I finished my classes around two in the afternoon and met a certain tall, blond-haired boy at my car. He's leaning on the side of my baby and I silently pray he doesn't scratch or dent it.
This used to be my dad's prized possession and it cost me a fortune to send it here all the way from Quebec. It was a royal pain in the ass, but it was so worth it. It's not like I could drive it all the way here, hell no. It would slaughter it and I can't let that happen to my baby. Every part of this car is its original piece and I don't trust anyone to drive her, not even Oliver. We have determined its gender. It's a she and her name is Lucy. It's not weird and in my defense, my dad is the one that named her.
He knew how much I loved this classic ride. He knew I had a huge and unconditional love for cars. It was just the way I was. It was another reason for people to find me weird. I wasn't like many girls from the West-Island. They were all into getting their nails done and designer brands and all those normal girl things. They were not accustomed to seeing a girl in a dirty ripped mechanic's jumpsuit.
In the afternoon, after school, I would just head to the garage down the road near my house and help fix up some old beauties. I have to admit, I was good at it. Soon, though, 'he' bought the place and I felt like he tore yet another part of me away. I hate him so much. I couldn't control my rage at the sight of him, I just couldn't.
I mentally punch myself for even looking back at those memories and just continue my walk to Jason.
When I reach him, he gives me a bright smile and takes the lead to open the driver's side. Since his back is facing away from me, I take the opportunity to check Lucy for any damages. Thank goodness, there's nothing. I slip into the car and Jason closes the door, before jogging off to his own car.
We arrive at my place about an hour later. Of course, we had to stop for coffee. I wasn't addicted or anything, it was just part of my routine. Once, when I was seven my mom had left her cup of coffee on the table and I was curious as to how the dark liquid tasted so I just lifted the mug to my lips and drank it. It was pure heaven, the way I remember it. After that, in high school, I would stay up late finishing assignments so I'd keep awake with multiple cups of coffee. Okay, maybe when I put it that way, I kind of am "addicted" to it, but no harm no foul, right?
I drive into the condominium's parking lot and point out the guest lots for Jason to park in. I've never really had a guest, mostly because Trevor didn't allow me to have people over. He is so controlling, it's very aggravating. He's just my roommate, he has no right in blasting me with rules like that. Granted, he did own the place.
Jason looks all around in amazement as we step foot into my so-called home and we walk over to my bedroom. I gesture him over to the bed where he takes a seat, before getting back up to scan all the books on my shelves.
“Did you actually read all these?” He still looks so amazed. It's like he expects me to be some uncultured bum. I have to admit though, his gawking expression is pretty cute.
“Yeah, I don’t really have anything better to do.” I giggle at his jaw dropping past the floor.
I go into my walk-in closet pulling out a pair of vintage skinny jeans with rips and holes in them, only to decide against it and pick a simple pair of grey jeans and a loose black top. I felt really uneasy, considering the fact that this pair of pants was way too small. The buttons didn't even want to close. Fatass, my subconscious butts-in. I got them when I weighed 115 pounds and all the eating I've been doing isn't really helpful.
I struggle to I pull the jeans off my ankles and I opt for a pair of comfy grey Roots sweats instead. This feels much better. We're not actually going out, we're just headed to the market and then to his room to watch some movies and eat. Jesus, I eat too much.
I walk out of the closet, tying my hair in a low, loose ponytail. Jason is seated on my bed, a book in hand that I automatically identify as "Go Ask Alice". I remember stealing that book from English class a few years ago. I didn't really steal the novel, I just accidentally forgot to put it back on the shelf.
"That's a great book, you know," he snaps his head up and smiles at me. He has been caught snooping! Not really. I don't care that he's looking at my books, as long as he doesn't lay a hand on my journal.
“You look... comfy, Jackie," he gives me a shameful smile.
"You look like a deer caught in headlights," I laugh. "It's not a crime to look at a book, you know?"
I ruffle his blond, gelled hair and he ducks away, jumping off my bed. I walk to the shelves to place the novel back into its respective place. When I turn around, Jason's face is just a few inches away from mine as he looks down at me.
I feel a very uneasy feeling in my gut. It's not that I don't like Jason; he's a great guy. But, he's only my friend and being completely honest with myself, ever since the incident, I cannot be this close to any guy.
I remember even icing out my own father. Can you imagine? I used to be such a daddy's girl. We would go out for walks, he would take us skating, we went to the zoo, to the park, to the lake, to go feed ducks and he would bring Oliver and I to the most beautiful hideout in a meadow a few kilometers beind the restaurant he worked at. It was this place where you could watch planes lift off fly out to the unknown. Then, at night, the stars would shine so brightly, it was a breathtaking sight. I would tell my father about everything, because I knew that if I told my mom about things she would just scold me. Regardless, I loved her so much.
Years past and problems came in the way, making me utterly uncomfortable to talk to my own dad. I couldn't even look him in the eyes. I'm not sure if it was because of the guilt I had crashing down on my shoulders or if it was because he was in such a close relationship with the pedophile who had abused me in my earlier life.
The knot in my stomach grows tighter at all the thoughts flooding my brain and at Jason's closeness. Out of worry, he places a hand on my arm, but I jerk back instantly by instinct.
Realizing the hurt expression on his face, I walk behind him and start pushing him out the door. "Let's go, buddy! It's time for that movie night you had planned!"
A nervous chuckle escapes his lips as we come face to face with a very upset curly-haired boy. Great.
At first, he looks very angry, his brows furrowed together and his lips pressed into a tight line. Then, a quick flash of worry crosses his face, right before he goes back to pissed.
"I told you..." Trevor starts, through his teeth.
Jason scratched the back of his head. "Uh, I'll wait for you downstairs, Jackie."
I nod and he scrambles out the door. There was no need for him to witness Trevor's useless rage.
He sighs running a hand through his mess of knots he calls hair. "I can't let you have guests over, Jackie." He says calmly.
"But you're not the boss of me." I stubbornly roll my eyes.
"THEY'RE NOT ALL MY RULES!" He puts his arms up in frustration.
"Christ, calm down" I say with wide eyes.
Seriously, he was flipping out for absolutely no ready, just as he always did.
After a few minutes, he speaks up again. "Oliver told me to impose some... stuff on you." You have got to be kidding me. "He didn't give me actual reasons as to why it was so important to keep you so restraint from living, but he said it was all in your best interest. It was something about your safety."
His emerald eyes search for mine, but I'm not letting him find me. I stare at him with a blank look, that gave off a hint of anger in it. My jaw clenches, trying to keep quiet. This is fucking ridiculous. I wasn't a five year old girl. I could protect myself for Christ's sake.
I really don't even know who to be mad at. Should I call Oliver and give him an earful about how he shouldn't make people lock me up in a dumb condo because locking me away from civilization won't actually help my case? Or, should I yell at Trevor for being such an annoying asshole for following my brother's dumb orders. I finally decide to just ignore them altogether.
I then remember that poor Jason is still waiting for me downstairs. Brushing forcefully past Trevor, I head out to my car, where my friend stands nervously looking at the concrete ground. His head shoots up my steps near him and he proceeds to execute his new found routine of opening my car door from me.
I tip my head to the side, forcing out the most genuine smile I can give him, before he carefully shuts my door. I'm happy he doesn't question me about the whole scene he walked right into at my place.
Jason lives in a dorm on campus, so we arrive there pretty quickly after making a few stops. Soon, we walk into his room armed with several bags of chips, a few cookie containers, some drinks and a box of pizza. I then spot the second bed in the space.
I swear, if I wasn't exposed to Jason's messy side of the room, I would of thought a 60 year old maid lived here too. The bed sheets were so neatly tucked in, you could bounce a dime off the surface and there was no clutter of posters on the wall in contrast to the graffiti art on my friend's side. There were a bunch of books neatly placed on the night stand; some of them were English, others were classic french novels from Molière and Corneille and Racine then, the rest were a bunch of school books. There was one book that caught my eye. It was blue and black and the title on the sleeve was "Serial Killers".
That surely wasn't sketchy.
"My roommate isn't here, don't worry." I was caught staring. "He's only going to be back on Monday or something." He shrugs, setting up the DVD into the player.
"What are we watching?"
"Taken." I nod at him absentmindedly. I've seen this movie before; nothing special.
We take a seat on his mattress and I eat away, still contemplating who's funeral should I plan for setting up all those goddamned rules of confinement.