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Everything? I decide to narrow it down a little bit. “You know…for being all belligerent and needing a rescue last night…subjecting you to projectile vomiting…” I gesture toward the hallway. “And for having to see all that shit with Cybil and her friends. I get the feeling you’re not used to hanging around people as trashy as we are.”
“Stop,” he growls.
I’m startled by the venom in his tone. “Stop what?”
He stands up and braces his hands around my biceps. “Stop putting yourself down. Lumping yourself into the same category as that woman you live with. I barely know you but I do know you’re nothing like her.”
His nostrils flare as he stares down at me. I’m suddenly very aware how little fabric stands between us. He seems to come to the same realization as his eyes travel down to my chest and back up again.
I gasp when he slides his thumb over my bottom lip. “Gavin—”
“Shut the hell up, Kat.”
His mouth crashes into mine before I have a chance to protest. Waves of pleasure rush over me, making me realize how much I missed his touch. His kiss is bruising, so hard it’s almost painful, but at the same time, I can feel his restraint. He’s communicating with me through his actions. He’s angry with me; that much is obvious. But despite this, he’s telling me that I’m safe with him. That he would never hurt me. That I can trust him. I never knew a kiss could be so expressive until now.
He pulls back, leaving us both panting for breath. “What is it about you, Kat? I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. You admitted that you feel it too, so why did you leave?”
I avert my eyes, unable to hold his penetrating gaze. “I told you, Gavin. I don’t do this.”
He lifts my chin with his finger. “Don’t do what?”
“Date,” I shrug. “Relationships. It’s too complicated. We fucked. Don’t romanticize this and look for something that isn’t there.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “That’s bullshit and we both know it. This thing between us…it’s more than just chemistry.”
“It’s not,” I deny. “That’s not how things work with me.”
“Why not? What happened to you? Is this because of a guy?”
If only it were that simple. I sigh as I open the door. “Trust me, Sparkles. You don’t want to know what made me who I am today. I’m damaged goods and that’s the only information you need. If you knew what was good for you, you’d forget we ever met. I know this is a small town so let’s just agree to walk the other way if we happen to bump into each other again. Do you think you can do that?” I open the door wider, silently inviting him to leave.
He looks at his watch. “I started my new job yesterday; I have an hour before I have to be there so I’ll leave for now. I have a really busy week so I’ll give you a few days, but this conversation isn’t over.”
I groan. “Gavin, it really is. There’s nothing else to say.”
He nods toward the plastic bag that’s perched on my wobbly old desk. “I ran out and got some things to help with your hangover. We’ll talk later, Kat.”
I peek inside the bag as he walks away and see a bottle of ibuprofen, Gatorade, and a greasy breakfast sandwich. The hangover trifecta. I throw on some clothes, take a couple of the pills, and eat. As annoyed as I am by Gavin’s persistence, I can’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness. I’ve barely finished my sandwich and already feel much better.
I reach under the mattress and grab my journal. I started seeing a court-mandated therapist after everything went down freshman year. I was pretty tight-lipped about the whole thing with everyone—including her—so Dr. Gibbons suggested that I keep a journal whenever I feel the need to talk. If you haven’t already figured it out, I have trust issues; therefore, I don’t openly share my feelings which she says is unhealthy. I thought it was a bunch of psychobabble at first, but writing my thoughts onto a piece of paper has actually been quite cathartic. I even wound up trusting her over time, enough to share some pages during our sessions.
I find an empty spot and grab a pen. I sit cross-legged on my worn mattress, pouring my thoughts and feelings onto the paper. Before I know it, I’ve written seven pages about leaving the foster system, meeting Gavin, getting fired and subsequently being rescued by Gavin, along with a list of local places that I need to check, to see if they’re hiring. I look back through what I’ve written and count five pages dedicated to Sparkles and how he makes me feel both terrified and electrified. I’ve never met someone like him—someone who makes me feel so raw and vulnerable, yet safe. It’s confusing as hell; hence, the lengthy journal entry.
I check the time and decide to head over to Perk Up to grab my final paycheck. Dylan should be on shift right now which is much better than the thought of facing Marilyn. I grab my purse and head out into the kitchen to refill my water bottle before taking off.
“Mornin’, Baby Girl,” Cybil mumbles as she sips her coffee.
I take a moment to look her over as she leans against the counter of our small galley kitchen. Her bleached hair sits in a messy top knot and she’s wearing a pastel-colored sports bra with tight matching capris. She looks a little tired but surprisingly good. Sporty. What the hell? Cybil doesn’t do sporty. “Hey, what are you doing up so early?”
She smirks. “Most people would consider ten o’clock late.”
“True,” I agree. “But most people don’t keep schedules like you do.” I can’t remember the last time she was awake before noon.
She lifts a delicate shoulder. “I’m turning over a new leaf.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “That’s not what it looked like when I came home last night.”
She pulls a zippered hoodie over her shoulders. “The coke was Mandy’s, not mine. I haven’t touched the hard stuff since Marcus and I started seeing each other. Like I said, new leaf. I’m trying to be better.”
