lauren, and kicked him hard in the crotch. He howled, and the crowd laughed, hooting their approval.
Sam came forward, picking him up and getting his feet under him.
"You aren't welcome on our land anymore," she said. "If you come back here for any reason other than by invitation or come seeking repentance, you will be sorry. Leave. Now."
Lauren was half in tears as he ran back to his car and drove away. I almost felt a little bad for him, but he dug his own grave. Idiot.
"Nice hook."
I turned and froze.
Josie had changed. She was a bit taller, making her only about two inches shorter than me. She had filled out, like really, really well, all lean, athletic muscle and hips and curves. Hell, she had better figures than just about every girl I had seen at my school. And she was looking at me in a way that told me she was doing some ogling of her own.
"Here," she said, and she was holding my shoes and my shirts. She proffered the shoes, but she waited until I got my shoes on before she handed me back the shirts.
"Well, well, well," she said. "Look at what the cat dragged in."
I was too busy looking at her. She was the very definition of eye candy. As distractions went, she was an exceptionally good one.
"Long time, no see," I commented, and she looked amused.
"From what I hear," she said, "you don't get out too often these days."
She knew what was going one with me? Somehow, that didn't surprise me. Our moms were friends, and I found out long ago that they talked about me more than I expected.
"Maybe you should check your sources," I said, a touch of playfulness in my tone.
She smirked, "I'll do that. Before I do, let's get that eye looked after."
It was starting to throb and I knew that I would need ice before it started to swell.
"Here," she said, walking over to the cooler with me in tow. She opened it up and pulled out a chunk of ice. Taking the T-shirt from my hands, she wrapped the ice in it and held it to my face.
"I can do that," I said, trying to pull away from her.
"Pipe down, you big baby," she said, gently dabbing and pressing the shirt.
I looked around with the good eye, "Can we at least sit somewhere?"
"Okay," she said, and we scooted over to sit by one of the fires, on the outskirts. She didn't give up the ice, continuing to hold it to my face once we were seated.
"That was interesting," she said. "How did you know how to call for a wise one?"
"I remembered," I said. "I don't remember much from my time here before, but seeing kids hold their own trial kind of sticks with you."
She laughed, and it was a great laugh, all throaty and edged with toe curling possibilities. I swallowed hard.
"You may be the first outsider I have seen do that," she said. "It was kind of impressive, if a bit sacrilegious."
"Hey," I said, "I couldn't let the asshole get away with it. Pretty much everything he has been doing lately has been crappy as hell. He needs to be held accountable or he'd never learn."
She looked at me, "Do you really believe that?"
I suddenly felt weary.
"Why?" I asked.
"You haven't been making the best life choices either, buddy," she said, my eye throbbing almost as if in evidence.
"That's different," I said a bit dejectedly.
"Is it?" she asked.
"I don't have to explain myself to you," I said petulantly.
"Someone needs to hold you accountable," she pointed out. "How many people are lining up for that?"
I frowned at her, "You know what, screw you! I haven't had a banner year over here."
"We're all going through something," she said, her calm a marked contrast to my response.
"Not like what I went through," I protested.
"Oh," she said, "I see. You're special."
I started to get seriously mad, "I don't need to take this crap from you!"
"And that," she said, "sounds exactly like the sort of notion that got what's his name kicked in the nuts."
I wanted to hit her. I wanted to slap her hand away and leave. I wanted to tell her that she was a stupid, interfering, petty, insignificant... Ugh! But why did she have to be right!?
"So," I asked, "what do you want?"
She bobbed her head back and forth, as though considering.
"We're friends, right?" she asked, looking a little shy almost.
"What?" I asked, a bit affronted. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"No, really," she said. "We are, aren't we?"
I thought about it. She wasn't just asking if we were friends. It was a loaded question, as though she wanted to know if we were more than simple acquaintances; she wanted to know if she was important to me.
The thing was, she kinda was. I mean, I had known her a long time, and every interaction with her since my return to Forks had been enjoyable, deeply meaningful, or both. There was a part of me that was kicking myself for not coming out here sooner. And it had nothing whatsoever to do with her legs.
"We're friends," I said as I dragged my eyes up to her face, but I could tell she heard the reservations in my voice.
"But..." she coaxed.
"But," I qualified, "it isn't possible for us to be anything more. We can certainly try to be friends, but I can't but be a friend to you. Ever."
She turned her head to the side, towards the ground. It wasn't shy or hurt or anything. She wasn't hiding her expression. She looked thoughtful, and she needed to look at something that wasn't distracting while she thought it over. Finally, she turned back to me.
"I can live with that," she said.
There was something in her face, a sort of winning expression that she was doing a really good job of hiding, but that she couldn't hide from me.
"I'm not going to change," I said.
She smiled, shrugging, "People change all the time."
I shook my head, "I won't."
She smiled more, lounging almost cockily on the beach beside me, still managing to hold the ice to my face. It did all sorts of interesting things to her curves and how her loose clothing hung on her.
"You are welcome to believe whatever you want," she said. "In my experience, what you want has little to do with what you get. I'm not going to hold my breath, but I am not going anywhere either."
Something sort of clicked in my head.
"You're telling me you don't have a boyfriend?" I asked. "You?"
I could tell, she found the question, and my skepticism, extremely flattering. She didn't try to hide it or anything. She just beamed, straightening her clothing a bit, which did more to display everything that she had going on so well that I quickly didn't care if she was doing it on purpose or not.
"No," she finally said, as though so distracted herself that she forgot I asked her a question. She looked as though she was going to say something else, but decided against it.
"What?" I asked.
"No," she said. "Not important."
"No," I returned, "what?"
She shook her head, "I was going to add some cheesy line about crushing on you for a while, but it wouldn't have been appropriate. You just said we are just friends and all, and I want to respect your wishes."
I really didn't know what to say, other than, "Thank you."
She smiled, gently adjusting the ice on my face.
"So," she said, "what have you been up to since we last saw each other?"
I frowned, "I thought you had your own sources."
She suppressed a chuckle, "And I thought you said that I needed to double check them."
I made an exasperated sound in the back of my throat, "Fine. I have been doing well in school, working out-"
"I can tell," she said, a slightly suggestive lilt to her voice.
I stared at her out of my open eye, "You wanna hear this or not?"
She bit her lip before pantomiming zipping her lips shut.
"I got a job," I went on, "working at Newton Outfitters. That's about it. I split my money between doing a little clothes shopping, just to round out my wardrobe, but I mostly have been putting money way for college and such."
She nodded, looking a bit discomfited, "Right, you're probably leaving after the school year is over."
"No," I said. "I am actually planning on going to Pencol."
"Where?" she asked, looking confused.
"Peninsula College," I said. "It's right here in town. In Forks, I mean."
She looked askance at me, "Why?"
I sat a little straighter, and she had to also in order to keep the ice in contact with my face.
"What do you mean, why?" I asked.
"Look," she said, "I don't mean this to sound like I am patronizing you or anything, but seriously, why would you want to say here? I know you're smart. You get really good grades. Hell, I bet you're in honors classes and everything. There isn't a school that wouldn't accept you. If it was a question of money or whatever, I would get that, but I bet there are some great schools that aren't out of state that you could probably get into, no problem. What possible reason could you have for wanting to stay h-"
I got up. I had had enough.
"Hey," she said as I turned and started walking for my truck.
"I still have your shirt," she pointed out.
"Keep it," I said.
"Benjamin Hawkins," she said, "if you don't stop right now and explain yourself, I am fully prepared to tackle you."
For a moment, I seriously considered letting her. It sounded like a interesting idea. But, in the end, I turned back to her.
"What?" I said.
"That's my line," she said. "What?"
I shook my head, "You don't get to judge my decisions."
"Not judging," she said. "A whole lot of not judging is going on over here. I am just trying to understand. What you are doing makes no sense to me. I just want to know why."
"I don't need to make sense to you," I shot back.
"That's true, I guess," she said. "But if I am going to be your friend, it might help if you trusted me enough to tell me the truth."
I looked at her, standing there, not exactly contrite, despite my tirade. She wasn't telling me what to do, or even really telling me the way things were. She wanted to be friends, and friends were honest with each other.
"I don't want to talk about it," I said. "I... I'm still really, really messed up."
She looked at me, and the most heartrending look of empathy crossed her face. I looked away so I could continue.
"Look," I said, "A lot of what I am doing right now isn't really a choice. I mean, it sucks; I am damned if I do and damned if I don't, so I am doing a whole lot of picking the lesser of two evils here. I am not really thinking it terms of what is best for me so much as choosing what is the least painful. I am not thinking too hard about anything, and I don't really feel like justifying my actions to myself or explaining them to anyone else. This is just who I am right now, for however long I am this way. Is that... can that just be how it is, with me? Is that okay?"
She took my hand. It was warm and soft, despite being rough. I felt a rush in me, a desire to be doing more than just standing here, letting her hold my hand. It was very, very distracting.
"Yeah," she said. "Of course. Look, Ben, I get it. It sucks, and coping is hard. But look, you don't have to be or do anything for me. At all. I want to be here for you because I think you're a good person and you're worth my time. But that in no way obligates you to be okay or normal or have to explain anything to me. I was wrong to come after you like I did. But, can I ask you something?"
"What?" I said, feeling marginally better.
"Come back," she said.
I looked about me, confused, "I'm still here."
"No," she said, laughing, "I mean, when you do leave, for whatever reason. Come back again. If you need to bail, you can totally bail. Just, when you can, come back. I want to be your friend. I've always wanted that. And, I think I could be a good friend to you."
I nodded, but it wasn't an agreement so much as an acknowledgment of what she said.
"I'll keep that in mind," I said.
"Okay," she said. "Okay."
He fingers slipped from mine, letting me go with an only barely noticeable reluctance.
As I was driving home, I thought about what she said. I hadn't been friends with anyone for a long time, hanging out with Angelo and Jesse notwithstanding, and a part of me knew that it was because I didn't want to fulfill the demands a friendship might entail. At some point, whoever was friends with me would expect me to start living up to my end of what being friends meant, and I really didn't want to deal with any of that. Besides, there was a part of me, and I wasn't sure how committed to that part I was, that believed that if I wasn't miserable... if I was capable of being happy without...
I shook my head. The most important part of my life was gone. Without it, all I could do was cope. And I was under no obligation to cope in any way but the best way that I knew how. Josie was very distracting, and I felt like I could at least be honest with her, even if she didn't really want to hear... no, that wasn't it. I could be honest with her, even if what I had to say wasn't what she wanted to hear. She would take the good with the bad. She would accept all the broken bits of me. And that thought was dangerously appealing.