Devoid [Bruno Mars]

Chapter fifteen

Chapter fifteen

Bruno wanted to stay a few nights here. He didn't feel like hitting the road, being Los Angeles was about an hour's drive, his place even farther. I told him it's fine, but the pantry had cobwebs and I'd have to go to the store. On my way out the door, he stopped me. “Wait.”

He reached inside of his back pocket, pulling out his wallet then flipped it open. He handed me his credit card. “Here.”

“No, I have it,” I said, startled. My mother transferred money to my account randomly, but consistently. It wasn't something I was proud of, being dependent of her for money, which is why I wanted a job of my own. But if I ever did work, she wouldn't know about it. The only way I knew she still kept me in mind was when a fresh transfer had been made, so I needed those to keep coming. I needed to know she still thought of me. She had not replied to my emails in weeks.

“Take it. I want you to.” His outstretched hand encouraged me to take it, to grab a form of his trust and shove it in my bag. I got the feeling he wanted me to know that he trusted me, and that I could trust him the same.

I took it from his fingers defeatedly. Though it was plastic and weighed near nothing, his gesture meant something great. “Watch I never come back.” I smiled.

He laughed, then grew serious. “Why don't you get yourself something?”

“I don't need anything.” I reached for the front door. He lightly grabbed my wrist. “Get something you want, then?” His eyes were soft, like his voice. Alluring, almost. He could drown me in them without any resistance from me.

“Why?”

“You're my girl and,”—he half smiled—“I want to do for you.”

My heart twisted at his words. “The things I want are free, Bruno.” I looked away from him. “And they cannot be found in a store.”

I left it at that.

*

The next morning, Bruno dropped into the seat of the dining room table in front of me, telling me good morning. I pushed the plate of food I made towards him. “For me? Thank you.” But he didn't take his eyes from me. “What happened last night?”

Last night. I waited for the water to finish softening his Ramen and saw a shadow in the living room window. My skin prickled, heart rate doubling. Someone was looking in. I grabbed the nearest thing to me and, while Bruno was in the bathroom, climbed out the window next to the one I saw the person in, which was inside my room.

I gripped the fork so hard the silver hurt my palm.

I made my steps light as I went around the building, to the front where the living room window was located. But only a tree stood in front of the window, branches swaying in the breeze like a teetering human.

I put my face in my hands and leaned against the building for a very long time.

When someone came up to me I jumped, thrusting out my fork. “Woah, woah, woah.” He leaped back. “Everythin’ okay, miss?” I recognized him as my neighbor, saw him occasionally when I came home for a few days.

Strangers do care. I talked to him for awhile, casual small-talk like why I almost stabbed him with silverware, until Bruno leaned out the window and spotted me.

That's what he was asking about. “I already told you, B. I thought I saw someone.”

He kept his tone casual. “And that guy was your neighbor?” I nodded. “What are you all dressed pretty for?”

I looked down at myself. I wore another pair of faded jeans and simple red top. He could not be talking about such a bland fashion. I thought about my face. I put on make-up this morning to mask my tiredness. I hadn't slept last night. I waited until Bruno's breathing became even beside me then paced the room. It helped reel my thoughts that kept coming. I checked my email repeatedly, hoping for a message that would never come. I wondered why my best friend was such an ass and how bad she made me feel about the violin and hoped to hear from her soon. I looked at Bruno, half covered by the blanket, and my breathing would halt but my thoughts would not. He seemed the type to have a woman who wore the blood of men as lipstick and heels with such fierceness they walk on the chests of their enemies. He must see something in me that I do not. Someone who I'm incapable of being; who I'm capable of being.