Chapter 3
Dayfly
Peter brought the last of the boxes into his new room. It was large for an 1800s era home. Then again, the entire house was massive. He had gotten turned backward during the tour yesterday with all its rooms, doorways, halls, and staircases.
The room that Ms. Diana had given him was already furnished with a full-sized bed, a dresser, desk, nightstand, and a chest at the foot of the bed, which he promptly moved to under one of the windows. All the furnishings seemed to be about one hundred years old, yet its craftsmanship would last even more centuries. He was in love with it.
Setting the last box on his desk, he took inventory of his things, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. All he had with him was a suitcase full of clothes and several boxes of personal belongings, including his laptop. Most of his stuff had been shipped back to his parents’ house with Jason’s, not that he’d had much.
After moving in with Jason, he had fallen in love with the East Coast. Though he hadn’t bothered to socialize much, he thought the people were a lot nicer; speaking more freely, not afraid to hide their opinion behind hushed whispers. He loved the style of the older homes, far different than the stucco, Spanish styles that were so popular on the West Coast. He loved the richer history, the diversity, the constantly changing weather. The only things he really missed from out west were his parents and the beach, which couldn’t compare to the gentler waters of the East Coast.
Unlike his home life, Peter had loved every minute he had shared with his brother. They had always had a good time together, whether that was on the off chance that Jason had been able to talk him into going out and hanging out with his brother’s friends, or having a quiet night in. The rough Marines his brother had served with as a field medic had molded Peter into the man he was now—strong, determined, and always looking ahead instead of back, except for certain memories. Those memories were meant to be held. They were what fueled him, what made him so determined to live when everyone wanted him to suffer, what made him determined to find answers. To prove once and for all that everyone had been wrong.
Now that he had recently graduated, having needed an extension on a couple of classes due to his brother’s death, he was starting to work for his parents, though remotely and far away from the cynics. It was something he had always wanted to do. He had fun designing ads, coming up with catch phrases, and building websites.
“Is that all you have, dear?”
Snapped out of his thoughts, Peter turned to see Ms. Diana hovering in the doorway. He smiled. “Yes, ma’am. All I need, at least.”
She simply returned his smile, glanced around, then walked away.
Thank God, Peter thought. He liked the idea of having roommates, but he expected that, if he was in his room, that meant he wanted privacy. That should have been the unspoken rule.
He could hear faint music coming through the wall. He knew it was Tristana, who shared a wall and bathroom with him. He was one hundred and ten percent positive Ms. Diana had given him this room intentionally, as there were more than enough rooms in this house. Two others were empty on this floor and four more were on the third floor, while Ms. Diana’s room was downstairs.
Pulling a small gift box out of his suitcase, he opened it and glanced down at the treasure that gave him both nightmares and memories of happier times. It was a priceless artifact, one that was never far from him. One that meant too much to him. One that would soon be delivered back to its intended owner.
Setting it reverently in a top drawer of his new dresser, he then looked over at all the other boxes, wondering where to start. Instead of coming up with an answer, his eyes drifted once again toward the bathroom that divided his and Tristana’s rooms. He tried picturing what her room looked like and what she was doing in there.
His fascination with her had not died out since last night. In fact, he had dreamt about her. They had been swimming in the cold Pacific, stealing kisses. Then it had flipped to them sitting before a fire. He remembered his parents and brother had been in the dream at some point. The dream had been like a movie reel in fast motion, scenes flashing by at a blink.
At the memory of it, Peter tore his gaze from her wall and proceeded to tackle the job of getting his room in order.
Two hours later, he finally made his way to the bathroom to put his toiletries away. The bathroom was small with just an old-fashioned bathtub with a showerhead, one sink, and the toilet. There was a cabinet under the sink that was already overrun with Tristana’s things, and a towel rack hung behind each door.
With everything done, he decided to head to the store to pick up some groceries. Ms. Diana explained that everyone got their own shelf in the refrigerator and pantry. However, she loved to cook and tended to “borrow” things if she planned on making a meal for everyone. Peter thought that would sound a bit shady if anyone else had said it, but there was just something about Ms. Diana that left you feeling she was beyond reproach. He definitely wouldn’t be telling her to leave his stuff alone.
~~~~~
When Tristana heard the new tenant moving around in the bathroom, she started cursing to herself. She should have made room for his stuff already. However, she had been so caught up in the picture she was enhancing that all other thoughts had fled her mind. Now she would have to wait until he was out of the bathroom before going in there.
She turned her music down so she could listen more intently to him moving around as she worked. Her newest project was simply for her portfolio. A photograph of a woman sitting alone, looking dejected on a park bench as a man moved away from her in the distance. Even though the shot had been a coincidence, it appeared as if the man had just broken the woman’s heart and she now sat there in her silent heartbreak. Tristana was in the process of shading it, making it appear dark and dreary. Her buyers loved the dark themes in her work.
She was a digital artist, using photography to manipulate images, allowing her to create scenes that weren’t of this world. Just by adding violet eyes to an individual or warping a tree’s branches so it appeared to be reaching out to a figure, she created images of fantasy, mystery, and inspired a longing for a world full of magic. Her fans simply loved her, and despite her hesitations, she was sought out by many for film, book, music, and even video game storyboards.
As she added imperceptible tears to the trees surrounding the sad woman, she heard the new tenant leave his room then walk down the creaking hallway, past her room. She clicked save on the image as she pushed away from her desk to go move her things in the bathroom.
Why do I feel the need to do this now? I’m going to look like a desperate idiot trying to appease him. With that thought, Tristana decided she would use the excuse of taking a shower as to why she now remembered to move her things.
She stripped off her comfy yoga pants and tank top, throwing them back into her bedroom before she started moving all her stuff from his side to hers, finding he had basically put things wherever there was room. She thought about moving his stuff from her side to his, but then she decided against it. He’ll get the idea.
As she moved her lotions and perfumes from the bathroom to her bedroom, she wondered why Ms. Diana would subject her to sharing a bathroom with a young male. Did the woman have any shame? She was such a lovesick dreamer. Ms. Diana just couldn’t get over the fact that Tristana had never brought a man home. She thought Tristana spent too much time working and not enough time having fun like other people her age. Well, Tristana had news for her. Moving a guy into her now co-ed bathroom was not going to change her single status. That was just not in her foreseeable future or plans at that point, if ever.
Tristana liked not having to answer to anyone. She liked not feeling tied down. She liked that, if she wanted to do something, she just did it. Relationships meant answering to someone. They meant explaining why you were doing something a certain way, thinking a certain way. Relationships were supposed to be honest and open, and that just wasn’t something Tristana could give someone. She didn’t confide in anyone. She couldn’t be honest. That wasn’t how she had learned to survive.
She was walking back into the bathroom to retrieve another handful of her toiletries when Peter’s bathroom door slammed open.
“Oh, shit!” Peter quickly turned around, blindly reaching for the door handle.
Tristana screamed girlishly before she yelled out, “Don’t you knock?” She grabbed the robe hanging off the back of her bathroom door and threw it around herself.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Peter chanted before retorting like she was the one to blame, “Do you always walk around your room half naked?”
“Of course not, you asshole! I was about to take a shower and … and … I was trying to move my stuff for you!” she spat, shouting by the end. “Get out!”
“Sure …” Peter started to shut the door, but then swung it open again, finally chancing a look since she was still standing there and not hiding. His tension visibly relaxed when he saw she had covered up.
Slowly raising his eyes, he took in her body in the thin robe until he reached her eyes. She had the most unique eyes he had ever seen. This close, he could see they were a kaleidoscope of colors, all blended together to look almost gray from a distance
She sighed in frustration and rolled her eyes at the fact that he had decided he wasn’t done humiliating her.
Peter looked down in embarrassment again. “Um … I was actually coming over to see if you would, um … I was going grocery shopping, but the closest one I know of is the next town over, and I—”
“Need directions?” Tristana cut in, haughtily placing her hands on her hips.
“Well, I was hoping you would come with me.” His eyes flicked back to her with humor and … Is that a dare in his eyes? Tristana thought.
Tristana quirked an eyebrow at him. “Ask Ms. Diana for directions or a chaperone if you need one,” she told him, knowing Ms. Diana wouldn’t go. “Like I said, I’m about to take a shower, and I still need to finish moving my stuff.” She started to tap her foot impatiently, hoping he would get the clue to get the hell out.
As Peter continued to stare her down, Tristana realized he was more gorgeous close up. He couldn’t be military as she had first assumed. His military cut was too long on top to meet the requirements. His five o’clock shadow was well past five and dangerously closer to two days scruff. If he was, he was seriously out of regulation.
Before she could dam up the flood of her thoughts, she opened her mouth and spitefully asked, “Aren’t you military? You look like shit.”
Peter tensed at her tone then barked out a laugh as her face turned ten shades of red. “Uh, no, I’m not.” He swiped his hand through his overgrown buzz-cut, his face losing its humor. “I … uh … recently lost my brother who was, and I felt like I should cut my hair in memory of him.”
“Oh.” Tristana couldn’t think of what to say to that. She felt humiliated. More so than when he had walked in on her almost naked. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t stopped her brain to mouth filter. However, how would she know? Right? “I would apologize, but his death isn’t my fault, right? So, I apologize for asking, and you have my sympathy.”
“Thanks … I think,” Peter mumbled. Then his frown turned upside down, giving Tristana a sinking feeling. “You know, you could make it up to me by ‘chaperoning’ me to the grocery store.”
Tristana shook her head. “I think I kind of cancelled out one transgression with another, so I don’t have to agree with this.”
“How so?”
She raised an eyebrow. “How about you walking in on me almost naked?”
“You’re the one who didn’t lock the door.”
“I thought you left!” Tristana stammered.
“Really? Why did you think that?” Peter leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms, looking a little cocky.
“Because … you … I-I heard you leave.” Yeah, that didn’t sound embarrassingly stalker-ish. She had known she should have waited until later to move her stuff.
“Come with me,” Peter told her.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Tristana held her ground. “Because I don’t want to.”
“Why don’t you want to?”
“God! Are you always so obtuse?”
“What am I being obtuse about? I need to go grocery shopping. I’m asking my new roomie, who I haven’t officially met yet and want to get to know because I will be living with her and sharing a bathroom with her, to accompany me to the grocery store. I don’t see how I’m being obtuse about this.”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
Peter’s grin widened. “Is that a yes?”
“No!” Tristana shouted.
“Again, why not? I’ll wait till you’re done with your shower.”
Tristana profusely shook her head.
“Come on,” Peter begged. “Please …”
Before Tristana could opened her mouth to curse him out for being annoying, Peter gave her a calculating look that made her swallow her words.
“I dare you.”
“You …? You dare me?” Tristana stammered, not used to men playing with her.
“Yeah, you know the game. Truth or dare. I’m not asking for a choice. I’m daring you.”
Tristana’s face turned from shock into a wicked gleam. “Oh, you have messed with the wrong person.” She couldn’t help laughing. Laughing like she hadn’t in years. This guy had messed with the wrong person. “Good thing you started with a dare, because I don’t do truths.” She contemplated for a minute. She could play this game.
She walked forward until she was standing right in front of Peter.
Shocked by the change in her defensive body posture to this aggressive one, he shoved himself off the doorframe and stood in front of her in a wide, domineering stance. “Really?” he questioned.
“Yeah.” She nodded. “I’ll play along with your dare, but I get one in return that I’ll turn in at my convenience.”
“Okay,” Peter agreed with a nod and a triumphant smile. “That’s only fair, right?”
“Right,” Tristana agreed before shoving him out of the doorway. “Now get the fuck out so I can take a shower.”
Peter laughed as he stumbled backward into his own room.
Tristana slammed his bathroom door shut.
~~~~~
“Turn here,” Tristana directed with a point of her finger.
He listened to her instructions, taking the right turn.
Tristana looked out the side window, pondering why their car ride was so quiet after such a brusque “bare all” introduction not half an hour before. When she had gotten out of the shower and dressed, she had knocked on his adjoining bedroom door with a “you ready?” before she had silently followed him out to his car. Practically nothing else had been said since.
Peter finally cleared his throat and shifted uneasily in his seat, drawing Tristana’s attention from the world speeding by. “So, you’re Tristana?”
“Yep,” she responded then looked back out the window. It was all she could do not to stare at him. Anything else would have felt awkward. Well, more awkward.
Peter’s cheeks ballooned out before he blew air out of his mouth. “You don’t talk much, do you? Well, except when you’re pissed.”
“Pretty much … What’s your name, by the way?” Tristana couldn’t help looking back at him then, unable to believe she hadn’t even asked him earlier. The man infuriated and slightly intrigued her. She needed to shake her easily scattered thoughts back together.
Peter laughed. “Thought you’d never ask.” He stuck his hand out to her. “Peter. Peter Carsten.”
Tristana gently clasped his hand and shook two pumps. His hand felt rugged and calloused, like he worked outdoors a lot. She smiled to herself as she thought that she really did prefer a rough hand to the soft ones of office workers. In her experience, the rougher the hand, the rougher the—
“Why are you grinning like that?” Peter’s question made Tristana blush profusely.
“Nothing. I like your name. I’ve never met a Peter before.” Her brow furrowed as she thought about that statement, trying to recall anyone from her past who might have had that name and coming up empty. “It seems like such a common name, but it’s really rare, isn’t it? Oh, turn left here,” Tristana quickly added.
Peter jerked the wheel to the left then smiled over at Tristana. “Yeah, I think the whole Peter Pan thing is a turn off. Who wants to name their kid after a flying boy who wears tights?”
Tristana laughed with her head thrown back. “I don’t know about that. I think Peter Pan is pretty hot. He’s got that whole bad boy image, you know? Always causing mischief with all his lost boy friends, taunting Captain Hook, corrupting the Indian chief’s daughter, hanging out with the mermaids. It’s probably the fathers who put their foot down because of the whole tight-wearing thing. Men have more self-esteem issues than women.”
“Hey, that’s not true,” Peter argued. “My butt looks big in this dress. I’m fat. My boobs are too small. You hear it all the time.”
“Right …” Tristana said dryly. “I’m sure men are just as insecure. They just don’t voice it like women. Inside, you guys are all worried about your weight and dick size. I’m sure you guys all steal secret glances at each other’s penises at the urinal—”
“Hell no!” Peter snapped. “You get your ass kicked for doing something like that.”
Tristana threw her head back again with another laugh, and Peter smiled as he watched the sheer delight on her pretty face.
Through her laughter, she asked, “Are you speaking from experience?”
Peter schooled his features into a disgusted look. “Uh, no. I do not care to see another man’s junk.” He gave a mock shudder, and Tristana laughed again.
“Turn here! Turn here!” she squealed then grabbed the grip handle as Peter jerked the steering wheel to the left, barely making the turn. Still laughing hysterically and adrenaline now flowing through her body, she said, “My God! I’m so sorry. I should have paid better attention.”
“It’s all good. Nothing like quick maneuvering to get the blood pumping.” Peter chuckled.
“Ya think?”
“So, tell me, Tristana, what do you do for fun around here?” Peter stole a look at her from the corner of his eye while pretending to be more focused on the road.
“Besides almost flipping cars? Nothing much. I work … a lot and go for long drives.” Tristana pointed at the store. “There it is.”
They both remained silent as Peter turned into the parking lot, parked, and they got out, heading in. Peter grabbed a shopping cart while Tristana silently followed behind him as they weaved through the produce. Then she pulled out her phone when it chirped.
“How does this food thing work at the house?” Peter asked as he picked through some apples.
“You just know what you bought and leave the rest alone.” Tristana remained intent on her phone, smiling softly at the text she had received. “There really isn’t a lot of room with everyone else’s food. I keep a mini-fridge for most of my snacks, drinks, and such. I only store meats, noodles—things that actually need to be cooked in the kitchen. Oh, and be prepared for Ms. Diana to steal yours. She never leaves the house, so if someone—that means me—isn’t around to get her something, she just takes it. And don’t be surprised if you find a grocery list slid under your door.”
Peter moved on to grab a bag of pistachios. “Good to know. Thanks. I guess I should invest in a mini-fridge, too.”
Tristana nodded, remaining focused on her phone. “There’s a hardware store across the street—they sell them. We can stop there after you’re done here.”
“Good deal.”
Peter continued his shopping while Tristana remained focused on her phone, studying then saving the images that had been sent. She followed behind him almost blindly until they reached the toiletry section where she threw a box of tampons into his cart.
“I want you to buy these.”
Peter looked at her like she had lost her mind. “Why …?”
She looked at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “It’s your dare.”
Peter’s confused expression turned into a wide grin. “That’s all? Really? Not a problem,” he stated arrogantly, starting to push his cart forward again with a cocky swagger, relieved that her dare was too easy. If she had thought to embarrass him, she was sadly mistaken. Feminine hygiene products would not bring him down.
Tristana’s face took on a serious expression as she placed her hand on his arm, stopping him. “No, that’s not all,” she basically sneered. “I want you to tell everyone within hearing that you’re getting them for …” Tristana stood on her tiptoes and whispered in Peter’s ear.
“Shit,” Peter mumbled, his grin having died the quickest death after the last two words had slipped past her lips. His face took on a green tint. He wanted to run away as fast as he could, groceries be damned.
Standing frozen, thoughts stuck on his dilemma—there was no way he could back down and let her win—he then promptly made a one-eighty with his cart, pointing it toward the front of the store. He marched determinedly toward the first available register, no longer able to think of what else he needed to buy. After this, he wouldn’t buy another damn thing in this store. Tristana had made damn sure he would continue shopping in the next town over, a payback for dragging her out here with him.
At the register, a teenage girl greeted him as she began to ring up his groceries. He smiled at her, still green in the face, then looked back to find Tristana a couple of registers down, looking too intently at a magazine. Bitch. She was going to make him suffer alone.
He couldn’t even think of how he would pull this dare off. His mind was blank. What would he do, just blurt it out when the girl grabbed them? That seemed the easiest route, like ripping a Band-Aid off. People wouldn’t even know to what he was referring. Maybe they would think he was talking about something or someone else.
Sweat was beading on his forehead, his heart was racing as he watched that blue box of tampons make its way down the conveyor belt. He was going to get sick. His throat felt tight. He wouldn’t even be able to get the words out.
And then, the inevitable happened, because that was exactly what happened in these situations, right? Of course.
“Aw, that’s so sweet of you to get tampons for your girlfriend.” The cashier girl beamed at him.
Peter blanched. He heard the she-devil snicker from registers down and looked up to see her hide her face in the magazine, her shoulders shaking as she tried to hide her mirth. From behind him, an older lady smiled consolingly at him, no doubt keen on his embarrassment and wrongly thinking it was simply because of the womanly product itself.
Taking a deep breath, albeit a shaky one, Peter summoned up all his courage, and now aversion at the hellion still hiding behind her magazine, and yelled out, “Anal bleeding!”