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“I—”
He slowly stands, his tall height towering, and stretches a hand down to me.
“Do you want to waste away in a squalid little bar, barely making ends meet, and never knowing life as more than that?” he asks with a frown. I wrap my hand around his, and he pulls me up without me having to put in even the smallest amount of effort. Or, seemingly, without him having to either. “Don’t you have dreams, Katy?”
That prickles me in a way it shouldn’t, this stranger speaking to me about things he doesn’t know, couldn’t know, as if he does.
“Why do you care?”
It’s the first question out of my mouth, and then I swallow down my spite before permitting the next its leave. “Take me back to my sister. Please.” I need to mind my manners. Play nice, so he’ll do what I ask.
His expression softens, and I know exactly what it means.
No.
“Fine, well, thanks for the ride, or whatever,” I mutter, and kick up another rather deliberate cloud of dust with my foot, heading down the road. It’s going to be a hell of a walk back into town. A HELL of a walk. The sun’s beating down on me, and a line of sweat is already running down my back, but without a breeze, it does nothing but make my shirt stick to me, clammy and uncomfortable.
“She was leaving you, anyway, Katydid,” he calls out, the nickname striking me like a punch to the gut. I freeze, not ten feet clear of the bastard. Not ten feet free.
No way… no WAY. There’s not a chance she would leave it all behind, effectively letting me ‘win’. Emi’s been making it clear to me all my life exactly how much she resents me and what I stole from her. Dreams, hopes, happiness, a family, a future. All of it. It’s gotten to the point I swear the bitterness has become a part of her, and she actually depends upon its toxicity in order to survive. If she didn’t have it, have us, have me… would she even know who she was anymore?
Would I?
The idea of her abandoning it all to get away from me, to run free from her obligations, from the guilt, from the pain and suffering she feels, from the weight of what I represent… it tears at me like a pack of wild dogs.
“She was getting out. She didn’t tell you, but she’s got work lined up in the city, for some guys who aren’t great, but would provide her a better life than she’s making for herself out here.” His words slice through me.
No. It couldn’t be possible. He had to be mistaken, or… or lying.
“I have no reason to lie to you,” he says, like he knows the arguments I’m having in my head, and the air crackles, his words echoing through the empty desert as if they are being carried on the wind. But the air is still.
The moment passes. I keep walking. The bike sounds off, but I don’t look back. I hear it though, easing out of the abandoned parking lot and up the road toward me. He’s at my side in seconds, his one foot skimming the ground as the heft of the bike rolls forward. I don’t look at him; I stare straight ahead. The road is unending. There aren’t any turns or intersections, it just goes on forever like that one scene in that movie with DavidBowie. If driving out here felt like it took forever… what the hell is the walk back going to feel like?
“Katy, kid, c’mon,” he says. His hand closes the gap between us to grab at my swinging wrist.
“Don’t!” I snap, ducking and writhing out from his grip. “I don’t even know who you are, and you refuse to give me any straight answers! First you blew up my bar—”
“That wasn’t me!” he says immediately, holding his hand up in a defensive pose. How he can drive that thing, not focus on it a damn, and still not topple ass over shit-eating smirk, I don’t know. But the frustrated growl I let out has him smirking at me again in such a way I hope, no, pray he falls. I should push him.
“Somebody, probably people you know, blew up my bar, and then they took my sister—“
“She was expecting them, kid — she sold you out. Why do you think your dad was gone today? Does he ever leave you two in the bar alone? Ever?”
That… triggers a reaction in me. I pause, mid-step, cocking my head to stare at him through strands of sweat-dampened hair. He’s searching my face, maybe hoping I’ll finally agree with him, or that he might’ve finally done something to whittle away at my resolve. But I don’t know him.
I don’t.
But… he might have a point.
Emi has been acting strangely for the past week, but so have I, lost in my own world. Every time I catch sight of myself in the mirror, with Mom’s necklace around my neck, I think I’m her... and it’s taken me back to a time when things weren’t so hard,when she was still with us.
And Dad... has been gone an awful lot, and when he is there, he’s distracted.
Still…
“Yeah, all the time,” I lie. And then I huff my shoulders and start up my stride again. It’s not easy. My feet hurt. I’m in cheap flats, which fine for running around the bar, but not so suited to a gravel-sprinkled country road, with its sharp chips of stone and rock that seem determined to get stuck in the soles and flip themselves up into the insides of—
“Liar.”
