Life always seems so grueling. Like a fight to get to the end of the day. The end of the week. The end of the month. Then end of the year. Constantly fighting for what we want. Except before we know it, we are no longer fighting towards the end of our day, we are fighting towards our end. We then change the direction of our battle. Fighting against the end instead of fighting towards it. Fighting to stay alive. Life is always a fight. There is never time to put down your guard because before you know it, another struggle just put up its fists. And it's time for you to begin fighting again.
...
I sit on the curb and stare at the puddles. This town. This town will be the death of me. I rest my head on my knees, letting the rain fall on me. I faintly hear the roar of a loud engine approaching. I tilt my head up, and see an old black truck driving towards me.
The car jolts up besides me and stops. Alex rolls down the passenger window. "Get in the car," he says. I can't tell his emotion. It kind of scares me.
I rest my head back on my legs.
"Kristen. You don't know where you are. Get in the damn car," he argues in a lighter tone.
"Why? So you can lecture me about my choices?" I say in a monotone voice.
"Kristen, just get in the car. We can talk, just get in the car. You are a mess." I glare at him. I know I'm a f*cking mess. I can see that Alex, thanks for stating the obvious.
"I don't even know you," I mumble.
"Don't play that f*cking card on me. You know me better than probably anyone here, and you know that. Get in the car." He argues.
I stay put. I'm just making his life a hassle. His life would be easier without me in it. "You don't even know me. Why are you trying to help me? Why do you keep trying to be nice to me?"
He runs his hands through his hair and hits the steering wheel.
"I don't know. I really don't know. Look, you are pissing me off, just get in the f*cking truck."
My eyes go wide as he curses at me.
"Sorry, could you please just get in the truck?" He corrects himself.
I stare at the ground.
"God dammit Kristen, I didn't want to do this." He climbs out of the car and walks over to me. He grabs me by my waist and flings me over his shoulder like I am a sack of f*cking potatoes.
"Hey, get off me!" I growl as I try to wiggle free.
He opens the truck door and sets me in the seat. I huff and cross my arms as he climbs in the other door of the car.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" I huff. "No one likes me here. I'm just a girl that everyone wants to get rid of. I don't belong here with you people."
He stays silent and he drives off down the confusing streets.
"I don't know. I guess... I just know how I would feel if I were you. Alone. And no one deserves to feel alone."
"Well, I don't want to be your charity case. You don't need to fix me. I'm not some broken little girl that you and your friends can laugh over." I say as I put my forehead against the cold glass window.
"I'm not trying to fix you, Kris. I just don't want you to be alone. Cause the feeling of being completely by yourself is the worst feeling in the world. And, I think you are pretty f*cking great. So, get over it." He smirks and he drives towards what I think is my aunt's house.
I give a weak smile. "Thanks," I mumble.
"Anytime," he says as he drums his thumbs on the steering wheel.
A few minutes pass in silence.
"I didn't do it, you know. With Keith. He told me it was your idea," I say lightly as I pick at my nail polish.
"Oh, I know," he chuckles. "It sounded like a cheap porno in there. You had me fooled at first, and then Keith started high-fiving guys and it all made sense. Keith hates high-fives. Plus, I would never make you do something like that," he laughs as he shakes his head.
I gape at him. "Was it really that bad?" I laugh.
"Yeah, but Carly believed it so props to you. Everyone else thought it was pretty hilarious, so I don't know what you are worrying about. Also, Keith convinced a lot of them to go along with it. I'm pretty sure Carly won't find out that it was you smacking your ass and not Keith."
I burry my face in my hands. "Oh God, was I really that bad?" I burst out laughing.
He laughs with me and nods.
"Wait, how do you know what cheap porn sounds like?" I begin laughing harder as he goes silent.
"No comment," he says as he wiggles his eyebrows. I laugh harder.
"Oh my gosh, I'm gonna die." I say as I wipe the rain off of my face. My abs (that I don't have) hurt from laughing so hard.
...
Alex pulls up in front of my house. I look at my phone, the clock reads 7:00 p.m. The day flew by. The sun is barely still up, casting a purplish glow on the evening. The clouds cleared up, and the small stars are visible in the darkest parts of the sky.
Alex helps me out of the car and walks me up to the front door. I go to unlock the door when it hits me.
My moms client.
Her car is in the drive way along with another vehicle I have never seen before. Suddenly, noises that also sound like cheap porn come flooding out of the thin walls. I stand on the doorstep mortified. I can't believe this is happening. With Alex right here. My face turns white as the blood rushes out of my head.
I can't even look at him.
"Wanna crash at my place tonight?" He asks as I go to step inside.
I look at him and nervously bite my lip.
Hearing my mom scream, "Harder, harder!" all night long is not ideal.
"Please," I say as I close the door and get back in his truck.
...
We walk into the lobby of a tall apartment building surrounded by other skyscrapers. It is nearly night, the surrounding city of L.A. is lit up bright.
My clothes are soaked, my hair is dripping all over the place, and my bra is very uncomfortable when wet. My shoes squeak on the tile floor as Alex leads me over to the elevator. The lobby is nice. Rustic looking, a few brick walls with a straight shot to the elevator.
Alex punches a code into the elevator pad. Fancy. It opens with a ding. He presses the 9th floor button. The 9th floor is the very top floor. Damn.
The elevator opens to a hallway, lined with a few other doors to other apartments. He walks over to a door near the end of the hall. 107 H is stuck to the door in brass looking letters. He jingles his keys out of his pocket and puts one in the door knob. He turns the knob, but nothing happens.
"This happens sometimes. Here," he rattles the door handle and throws his shoulder into the door. It opens with a thump and a creak. "The place is a bit messy, sorry. I wasn't expecting company."
"It's fine, I'm not a big germaphobe type." I say and he holds the door open for me. I step onto a small hardwood floored entrance. I hang my jacket on a small hook by the door and kick off my shoes, setting them neatly under my hanging jacket. I look up at the apartment. Messy? If this is his definition of messy then my room is World War II.
There is a bathroom to my left. A walk in shower, a nice bathtub, and a lot of counter space. Everything looks really modern-rustic, and I love it. A brick wall is to my right, lining all the way out into the carpeted living room. I take a few steps in, and look at the living room.
His living room, dining room, and kitchen are all slightly combined. He has a three seater couch that faces a flat screen television that sits in front of the brick wall. He has two lounge chairs that sit facing the T.V. and a wooden coffee table in front of the couch. He also has a small bookcase sitting next to the television. Next, there is a small step up that transitions back to hardwood floors. The entire side wall lining the place is windows. The city lights sparkle through the glass. There is a window seat besides the living room, with very fluffy cushions.
His kitchen sits to the left of his small dining area. He has a granite top bar facing the kitchen, and classy stainless steel appliances. A modern looking chandelier casts a beautiful glow over the entire room. His dining room is just to the right of the kitchen on the little raised platform. It is a small, wooden table with four chairs around it. The same chandelier that hangs over the kitchen hangs over the table. The white French doors (to his what I'm guessing is his bedroom) sit in between the kitchen and dining area. They are closed, and have frosted glass panes for privacy.
"Wow," I say as I step down to the living room. "You really know how to design," I say as I take it all in.
He chuckles. "Actually, I don't. My grandma does. My grandparents bought me this place. It was a dump when we first got it. There was a fire in this building a long time ago, and they never fixed this room. The owner practically handed it to my grandparents. I helped fix it up for them, so they gave it to me. They help out on the rent, too."
"Wow," I say again as I walk over to the window and stare out at Los Angeles.
"The view is my favorite part of this place," he says.
"I can tell why."
"Are you hungry?" he says as he walks over to the fridge.
"Starving," I say as I gaze out at the lights.
"You're lucky I just went grocery shopping," he laughs as he opens the fridge. "Want pasta?" He asks.
"Anything is fine, I'm not picky. Unless it comes to leafy herbal teas." I smirk as he laughs.
"You wanna take a shower? Cause you're kind of dripping all over the place," I chuckles as I look down at the small puddle forming around my feet on the hardwood floor.
"I don't have any clothes to change into," I say as he walks puts up his hand.
"I got some sweatshirts and boxers and stuff?" he shrugs. "Come on."
I follow him as he opens the French doors to his bedroom. The bed is a king size, with messy white sheets and a white duvet cover with a few pillows. The back wall that his bed is against is all brick. His bed sits on a white shaggy rug. He has a small writing desk facing out towards the window on the right wall. He also has a wooden dresser and bed side tables. To the left, another door goes to a bathroom.
"The bathroom is through there, towels are in the cabinet, and I can grab you," his voice trails off as he walks over to his dresser. He pulls out a grey sweatshirt, a t-shirt and navy plaid boxers. He hands them to me. "This is all I have that will mildly fit you," he says as he rubs the back of his neck.
"Thanks," I smile shyly. "Where should I put my wet clothes?"
"Uh, there is a washer and dryer in the closet in their. So, you can just put them in to washer and I can get to it later."
"Oh, well thanks." I say as I walk into the bathroom and close the door. I set the clothes he gave me on the counter and begin to search the cabinets for towels. The counter has one sink, a walk in shower with a sliding glass door, a few cabinets, and a toilet around a small corner area.
I open up the closet and find a washer and dryer. I peel my jeans off of my legs, and put them in the washing machine.
"Uh, hey I have-" Alex's voice says just outside the bathroom door.
The door suddenly opens as my ass faces it.
"Oh my god," Alex stutters as he closes the door, laughing uncomfortably. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you undressed that quickly."
My cheeks go red. Thank God I was wearing underwear. Coincidentally my cute, black, lacey thong. "It's fine," I laugh.
"I just wanted to give you this." He opens the door a crack and sets a bottle of body wash on the counter. "I didn't have another bottle in the shower."
I walk over to the counter and grab the bottle. I then lock the door. Don't want that happening again.
...
I step out of the shower and wipe the steam off of the mirror. I wipe the mascara out from underneath my eyes the best that I can. I grab the t-shirt, sweatshirt and boxers and slip them on. They smell so good. Like man. Not regular high school boy, but a strong man.
I roll the boxers up a few times to turn them into shorts. I dry out my hair with the towel and hang it on one of the bathroom hooks.
"What smells so good?" I say as I step out of the bathroom and walk into the kitchen.
Alex is standing at the cutting board, cutting slices of tomatoes. His back is to me. "Pasta."
He changed clothes. He now is wearing a pair of worn out jeans. They fit him really well. The bottoms by his heels are worn, as if he had walked hundreds of miles in them. He wears a gray t-shirt that hangs on him perfectly. It is tight enough that I can see his back muscles tense with every movement he makes.
I shake my head. Stop it.
"I thought you meant microwave pasta not with homemade noodles and sauce." I say. "You really don't have to do this."
"Eh, I want to. I never really have guests over. And I like to let out my inner Gordon Ramsey every now and then," he laughs as he turns around and looks at me. His gorgeous, white smile slowly fades as he eyes me up and down. "Fits you better than me," he mumbles.
I squirm a bit, and he shakes his head. It is silent for a bit, and then...
"What in f*cking hell is this slob?" He yells in his best Gordon Ramsey voice. I begin laughing uncontrollably.
"I asked for pasta! Not dog sh*t!" I respond in the same accent.
We laugh as I walk over and start cutting tomatoes with him. The sauce is bubbling on the stove next to a pot full of boiling water.
"Here, cut the basil." He says as he hands me a bunch of basil. He walks over to his stereo and turns on Make Me Wanna by Thomas Rhett.
"Country music? I didn't know you were into that." I say as he walks back over and continues cutting tomatoes.
"I can change it if you want me to," he says as he walks over and stirs the sauce. He dumps a box of noodles into the boiling water.
"No it's okay. I love this song."
We begin silently singing. Lightly humming to to the tune of the song. I sway my hips a bit as I chop the basil. The singing slowly gets louder. Before I know it, we are in full blown concert mode. Laughing, singing, and dancing as we cook dinner.
I put the basil and garlic into the red sauce as he stirs the noodles. "Okay, I don't know what I'm doing so you should take over." I laugh.
"You've never cooked before?" he asks as he tastes the sauce.
"Not exactly," I say as I rub my arm. "You know. Growing up, I never had a mom that I could cook with. It was mostly cheap burnt popcorn or ramen noodles."
"Oh," he says. "Well, I can teach you." he shrugs.
"Deal," I smile as I stir the noodles.
It is quiet for a moment. The music lightly plays in the background. "Sorry about my mom," I say lightly. "I don't want you to have to babysit me. I can handle living in that house."
"Kris, I don't care what your mom does at all. I just want you to be safe. And if that means me sleeping on the couch every night, I'd do it." He is silent for a moment. "I've never met someone that I can stand. And I don't want you getting hurt by crazy assholes." He says as bumps me with his hip.
"Thanks," I smile shyly. No one has ever actually me feel cared for. Feel Relevant. "I'm just uncomfortable in the house when clients are over. Ever since-" I stop myself. No. It does not need to be brought up.
"Ever since what?" he states as worry and anger mix in his face.
"It's nothing. I'm fine," I say and my hands shake. I tighten my grip on the wooden spoon and continue stirring.
"Kristen," he says sternly. "What happened?"
I stay silent. "It only happened once. It hasn't happened ever since. I'm fine. I will always be fine," I say as I blink away the tears. Images of the memory flash through my mind, and I try to push them away.
He exhales and puts his hands on the counter. "Look, you can tell me anything. But, I will never pressure you into telling me things that you don't want to. I'm just protective."
"I know," I say quietly. "I just don't want to talk about this. It would just be a downer on the whole night." I force a smile and look at him. "I think the noodles are done."
I go to walk past him to get the hot pads, but he lightly grabs my forearm. I look up at him. "Kris, you can trust me." He whispers.
My smile fades, and I nod. He drops his hand from my arm, and it brushes my skin as it falls. He eyes me up and down again, almost studying me. In his baggy sweatshirt and rolled up boxers. I look at the floor and then grab the hot pads.
"Dinner's ready."
...
"That was really, really amazing." I say as we push our plates away. "First home cooked dinner in a while."
"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it." He laughs.
We wash the dishes and make small talk. Unimportant details about Los Angeles and New York. The weather. All that fun stuff.
"Damn, it's getting late," he says as he looks at the clock. 9:48.
"Wow, I had no idea," I say as he puts away the last plate.
"Thanks again," I say as I lightly tap on the counter. He leans against the fridge.
"It's all good. I love cooking," he says with a smile.
"No, for all of this. Helping me out. Just being their for me. It means a lot."
He is silent for a few seconds. "Anytime."
We stay quiet. Awkwardly staring at the floor. "Well, I'm really tired so I'm gonna put on some sweats and get set up on the couch," he says as he pads into the bedroom.
"I can take the couch if you want. Really, I'm smaller," I call out after him.
"It's okay, that couch is comfortable. I'll survive. Also, you had a really long day." He steps out of the bedroom in black Adidas sweats, holding a pillow and a blanket.
"Okay, thanks." I say as he starts taking throw pillows off of the couch.
"You sure do say thanks a lot," he chuckles.
"Well I'm a polite person, what can I say?" I say humorously.
"Oh, sure," he says sarcastically as he forcefully smiles at me.
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" I giggle as I toss one of the pillows at him.
"Nothing, nothing!" He laughs as he holds up his hands in surrender. "You're just harsh sometimes. It's in your blood."
"Ah, it's a New York thing," I laugh as I raise my eyebrows.
He makes a bed on the couch and fluffs up his pillow.
"Well, night," I say as I walk towards the door.
"Night."
...
I put the clip in my blonde hair and stare into the mirror. I am nine years old again. My small pink dress flows around me as I spin. Cooped up in my small room. I'm not supposed to come out when Mommy has friends over. Mommy's friends are not safe. Mommy's friends can't know I am here.
A yell comes from the living room. An angry male voice. He is cursing at my mommy.
"Where is the f*cking money?" he roars. "I paid good money for a whore like you and now what, no sex and no money for the drugs?"
Drugs?
I slowly walk over to the door and peek down the hall. Why is my mommy asleep on the couch?
I tip-toe down the hallway and look at the big man sitting on the couch. He looks up at me with evil eyes. A smile spreads across his face.
"Is my mommy okay?" I say as I look over at her. She is drooling, and her skin is slightly yellow. Her eyes are cracked, and white dust is cut into lines on the coffee table. Her nose has a bit of blood coming out of it.
"Oh, your mommy is just fine." He sneers as he stands up, towering over me. "But you won't be."
I jolt awake. My skin is tacky with sweat. I breathe heavily.
No. No, no, no. I don't want to remember.
I lie back down in bed, staring at the ceiling. I close my eyes, but the visions keep flashing through my mind. I sit up again. My hair sticks to the back of my sweaty neck. I stand up and pace back and forth in the bedroom. The clock reads 2:34.
The nightmares come every once in a while. I've learned to wake myself up before the worst parts.
I run my hands through my hair. My shaky hands get caught in the tangles.
A hair tie. I need a hair tie. A hair tie.
I walk into the bathroom and start rummaging through the drawers.
Just one hair tie.
Carly must have left one here before.
My hair sticks to my sweaty neck and I cringe. If I can't find a hair tie, I'm cutting it off.
Cut it all off. All of it.
My shaky hands dig through the draw. I can't find one. I can't find one.
I become more and more aware of my hair on my neck every second. The anxiety courses through me. I shake. Tears run down my face without me even knowing. I forcefully close the drawer and back up to the wall. My back slides down the wall as I sit on the floor. I cradle my knees and run my hands through my hair.
Stress. Anxiety. Fear.
The bathroom door creaks open.
"Kristen?" Alex says as he walks into the bathroom yawning and rubbing his eyes. He squints under the bright bathroom light.
"I couldn't find a hair tie." I whisper shakily.
"A what? Are you okay?" He yawns.
I look up at him. "I'm fine. I've always been fine." I whisper.
He opens his eyes and looks down at me. "Oh my God, Kris." He walks over and sits down next to me. He wraps his arms around me and I lean into his chest.
I cry.
And cry.
And cry.
"It's okay to not be strong. You don't have to be fine. Don't hold it all in," he says as his arms tighten around me.
"I can't do it anymore," I gasp between my words.
"Do what?" He whispers as he brushes my hair behind my ear.
"Hide it. Pretend it never happened." I shake, but he pulls me tighter.
"You don't have to pretend. Not around me," he whispers as he rests his chin on the top of my head.
We stay this way for what feels like eternity. Him holding me. Me crying.
I slowly pull away from him. I wipe the tears out from under my eyes.
He stands and pulls open the bottom drawer. He brings out a black hair tie. He holds it down to me, and I smile weakly at him as I take it from his hand. I put my hair into a messy bun, and Alex helps me off the floor.
I walk back to the bedroom and sit on the bed. He walks towards the French doors and touches the door handle. "If you need anything, I'm on the couch."
He begins the close the doors behind him. "Alex," I call out. He slowly turns around and peers at me across the dark room.
"Yeah?"
"Can we talk for a bit? If you want to sleep you don't have to," I stammer.
"Of course," he pads over and sits on the other side of the bed. A dim glow casts through the curtains, making it possible to only see silhouettes and sharp features.
We are quiet for a bit.
"What was your nightmare of?" He says quietly.
I stay silent. The fear creeps back into my veins.
"My living hell," I whisper.
He is quiet. I know what he is thinking. He wants to know, but he doesn't want to pry.
"God, I'm so broken." I say sadly as I bury my head in my hands.
"You're not broken, Kris. You're the strongest person I know." He says.
"I'm broken, Alex. I'm shattered to the point of no return. Somethings can't be fixed, and I'm one of them." I huff as he leans back onto the head board.
"Anything can be fixed with the right amount of tape and glue," he says.
"But I have nothing to be my glue."
"Be your own glue. Kristen, be stronger than your past. Hold yourself together not because you have to. Not because you can't survive. Hold yourself together because you know that you are better than your past. Hold yourself together because you want to and know that you can. And Kris, I know you. And I know that you can." He says as he places his hand on top of mine.
A tear rolls down my cheek. "Who did this to you?" He exhales as his fingers lace through mine.
There is a long pause. My brain races. "I was nine. My mom had been hooking for as long as I could remember. There was never a time where she had a steady job. There were always men at our house. Or, friends, as she used to call them. She always told me that when she had friends over, I had to stay in my room. She told me her friends were bad people. But I never understood why my mom would make friends with genuinely bad people. Friends are supposed to love you." I pause. The tears swim through my eyes.
Alex squeezed my hand reassuringly. "One day, I was in my room. I always had to stay in my small, dirty room. Everything was grimy and dusty. One of her clients came over, and brought cocaine. She overdosed before she could pay him for the drugs. He raped her as she was dying on the couch. I heard him screaming. I had never heard actual screaming before. So I walked into the living room. He saw me." My voice trails off. Tears are running down my face.
"Kristen, I-" I cut Alex off.
"He saw me. And apparently if he couldn't get his money, he would get me. And he did. And no one was there to stop him," I say quietly. "I was nine years old."
He is silent.
"I'm broken."
He wraps his hand around my arm and pulls me into his embrace. He hugs me tightly.
"I'm so sorry," he whispers as tears silently roll down my cheeks.
"I can't love anyone. James would always get mad. I would never have sex with him. I can't. I just relive the moment. I have intimacy issues. I'm broken. I'm broken. I'm broken," I whisper.
He hushes me softly, pulling my body close to him. My head rests on his chest as it slowly rises and falls with every breath. I can hear his heart beating in his chest.
Bum bum.
Bum bum.
Bum bum.
Hearing the sound of what is keeping him alive. Hearing the sound of what causes him to be in my life.
We fall asleep like this. And for the first time in years, I felt free.
...
I open my eyes to an unfamiliar room. I look around before remembering that I am in Alex's bed. But, where is Alex? I remember falling asleep with him last night...
I look around the room as I softly place my feet on the ground. I pad over to the curtains and pull them open. Los Angeles stares back at me. Wide awake, already starting its day.
I look at the clock. 9:13.
I walk out into the kitchen and it's empty. No Alex. No one. I notice a piece of paper on the counter. In his scribbly handwriting it says, "Kris- Had to go into town for a bit. Be back around 9:30."
So, I have the whole place to myself? Weird.
I walk over to the stereo and search for a radio station that plays decent music. I stop on one that plays the top charts. I look over at his shelves. There are pictures. Only a few. His shelves aren't cluttered with images, just three frames. One is obviously him and his grandparents. It is taken at his high school graduation. He has his cap and gown on with a big smile.
Another frame has a picture of Alex and his army buddies in their uniforms. There are four men, including Alex. They are all obviously unaware of the picture being taken. They are talking with each other and laughing. While sitting in an army truck. Alex looks so happy. Like he is having the time of his life. So care free, even when in battle.
The third frame shows a picture of him when he was a little boy. It is an older picture, low quality. It is him with his three siblings. They are in a backyard of a house. They are all in swimsuits, spraying each other with hoses and running through sprinklers. Quinn, his sister, looks around three. She sits in a small kitty pool. Colin looks six, and he is jumping through a sprinkler behind Alex. Alex must be nine in the picture since they are all three years apart. Aiden is the eldest, probably 12 in the picture. He has a grin on his face as he looks right at the camera. But Alex isn't looking at the camera, he is looking at his big brother. Alex is smiling at his favorite sibling, Aiden.
I smile as I pick up the frame and examine it closely. The looks on their faces. The love that their family had for each other.
I never had that.
I hear the door knob jiggle open as Alex pushes into the living room, his hands full.
"Hey! I brought coffee. And scones. And yogurt?" he says as he struggles to walk through the door. "I noticed we didn't have any coffee, so I ran down to get us some. And some breakfast, too."
"Aw, thank you. You really didn't have to do that though," I smile at him as I run over and help him carry in the coffee and pastries. I set it down on the kitchen table and look at both cups.
"It's no big deal. There is a coffee place right down there," he says as he gestures below us.
"Oh, well thank you anyways. Which one is mine?" I ask as I grab one of the cups and examine it. A phone number is written on it with a small heart.
Julia: (213) 555-8094. Call me! <3
Is scribbled across the cup in girly handwriting.
"Ooh-la-la," I joke. "Better give that girl a call," I smile at him as I grab the other cup.
He shrugs as he gets two plates out from the cupboard. "Nah, not really my type."
He sets a scone on each plate and a little yogurt cup. He walks over with both plates and sets one down in front of me.
"Oh really?" I laugh. "And what is your type, exactly?" I ask.
He smirks as he looks down at his plate and attempts to open his yogurt cup. "Not her."
"Uh-huh," I roll my eyes playfully as I take a sip of my coffee. "Everyone has a type."
"Then what's yours?" he asks as he bites into his scone.
I stare off and think.
"Must be douche bags. Cause that's all I attract," I huff.
"That's not exactly true," he mumbles. "What's happening with you and James anyways?"
"I have no clue. I think we broke up? Probably not. It's never over. I love him. I always will. I will love him even though I know he is toxic to me. Like I said, he's my type," I laugh. Alex frowns at me, and continues to eat.
We finish breakfast quietly, and Alex gives me back my dry clothes. I dress myself, but continue to wear his sweatshirt, and he begins to drive me home. We sit in the car as the distant storm clouds float further and further away.
"I love the pictures you have in your house," I say as he drives. "You have a really close family."
His jaw clenches, and he forces a smile. "Used to. Not anymore."
"Oh," I state as we stop at a red light. "Sorry. I just saw the picture of you and your siblings. Do you see them a lot?" I ask as his grip tightens on the steering wheel.
"Yeah. Quinn and Colin I see a lot. Aiden, not so much." He frowns. The light turns green.
"Oh, is he away at college?" I ask, trying to make small talk.
"No. Listen, can we change the topic?" He nervously stammers.
"Oh, uh, sure," I mumble. "Sorry. I didn't know it was a touchy topic."
"It's not," he says with a fake smile.
"Alex, do you need to talk?" I ask sincerely.
"Look, they just put in a new restaurant." He says as he points out the window. Obviously trying to avoid the topic.
Alright, I'll stop.
"I wonder if they have good food," I go along with his topic switcher.
"Probably not," he mumbles as he clicks on the radio.
So much for conversation.
We pull up in front of my house and he turns off his truck.
"Look, I don't mean to snap at you. It's just, family is a touchy topic for me. My family life is f*cked up. I don't like to talk about it." He says as he looks off into the distance. He stays facing forward.
"I get it," I say quietly. "I just want you to know that you can trust me. I trusted you. It's time to trust me."
He nods and runs his hands through his hair. "You probably want to get inside, yeah?"
I nod as I examine him one last time. He seems so standoffish. Why?
I slide out of the truck and he does the same. We walk up to the front door together, side by side. I stand in front of the door and turn to look at him.
"Thanks again. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't rescued me." I smile weakly at him.
"Glad I was there to help," he says as we awkwardly stand there.
Suddenly, the front door swings open.
"Kristen! Where have you been? Someone is here to see you!" My mom says as she smiles at Alex. "Hi Alex."
He waves at her as she continues to talk nervously.
"Mom, who's here?" I ask as she looks into the living room.
"Kristen?" I hear a male voice say.
James.
He walks up and stands beside my mom, then eyes Alex. His eyes blaze with jealousy.
"Who's this?" He asks as Alex looks at me with confusion.
This is one of those moments in life. The constant fight. Right when you think it's time for a truce, you have to put up your fists. And I'm gonna have to fight my way through this one.