X was letting me drive his car.
Xavier, I reminded myself. His name is Xavier. It felt weird to think it, much less say it. I’d tried it out on my tongue a few times, but each time I said it, it sounded like I was saying a word in a language I didn’t understand.
Regardless, X was letting me drive his car. I mean, he had more than one—of course. But he gave me the keys when I’d mentioned needing to run back to my apartment for some things. It felt weird to me that I was running back to my apartment to collect my things—not to stay there. In my own place.
X and I hadn’t talked about what we were, but labels like boyfriend and girlfriend sounded weird too, even though we’d used them around X’s mom. We were playing an endless game of house, and for the moment, I was okay with it. I wasn’t sure who we’d be after the matter of the Ron popsicle was dealt with, but for the moment, I was content. Doc’s word.
I hadn’t been back to my apartment for a few days, and this was my first time since Ron died that I’d come back alone. After spending the last handful of days at X’s, exiting the car and taking in the sights before me was like walking onto the set of some crime drama. It was darker here, like someone had tinted the surroundings. And the air smelled like garbage mingled with the aroma of Thai food from the restaurant across the street. As delicious as their curry was, the scent mixed with spoiled food from the dumpster made my stomach churn as I climbed the stairs to my apartment.
I’d been so spoiled the last few days, being around X as much as I had. Everything was grittier, harder to look at and smell. It made me feel shame that this was my reaction to a place I’d lived for several months. What had X thought when he’d first pulled up to this dismal dump?
I unlocked my door and tried to shove it open. The hot weather had caused my door to swell in the frame, which meant I had to use my shoulder to shove it open. I hit it so hard, I nearly fell in when it gave way.
My apartment didn’t reek. That was the first thing I noticed. X had come over with enough cleaning supplies to make a maid jealous and we’d spent an afternoon scrubbing my floor and counters, to rid any pieces of Ron that might still cling invisibly to the surfaces of my apartment. It smelled like bleach and floor cleaner—not unpleasant at all.
I grabbed a bag from my closet and tossed it on the bed, along with a dozen shirts and shorts, and shoes, too. I’d been wearing the same handful of outfits for the last few days at X’s and wanted him to know that I did in fact have underwear that weren’t lacy, pink, or screaming, “Ravish me!” I didn’t want to spoil him so much in the beginning.
That line of thinking gave me pause. If this was a beginning, that implied there would be a middle. And possibly an end. My hands shook for a second and I gripped onto my bag tightly with the sudden realization that I didn’t want an end.
Holy shit. I’d actually grown attached to him. Lucy Connors, attached to a man after what the last man had done to her.
I swallowed and let out a breath. This was some scary, scary shit.
The ground we stood on was so uneven that it would be too easy to fall into a crack. We weren’t talking about us as a combined unit, or what we were doing. We’d fallen into one another, time and time again, without any definitions or guidelines. He could fuck me over at any moment. Report Ronald’s murder to my PO and throw my ass back to prison to serve out my sentence. He could literally ruin my entire life—so why did that feel less scary than the prospect of engaging in an actual relationship with him?
If I entertained that line of thought too long, it’d come back to me being a criminal and him being, well, not a criminal. I was poor; he could buy my entire apartment block without batting an eye. I’d broken into his house. Stolen his watch—which was still hiding behind my dusty encyclopedias. Remembering it, I stuck my hand back there and pulled it out.
I brushed my thumb over the watch face, admiring how polished and shiny it was. I could hock it for a tidy sum of money, but I knew I needed to give it back to him.
Wait. What? Where had that come from?
I didn’t owe him anything.
Except this watch I stole, I reminded myself.
What the hell was I going to do with myself? This conscience shit was a burden. And even worse than my conscience was this feeling of obligation—like I owed it to X to do the right thing. Whatever it was that we were, it wouldn’t be right for me to sell his watch.
Before I could ponder that too long, a loud bang on my door caused me to jump.
“Hey, gutter rat,” the booming voice said on the other side of the door. “Open up.”
The voice wasn’t easily discernable through the door, but there was no mistaking who’d given me that nickname. Quietly, I put the watch back in its hiding place and straightened, staring at the door like it was keeping me safe from all harm. Which, it kind of was.
“What do you want?” I called, smart enough to know not to let Ronald’s business partner, Dale, into my apartment.
“Open the damn door.”
I didn’t answer, but heard the unmistakable sound of someone kicking at the base of it and knew I’d need to stop him before one of my neighbors called the cops.
“Shiiit,” I said under my breath as I whipped the door open and faced Dale.
Even though I blocked him from entering with my arm braced on the frame, he shoved right past me into the room.
“Can I help you?” I asked, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. Dale looked like someone who had kept his high school linebacker muscles, but his head was so disproportionately small compared to his beefed-up body that if my gaze lingered on it too long, I’d start laughing.
“Where have you been?”
“Working. Court stuff.” Not technically lies, but definitely an omission.
“I’ve come around every day for the last week. Have you seen Ronald?”
I praised the prison improv classes. “Yeah, he came by for an hour, but I gave him the cash and he split because my PO showed up.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Now, get out of my apartment.”
He didn’t even bother looking at me when I spoke. He wrenched cabinets open, drawers too, and I wasn’t sure what he was possibly looking for that could fit in those places.
“Well, I haven’t seen him for a week. The last time I talked to him, he was coming here.”
“Yeah, well, he was here and left in a hurry.” I shrugged. “Maybe he went on a bender.”
Dale leveled me with his gaze. “What do you know?”
“Nothing,” I said, making sure there wasn’t a single thread of panic in my voice. “He came here, got his money, and left.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you gave him what you owed us and he split?”
“I’m not telling you what to believe, Dale. I’m telling you what happened.”
He came up close to me, and while he didn’t have the distinct unwashed body scent that Ron had, his essence was equally repulsive. Like he’d bathed in something he found at the dollar store.
“Heard from Brad?”
I hadn’t said that name in so long that hearing it from Dale was enough to thrust me right back to the last moment I’d seen my ex-boyfriend.
“Nope,” I answered and stepped back. “He split, remember? Left me with his debt and drugs.”
“Yeah, so that’s your story. Peculiar that he disappeared after last being in your company, and now Ron is missing too.”
“That’s a coincidence, if you’re trying to imply I did something.”
“It’s just handy that the moment Ron and I showed up here for our cut of the deal, you’re empty of drugs and money.”
“Well, my douchebag ex-boyfriend took the drugs, the money, my shot glass collection, and ran away. If you ask me, I really only miss the shot glasses. Those are easy to steal, but I’d amassed quite the collection.”
“You think I really give a shit?” he asked, his patience worn thin already. He came back to the door and got in my face. “He was last seen with you, and I’m going to find him and the money you owe us.”
I sighed. The money I owed him was my ex-boyfriend’s debt. Too bad he’d blocked me on Facebook so I couldn’t even do some proper detective work.
“You look nervous,” he said up close. “What’s got you nervous?”
I had to actively work not to appear that way. “I’m not. I just want you out of my house.”
“I’m going to come back, and for your sake, I hope he turns up.”
“What does that mean?”
“That if he doesn’t turn up—I won’t be able to believe you about the money you owe us, and I’ll have to figure out a way to get my payment from you some other way.”
“Ugh.” I pushed him out the door, closing it until it was open just a crack. “You really need to work on your goon lines. That was clichéd and terrible.”
Before I could close the door all the way, he placed his palm flat on it and shoved, launching me against the wall. “You think this is a game? It’s not.” He was close enough that I could feel his breath on my skin. I backed up as far as I could, but he had me pinned. The icy fear I’d had when Ron had nearly choked me to death came flooding back. “It’d be in your best interest if you found Ronald for me.” His eyes were so close to my face and I couldn’t focus.
When he finally backed away, I slammed the door shut, flipped the deadbolt, and slid to the floor. My limbs felt loosey-goosey, and I knew Dale would make good on his threat.
The whole drive back to X’s, I felt wound up. Like I had more energy bubbling through my body than I had means to expel it.
Dale bringing up my ex, Brad, was a potent reminder of what had happened the last time I trusted someone to help me. X had a very strong hold over me, and without consciously thinking about it, I’d grown to trust him. Our situation had forced us together, but what about when this was all over?
Would he kick me to the curb? He told me he didn’t regret it—but he didn’t live the same kind of life I did. What if he regretted it? What if he changed his mind?
Would he, in the middle of the night, be so plagued with guilt from this that he’d call the cops and throw me under the bus in order to protect his reputation? I couldn’t say with certainty that he wouldn’t, which caused a dark cloud to accompany me back to X’s house.