Chapter Twenty Nine:
With flaming eyes, Ariella takes a backwards step, almost knocking her elbows into the wall. Even without the close proximity, I can still feel the heated vibrations pouring from her body and towards mine. The piercing shades of greens in her coruscating round pools blaze as she angles her face up at me, in what I'm uncertain to be a look of disappointment or anger.
I don't speak, because there's nothing left for me to say.
Ariella's nostrils flare once, and then her soft shade of pink lips clench into a downturned curve. For a moment, I wonder if she's preparing a harsh come back, but with one final tick below her cheek bone, she takes a step forward and then pushes past me. Her shoulder clips the side of my arm, transferring her heat onto my skin.
The warm breeze she leaves behind smells of French vanilla and honey, causing my tongue to salivate. I lick my lips, wanting to taste the aromas, but the sharp slam of a door behind me breaks through my momentary haze. Turning around, the room now silent minus the whine from the air-conditioner, I realise Ariella has left. My little confession about not keeping her promise rendered her speechless.
And, by her hasty reaction, I'd guess it wasn't in a way that'd work in my favour.
There was so much irritation radiating from her today, something I've never seen—or felt—from her before. I honestly believed she didn't have it in her, that she was incapable of letting the negative emotions through; a quality that has a lot of perks, but many downfalls. There's a bit of anger in all of us, somewhere; it's just the matter of what—or who—activates the emotion. Apparently today, I was that activation.
The arrogant lines to my face even out into a tense expression. I stand under the AC for the next few minutes, giving Ariella the time to get back to her Checkout. I decide it'd be wise to avoid her for a while. Maybe even time won't help me, but it's worth a shot. Hearing muffled voices on the other side of the door, I quickly slide through the only exit before the workers can spot me.
I follow an isle of assorted cans and turn a corner to bypass the Checkouts. When I reach the back exit, I push against the bulk doors and step out into the afternoon air.
Abandoned trolley's are scattered around the garbage space, a few workers stand to one side of the semi-enclosed area puffing away at their cigarettes under a cloth of shade. The ashen scent of smoke is almost tempting, but is overshadowed by the urge to distance myself further away from Ariella. Even with the seductive, pungent odour wafting through the air, the sight and smell of a cigarette no longer has a relentless pull on me.
As I slip through a broken fence and start walking towards the front car park, I'm surprisingly undecided as to whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. Cigarettes were a type of refreshment for me back in the day—could they suddenly become just an insignificant stick of tobacco rather than a satisfying relaxant in such a short amount of time?
The moment I step into the parking bay, thick droplets of water begin to spray down from above. Looking up, I notice a family of grey clouds coating the once blue sky. The drops increase in speed as I jog towards my truck, parked under a patch of shade that's no longer needed. The air turns from a warm breeze to a sticky, humid draft. Beads of rain water drip from my hair to my eyelashes; I blink them away as I jump into my truck.
The heavy pitter-patter against my car will be my music for the short drive home.
Easing out of the car park and onto the main road, the earlier conversation between Ariella and myself finds its way to the forefront of my mind. In no way had it gone the way I'd expected—I thought I was prepared for anything, instead I was in the middle of something I never would have predicted.
Should I be grateful to Ariella for taking a beating for me?
I'd no doubt be in a jail cell right now if it weren't for the deal she made with Mike. But how can I be remotely thankful when my freedom is in the result of a battered and bruised girl? She took her promise to the extreme, whereas I had no intention on keeping the promise I made to her. The assurance Ariella gave me that night had a negative outcome—mine would have, too; it was part of the reason I decided against it.
Now that I know what she has to suffer through, there's no way I'd agree to ignore the fact. I might want to distance myself from her for my own sanity, but I won't until I know I've helped her escape the abuse. After tonight, I might have to force my way back in, but there'll be no obstacle I won't face—not until Ariella is safe and free.
Not even the resentment she's developed towards me will get in my way.
Confident of my still-in-motion plan, I focus on the pelleting rhythm of the rain. With my windshield wipers now on full speed, I guide my truck down Cole's street. The road is already drenched, pot holes are filled with water. Seconds later, I ease my car in behind Cole's along the gravel driveway. The pebbles of rain escalate into a downpour; the liquid fog relaxes my muscles.
Ambling towards the house, I'm in no rush for cover. Eventually I step through the front door, and as it swings closed behind me, I lean forward slightly and shake out my wet hair.
"What are you, a dog?"
At the familiar mocking overtone, my jaw clamps tight. I lift my head to find Sally on the edge of Cole's La-Z-Boy recliner. Her magenta nails are almost blinding as they curve around a feminine magazine. I have enough time to flip her the bird before Cole steps into view with a glass of coke in each of his hands; the condensation slides down between his fingers, creating miniature versions of the rain drops outside.
"I was gettin' worried," Cole intones, handing his girlfriend her drink.
"I can tell." My words drip with sarcasm as I send a look of disgust at Sally.
He frowns. "Is everything fine?"
I give a light shrug. "For now."
"I hope so." His lips curve into a genuine smile. "Now go change before you drench my floor."
Swinging a look at Sally, I almost laugh. "Since when do you care about your floor?"
"Since when has he not?" Her attitude towards me is amusing.
Cole sends me a pointed shut the fuck up look, to which I give him a known smirk.
"Let's just say the floor is a colourful canvas when you're not around, chica."
A heavy huff leaves her bright red lips, the magazine in her hands disregarded as she directs Cole with chestnut eyes in an icy gaze. I merely smile as the fireworks begin. Leaving them to it, I shuffle out of my shoes and stroll towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. After locking the door, I strip bare and step into a semi-warm shower and reach for the soap. When the suds travel down the drain and the scent of rain is washed from my hair, I turn the water taps off and wrap a towel around my waist.
The remnants from the shower dribble from my damp hair and down my exposed torso as I saunter out into the kitchen. After reaching into the fridge for a can of Corona Beer, Sally turns around in her seat at the soft thunk of the refrigerator—Cole remains immersed in the TV. Her upturned nose crinkles at the sight of me, a look of distaste accentuating the lines of her hard face.
Obviously a forced and fabricated reaction.
"I don't know if you've noticed, but this isn't a boys locker room," she sneers.
"Oh, I noticed."
"Then put some clothes on," she voices condescendingly.
Cole flicks his gaze away from the television. "Relax, babe."
Sally's hazel eyes leave my half naked body. "Don't babe me. He needs to know he doesn't own this place, and can't just walk around like he has free rein."
I almost choke on my sip of beer.
"Kade pays rent, Sally. He can do what he likes."
She snorts. "So walking around naked while I'm here is okay with you?"
Cole gives a careless shrug. "Sure, why not? It's nothin' you haven't seen before."
Highly amused, I lean against the kitchen bench top as Sally relieves a groan.
"I don't know why you're always defending him."
I take another gulp of my beer to avoid the laugh building in my throat.
"I am not gettin' into this with you again, Sal." Cole sighs.
He avoids her next response as he trudges towards the bathroom. Sally's face turns from an olive tone to a raspberry red. She throws her magazine onto a nearby pillow and angles her body towards me, her eyes curved into aggravated slits.
"Cole seems to be blinded by your disgusting conceitedness, but I can see it as clear as day." Her voice is complete with insolence. "It's only a matter of time before it's clear to him, as well—I'll make sure of it."
A solid chuckle leaves my lips. "He's fully aware of my egotism, chica."
Her lips tighten and her eyes narrow. "Do not call me that."
Now I'm just bored. "Whatever you say, chica."
"Stop it, asshole."
"Why does my Spanish fire you up?" I question wryly. "Are you racist?"
"You're referring to me as girl. It's insulting."
"Oh, I see." I nod contemptuously. "You want me to refer to you by name, right?"
Sally shoots me a duh eye roll.
"The thing is," I drawl, "to refer someone by name is to have respect for them."
Her circular jaw visibly tightens. "I've seen you address Sadie and Ariella by "chica"—are you saying you have no respect for them either?"
"That's the difference between you and them; I refer to Ariella and Sadie by name as well as chica. The term is used in a negative light towards you, not them."
"There's no positive way of calling someone girl," she scoffs.
"It's all in the tone."
Sally looks at me with detestation. "You talk such bullshit."
Maybe I do—but as long as it gets under her skin, I'd say it's a win.
Cole wisely picks the right moment to step back into the room. His teal eyes shift from her face to mine, noticing the blunt tension through the air between us, despite the several metres distance.
"I'm gone for five minutes and you can't act the least bit civilised?"
"I can't deal with his immaturity, Cole," Sally defends.
"Then why give him the satisfaction of responding?"
"He needs to know I'm not intimidated."
He sighs."He's not going to stop if you continue to respond. What have I told you before? Ignore him, then there'll be no reason for him to push your buttons."
"At least 50% of the time." I wink at her over my can, to which she shoots me bitter daggers in return.
"I have to get back to work. Billy's been a little off lately, so I'm gonna head back early." Cole voices. He slips his hand into Sally's. "Are you comin', Kade?"
"No point in doin' a half day's work," I reply dully.
Cole frowns. "It's still money, bro. You've already missed out on two days worth."
"I'll make up for it."
"Alright, man. Catch ya in a few hours."
I gesture my empty beer can at him. "Adios."
With his hand still intertwined with Sally's, he tugs out a ring of keys from his back pocket and starts to lead her to the front door. With Cole's back to me, she twists around slightly to send me a repugnant flicker of her greenish-brown eyes.
Not a single fuck is given as she glowers a final time before the door swings shut.
***
The next morning, I wake up on my mattress with a towel still around my waist. The sunlight streaming through my thin bedroom curtains gives my tanned torso a golden glow. After stretching out my tight muscles, I slide out of bed and slip on a dark pair of jeans and a pale blue tee. Once I've brushed my teeth and combed my fingers through my hair, I trudge out into the kitchen.
I'm greeted by the scent of coffee and cooked bread. Sitting down at the counter across from Cole, he hands me a small mug and a plate of toast. Although I've always been one to do things myself, having someone cook for me is the exception.
"Let's hope you still have ya job." Cole mumbles through a mouth of food.
I lather butter and Vegemite onto my toasted bread. "Billy won't fire me."
Cole nods before swallowing. "All I had to eat yesterday was rabbit food—Sally made me a vegetarian salad," he quickly changes the topic. "I can't tell you how amazing it feels to eat somethin' fattening this morning."
He notices my disinterest as I bite into my toast.
"She means well," Cole continues, "but I can't live on tasteless veggies."
"I think the thread your balls are hangin' on just might've gave way."
"Are you incapable of offering up a thoughtful response?" Cole raises a brow.
My lips curve sardonically. "That was thoughtful."
His eyes narrow, but his lips twitch with amusement.
"You drivin' with me today?"
I swallow the last bite of my toast with a warm gulp of my coffee.
"Nah, I'll meet you there."
He sends me a clean-cut look of suspicion. "You're not gonna bail again, are you?"
Cole picks up his keys from the bench behind him, and I notice a round key ring dangling from the set; Sally's photo has been imbedded within the small frame. It shimmers with the morning sun beaming through the kitchen window, and I almost want to rip it off the chain and ram it down his throat.
"Nope, I need the money."
"Good." He nods. "I'll see ya there."
I don't offer a response as I finish off my coffee. Cole walks passed me, unfazed. A few moments later, the front door clicks shut followed by the rev of his truck. I leave my dishes on the counter before jogging to the bathroom to retrieve my keys left in yesterday's jeans. When I make it outside, any signs from the rain Monday afternoon has been dried up from the heat of the sun. Before I jump into my car, I tap it affectionately on the hood, and then I start up the engine.
Five minutes later, I pull in beside Cole's truck, his doors unlocked and the driver's side window rolled down. If I weren't so attached to my car, I'd do the same. Sliding out, I lock my door and trudge towards the back entrance of the bar. The air-conditioner has already been switched on in the storage area—a hint that someone is goin' to be working in here all day, packing and unpacking endless amounts of boxes. Considering my MIA recently, I make a guess I'll be that unlucky son of a bitch.
With an irksome sigh, I slip through the opening that leads to the front of the bar. Cole is already occupied with serving a customer, and so I turn left towards Billy's office. The door is ajar, and so I walk right on in—prepared for a lecture. Billy is behind his large, mahogany desk, his face directed at his office door as if he knew I'd be walking through at any moment. By the rugged lines to his aging face, I'd say Cole tipped him off about my arrival.
"Well, well," he voices disdainfully, "if it isn't the guy who seems to think he can just disappear for a few days without an explanation."
I lean against the door panel. "I was sick."
"Oh, I highly doubt that."
"I'm here now, that's all that counts."
"You're not gettin' paid for two days off work," he states, his face now neutral. "That's not how it works."
"I'll make up for it," I respond blandly.
Billy's dark green eyes curve with scepticism. "You confident yo' still have a job, are ya?"
My lips twitch. "You need me."
His jaw twists from an oval to a tight square. "Get outta my office."
Triumphant, I wave a two finger salute. As I turn to walk out, he directs me by name.
"And Kade," his tone reverberates acerbically, "you're on box duty."
No surprise there. When I walk passed Cole, he offers a pitiful look as he mechanically pours another customer a tall glass of beer. Begrudging, I drag my feet back into the storage room. Boxes have already been lined up in alphabetical order along the drab carpet; either Cole set them up while I was in with Billy, or I'm in for yet another unpleasant surprise in the form of a disgustingly cheerful hombre.
Not even five minutes later as I get to work on the first box, Tristan strolls in. I internally groan as I notice the smile stretching out his cheeks; his over-exaggerated personality is unnaturally sickening.
"Long time, no see!" He grins.
I glance at him with abhorrence. "Sí—it was fun while it lasted."
He manoeuvres around a stack of boxes until he reaches the dingy couch to the side of the room. Tristan lets out a shrilling chuckle at my response as he cuts open a box carted with Australian peanuts and crackers; the sharp Stanley knife looks out of place in his hand—it's almost like seeing a child holding a steak knife. He pauses his movements to respond.
"At least your quick-witted comebacks haven't changed."
"They'll never change."
With a swift lift, I flick a box over to pile in its newly organized contents. That's one box down—a hundred more to go.
"You might always have your wit, but you'll eventually notice other changes." I can feel his gaze on me as I cut through a line of tape.
"My personality is pretty stagnant," I drone.
"We as humans are forever growing, nothing about us will ever be permanent."
Disinterested and annoyed, I mutter out a waspish response. "Gracias for the insight."
He seems entirely undeterred by my sarcasm. "No problem."
His broad smile only further aggravates me. Thankfully, Cole chooses the moment to announce himself.
"It's gettin' busy out there." He strolls in, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.
As I re-stack a variety of white wines, I hear his keys jingle as he pulls them from his pocket.
"Where are you goin'?"
"I have to take Sally to the doctors, her car is at the mechanics."
Cole slides off his apron and hangs it on a hook.
"Is she alright?" Tristan questions, genuinely interested.
"Yeah, man," he replies coolly, "it's just a check up."
They smile at each other, and I feel the muscles in my back cramp up. Cole ambles his way around the mess of scattered boxes and trudges towards the back door; as he passes me, he gives me a known wink before slipping from view.
Bastardo.
Moments later, I can hear the muffled noise of music and customers through the thin walls, sending a surge of irritation through my stomach—behind the bar is where I want to be, not sitting on a stale floor sharing space with an infuriating co-worker.
Luckily for me, it appears as if Tristan isn't much of a multi-tasker; he's either talking, or working, and never seems to be able to juggle the two. So, for a while, I work on my boxes in silence as Tristan immerses himself in his. Every now and then I hear the clock on the far wall ticking in time with our movements and the occasional scoring of knives against cardboard.
As Tristan finishes a stack, he decides to sit back. "How's life treating you, Kade?"
"I don't do small talk, amigo."
He laughs. "And I don't do long silences."
I jam a knife into a box. "I welcome it."
"You know, Kade," he continues thoughtfully, "I feel as though you despise me."
"Despise is too light a word."
A migraine starts to form in the very back of my skull.
"But hate is too strong of a word, right?"
"You're a strong pain in my ass, I think it fits you just fine."
He stays quiet after that, working on another box. Checking the clock, I'm grateful to see the hands tick closer and closer towards 12 o'clock. After another ten minutes of re-stacking packages of assorted item in a systematic order, I push the remaining boxes aside to make a path towards the lunch room. I relieve a long, built up sigh as I saunter into the break area. In the fridge, I find a can of Lemonade—it'll have to do for now.
Flicking it open, I raise it to my lips. The bubbles hiss as they glide down my throat, but leave a satisfying fizz on my tongue. As I chug down half the can, I hear the metallic click of the door behind me. Turning at an angle, I see Tristan standing in front of the now closed door, as if blocking it.
"I need to talk to you." His mouth is set into a foreign straight line.
I let out a tired groan. "Haven't you done enough of that today?"
He ignores my tone. "There's something I've been wanting to share with you. He said it'd complicate things if I did, but I can't keep it hidden from you anymore."
"What are you on about? Who's he?"
"The plan was to tell you when there was a mutual connection, but I have a feeling that won't be happening anytime soon—if ever." He's rambling now, which causes my patience to thin out.
"Whatever it is," I retort, "I have no interest in listening to your babble."
"It's important," he responds desperately. "You might not like me, but there's something we have in common—something major that I think can help you."
"We have nothing in common," I sneer. "And I don't need help. Especially not from you, pendejo."
Is this dude mentally retarded? Tristan downcasts his gaze at a mark on the floor. Absentmindedly, he fiddles with a button on his shirt, lost in his own little world already. I finish off my drink, prepared to force him away from the door so I can escape and pacify myself in a stolen beer from the bar. But as I ditch my can into an overflowing bin beside the fridge, Tristan's head shoots up.
With his eyes no longer distant, he smiles at me as if he's found the right words to say.
"You know Raziel, right?"
My insides turn stone-like.
"Raziel, Keeper of God's Secrets," he continues. "Ring any bells?"
The muscles in my back threaten to rip through my skin.
"I don't know who you're talkin' about." I grate my teeth.
"I know you're lying, Kade," he responds confidently.
With my blood starting to boil, I stalk forward. "Move outta the way, fuckwit."
He's unaffected by my aggressiveness. "Don't you want to know how I know?"
"I don't wanna hear another word from you. Move the fuck out of my way."
Tristan shrinks backwards into the door, but remains in control. He makes no movement to step aside. Within seconds, my forearm locks against his throat, pushing him into the wood. The back of his skull reverberates against the door, and his hands fly up to my arm to relieve the pressure tightening on his windpipe.
"I've met him too, Kade. Five years ago."
His words barely leave his closing throat in a jagged whisper. I push harder.
"I died, but he gave me a second chance." His eyes blink slowly. "Just like you, Kade. We're connected, don't you see?"
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Glossary:
Si (Yes)
Hombre (Man)
Amigo (Dude)
Pendejo (asshole/dickhead)
Authors Note:
Votes and feedback are much appreciated. (:
Thanks,
Tiana Jade.