Lucy’s bath has lasted an hour. I decided not to disturb her in case she yells at me again. I don’t wanna put pressure on her or make her feel any worse. I’m sure this whole situation has been rough for her. Not that I’ve done anything to make her stress out— She seems to bring that on herself. The girl seems tightly wound as they come, but I owe her some common decency.

In the time she’s been gone the cat has been shadowing me around the room. I need to know who this girl really is. Why does someone so sweet seem so compelled to help someone like me?

Before I can go rifling through her drawers, I find her paintings. There’s one resting on an easel in the corner. It’s a woman all hunched over, looking a bit rough. I knew she was talking herself down when she said she wasn’t that talented. Lucy’s got a gift, that’s for damn sure. The painting makes me feel something. It’s dark, layered with emotions far darker than I thought that pretty little butterfly could ever feel.

“What’s your mom’s deal then, huh buddy?” I say to the cat who replies with a mew. “Yeah, that so? She single then?” The cat glares at me. “Right, right, right. She’s yours, I get it, I get it.”

I keep perusing her stuff, making sure to put everything back in its place. The chick doesn’t have too many belongings; mostly clothing, some nature shit like leaves and acorns stuck to a cork board on a wall behind her painting. She’s got some sketches pinned up as well. Some of Billie, some of the redwoods and some of the cat.

“Quite the poser there, buddy,” I say and tousle his fur.

He jumps onto the table and knocks a notebook to the floor. I open it, seeing that it’s full of pressed flowers, journalings and sketches. I flick through a few more pages until my eyes land on something curious.

“What the fuck?”

There’s a word scratched into the page…

A familiar name…

LANDON.

The word’s been gone over and over again so many times that the page has become embossed.

The bathroom door opens and I slam the book shut.

“What are you doing?” Lucy appears, wrapped in a white bath towel, and dripping with water.

“Uh, I was…uh…Just, uh…” I bumble like a fuckin’ idiot. I’ve been caught. But when I think I’m gonna be received with a snarky tone, instead Lucy turns her attention to a closet at the other side of the room. Maybe she didn’t see me sleuthing after all. She lazily files through some half-empty hangers until she comes up with an outfit.

“Hungry?”

I shake my head. “You’ve done enough for me. You don’t have to feed me too.”

“You haven’t eaten.”

“I know. I’ll be alright, Lucy.”

My mind won’t let go of the name in the journal. My name…

Landon.

Her father? A friend? Her ex?

Maybe that explains it. This chick’s a psycho and she’s making me into this ex of hers. He must have really fucked this girl over. Maybe she was trying to make it right by taking me in like some lost puppy when she realized I was called Landon too.

I stop myself. The thought of some asshole treating this girl badly has my blood boiling. I turn back toward the easel in the corner, looking away as she dressed shamelessly in front of me.

“That’s a pretty dark painting,” I tell her. Lucy slips into a too-big I Heart California t-shirt. I watch it drop down over her body at the edge of my vision. I was starting to think this girl could make anything look good… “Who is she?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m still finding out.”

“She isn’t you?” I ask, turning just enough that I can watch her slip a pair of panties up over her hip.

“Can you quit staring and turn around for a second?” she asks, letting out a little laugh.

“Sorry,” I reply, looking back at the colors etched into the canvas.

“She isn’t me, Landon. She’s just a painting.”

I flinch as she says my name. Now it just seems so familiar coming from her lips. “She looks like you.”

“She’s definitely not me.”

The soft pitter-patter of her footsteps cue me to turn around again. She’s dressed in some old jeans so tight they should be illegal.

Eye-candy or not, I can’t shake this feeling that I need to tell her what I saw in the journal. I need to catch her off her guard so she’s honest with me about it.

I’m right there ready to say it but I stop myself. I can’t do it, not yet, in case she really is crazy. I need to be standing near an exit.

“I have work a little later. But help yourself to whatever. My refrigerator is empty so don’t go in there, but there’s some snacks and cereal in the cupboard. I’ll make sure to bring home something a little more substantial for you tonight.”

“Lucy,” I press.

“Shut up. I want to.”

She walks right up to me from the kitchen with an open palm and a glass of water. “Here, take these.”

I look down to see three white capsules in her hand. “What’s this?”

“Poison. So I can knock you out, chain you up and have my way with you. Take it.” My forced laugh must be telling because she leans back wearily. “Woah, wait. Do you really think I’d do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not poison, Landon,” she says shoving the water into my chest. “It’s milk thistle. Billie says it’s good for memory. And that’s an ibuprofen to help with the pain and swelling in your shoulder.”

I still hesitate. Since when did I become the poor victim in this situation? Where have my balls gone since meeting this girl? I don’t take her offerings.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Just take them.”

“Thanks,” I reply, throwing the pills into my mouth and taking a drink.

“Anyway, who’s this guy?”

Lucy crouches down and lifts the fat cat into her arms. “This gentleman is Babeen. He’s the landlords’ cat. They live further up the hill. I think he likes me better though, don’t you, little prince?”

She looks back at me, assuming I’d continue the conversation but I can’t do it. I can’t hold this discovery in any longer. Something inside is screaming out that this is wrong. I shouldn’t be here. I need answers. My time is now…

“Who’s Landon?” I blurt out.

She backs off and places Babeen on the floor. “W—What?”

“Who is Landon, Lucy?”

“You are.”

“I know I am, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the real Landon, the one written in your sketch book over there.”

“You went through my things?”

“Don’t dodge the question. The cat knocked it off the shelf.”

“That’s fucking private!”

“I don’t give a damn now I’ve seen it. So who the fuck is this guy?”

“I…”

“It’s a simple fuckin’ question. Who is Landon?”

She’s hyperventilating.

“Lucy, relax and just answer me.”

“It’s nobody!”

“Nobody doesn’t get their name carved through twenty sheets of paper.”

“Who goes through someone’s journal like that?”

“It’s an art corner, it’s not exactly locked away in a dark closet. I just wanted to see some of your shit. You’re really talented. I just saw my name and… I’m not trying to freak you out.”

“Well, you damn well have.” Lucy shouts, returning to the bathroom and slamming the door. I stood there in silence for ten more minutes before she finally emerged, her makeup doing a piss poor job of hiding the fact that she’d been crying.

“I’ll be back at ten.” She doesn’t give me even a look nor a chance to respond.

Whoever the fuck her Landon was, he definitely left this girl broken.