Fighting (6 page)

Anytime
we were in a room together, it would always go the same way.  We would make eye
contact.  I'd glare, on principle alone, and he would frown at me before
turning away and we would ignore each other.  I knew we both could have said a
lot of cutting things, but Oliver was almost always around and I didn't want to
upset him and I suspected that Ethan didn't, either.  Which, I grudgingly
admitted, meant that he cared about Oliver and he probably wasn't a
total
asshole. 

If
Ethan admitted that it was a total jerk move and asked for forgiveness, I'd
probably let it go and we could move on, maybe tolerate each other in a less
hostile way.  But he never brought it up and we never talked, so nothing
changed.

Almost
two weeks into my move there, I asked Brooks what they did for fun away from
the cabin.

"We
don't really leave the cabin unless it's to run to the store or on an
assignment," he said.

I
screwed up my face and asked, "Is that a rule?  Are we not allowed to
leave?"

He
shrugged and said, "It's not a rule, but we don't really need anything
from the outside.  We have books, movies, TV, internet, friends to talk to and
play games with.  Shit to learn, practice, perfect, etc.  Gwen cooks all of our
meals and she's good enough that the only food we ever really go out for is
Chinese, and even then we usually bring it back to the compound.  What else do
you need?"

"I
know I'm not a social butterfly, but I would like to associate with the outside
world.  Make sure it's still functioning without us," I said a touch
sarcastically.

"Cabin
fever?" he asked.

"God,
yes.  I like it here.  Really, I do," I assured him.  "But I need a
little dose of annoying, crying babies and children spilling applesauce in the
aisles of a store.  Of fresh faces I've never seen on people I'll never talk
to.  I need to drive in a fast car and maybe mouth off to someone."

"You
want, you can go to the store," he said on a laugh.  "Gwen has a list
in the kitchen of stuff she needs to cook this week.  I usually send out two at
a time and Ethan was already planning to go, so you can go together."

My
face morphed to show my horror at that idea.  Ethan and me?  Alone?  We were
never
alone together, and that's the way it would stay! 

I
opened my mouth to argue and show him the enormous error in his thinking, but
his gaze shifted to look over my shoulder and he called out, "Ethan, Alex
is going with you to the store!  She said she needs to get out of the house or
she'll go crazy."

My
eyes bugged out and I said hurriedly, "I did not say that!"

"Your
eyes.  They were speaking to me," Brooks said.  He was in a playful mood,
but I wasn't. 

I
persevered.  "I'm not going to the store with him!  We'll kill each
other," I gritted out.

Brooks
sobered and stared at me for a second.  "Ethan's an excellent driver. 
He'll get you there and back safely."

I
glared at him.  He was purposely being obtuse.  I started to argue again when
Ethan moved into our space. 

"Ready
to go?" he asked me indifferently.  Like he couldn't care less that we
were about to take a step in the very wrong, potentially violent direction.  But
if he wanted to play, I wasn't about to admit defeat.  And I really did want to
get out of the cabin before I became more stir crazy.

I
ground my teeth together and moved only my eyes to him.  I barely parted my
lips to say, "Yes."

He
said, "Great," but it sounded more like, "I'd rather have teeth
pulled and please, skip the drugs."

Ethan
turned on his heel and left the room without another word.  I gave Brooks a
look that promised vengeance, and ran up to my room to change clothes.  I
pulled on my black jeans, tucking them into my boots and topped them with a
charcoal gray racerback tank and a jacket.  I touched up my eyeliner and left
for the garage, knowing Ethan would leave me behind if I took too long.  I ran
my fingers through my loose waves and walked out into the cold mountain air. 
Ethan was already waiting near the door in a dark colored, non-descript SUV.  I
climbed in the front, though I was sorely tempted to sit in the back just to be
difficult, and away we went.

I
stared out my window and thought about telling him he had nice biceps.  And
then I almost laughed, but that would have seemed either bizarre or like a cry
for attention, so I suppressed it.  We drove through the backwoods roads and
listened to the loud silence that only a modern, sound proofed car and two
people who absolutely refuse to speak to each other can produce.  It consisted
mostly of breathing and the occasional grinding of teeth. 

"How
far out is the closest store?" I asked thirty minutes in.

"Hour,
fifteen minutes."  His tone was detached but his voice was pleasantly deep
and I asked another question before I was able to stop myself.

"Mom
and Pop store?"

"Super
store."

We
rode in silence for another ten minutes before I had to do something about it. 
I flipped on the radio and scanned the frequencies until I set it on a station
playing Pearl Jam.  I didn't bother to ask if he wanted to listen to it or
not.  A worthy adversary does not ask polite questions.  They don't ask any
questions at all, as a matter of fact.  In the movies, at least.  They straight
up tell you shit.  Like, "This is going to hurt."  And, "You're
going to tell me where the money is."  Can't forget classic ones like,
"I want you to come work for me."

Wait,
why does that last one sound so familiar?

I
studied Ethan in my peripheral vision.  He drove like he did everything else:
confidently.  He had his right hand on the center of the wheel and his left arm
resting on his leg, his fingers curling around his knee.  His entire body was
turned slightly away from me.  Even his head was tilted slightly to the left so
I saw more of his jaw than his eyes.  He was shutting me out, even at a
subconscious level. 

And
then I looked down at myself and saw that I was basically a mirror image of
him.  I had my feet tucked under my legs, with my knees pointed toward the door
and my body angled toward the window. 

We
were like magnets, repelled against each other. 

Eventually,
we hit a town big enough to operate a super store and keep it in steady
business.  We walked in side by side and I took everything in.  I had only been
at the compound for a couple of weeks of training, but I also had twenty one
years of being a generally observant person so it wasn't such a stretch that I
was already sharpening that particular skill. 

Ethan
grabbed a push cart and withdrew the grocery list from his pocket.  He glanced
at it and then handed it to me.  Our fingers brushed when he handed it off, and
as he put the first item in the cart, I thought about how this was a normal,
cozy thing for a couple to do.  And being two people shopping together, I was
sure that we appeared to be a couple, albeit a fighting one with stiff postures
and safe distances between us.

And
that's when I started noticing women noticing Ethan.  We passed more than one
who didn't hide that they were openly checking him out.  We passed one woman
who ran her fingers through her hair like she was preparing to approach him. 
Then her eyes flicked to mine and she changed her mind, but it was painfully
obvious she wanted to talk to him.  I figured I'd get a lot of nasty looks for
being with him, but mostly it was like I wasn't even there at all.  If Ethan
saw any of this happening, he gave no indication of it.  He kept an eye on me
while I watched them.  A small, obviously perverse part of me was a little
pleased about that. 

And
then I wondered if he was absorbing our environment as much as I was.  I looked
at him in contemplation as he bent slightly at the waist to pick through the
tomatoes.  I was beside of him, picking through the onions.  He caught my eyes
as he turned to place a bag of tomatoes in the cart. 

When
I didn't immediately look or move away, he asked warily, "What?"

I
hesitated and then faced him square on.  I saw him take in my body language and
brace himself further.

"What
color was the hat of the old lady sitting at the bench at the entrance of the
store?"

"Green."

"How
many cashiers were at their registers?"

"Four,
that I could see."

"Where
are the exits in this building?"

He
turned his body also, so we were face to face.  "Civilian exits -- two at
the front, two on the right, and one on the left."   Impressive. 
"There's also merchandise loading docks and an extra employee entrance at
the back."

He
did his homework. 

"What
did the nametag say of the employee who asked if we needed assistance?"

"Natalie."

"What
color hair did the lady we last passed have?"

"Blonde."

"What
was she doing?" I asked, thinking I'd finally trip him up with this one.

He
smirked.  "Checking out my ass."

I
wanted to smile at his flippant but accurate answer, but I quickly checked it. 
Then I looked to my boots and asked, "What color are my eyes?"

"Blue,"
he answered instantly. I almost raised my head to look at him but paused when
he said in a more subdued tone, "But there's also a small ring of green
around your pupil." 

I
looked at him from underneath my lashes and had to remind myself that it would
be ridiculous if he
didn't
know my eye color.  But standing under his intense
gaze, that was by no means a glaring one, knowing that didn't stop the
fluttering in my stomach.

I'd
never wanted to harm a butterfly before in my life, but right then I could have
done some damage out of sheer frustration. 

When
neither of us spoke again, he muttered, "I pass your test?"

"Wasn't
a test."

"What
was it?"

"Curiosity." 
I realized the bitterness between us had faded a bit, so I threw out an insult
to restore it because I was feeling a little exposed.  "Surprised you knew
my eye color," I said, acid infused in my tone.

Instantly,
he crossed his arms.  A different kind of fighting stance.  "Of course I
know your eye color.  You glare at me enough."  Then he added on a mutter,
"Though I
am
surprised to see the whites of your eyes."

I
wanted to glare and laugh at the same time, but I was sick of glaring, and
laughter was not something I wanted to share with Ethan, so I turned back
toward the onions in dismissal and threw a few into the cart. 

Not
ten minutes later, I had mellowed out a bit and was doubled over, leaning
against the cart handle with my chin hovering over my hands while Ethan was
trying to decide between brands of sweet tea.  I was watching an employee
restock a shelf when Ethan spoke again, out of the blue.

"What
was the first item I placed in the cart?"

"Mustard."

For
a split second, I thought he was just trying to recall information, but then I
found him watching me in speculation, and I knew it was his turn.  Fair enough.

"How
many people have been on this aisle since we've been standing here?"

"Three."

"Describe
them."

"Woman,
between fifty and sixty, short gray hair, weird pink track suit that's, no
doubt, an attempt to feel young.  Ten year old kid with blond hair and red
shoes ran down the aisle for kicks and giggles.  Man, mid-forties, semi-formal
dress, stripped tie the same color as your eyes."

His
eyes flashed at that last bit.  Hmm.  Maybe I should have simply said
blue
and
been done with it
.
  Oops.

"How
long have we been here?"

"Long
enough."  He didn't say anything and I sighed.  "Thirty
minutes."

"How
tall am I?"

"About
six, one."

"How
many woman have checked me out since we've been here?" he asked with a
straight face.

"Four
and a half."  He raised his brow and I said, "One was twelve."

"What
color are my fighting hand wraps?"

"Navy
blue with black accents," I said without hesitation.  And then I snapped
my mouth closed and wanted to slap myself, because son of a bitch, I realized
what he was doing.  He was digging to find out how much attention I paid to
him
,
specifically, and I was just giving it away!  Shit.

I
gave him a withering look and straightened away from the handle slowly. 
"I'll go get the cheese and sandwich meats," I spat at him. 
"Asshole," I muttered just loud enough that he heard me.  I saw his
jaw clench angrily as I passed by him and I felt a little satisfaction from
that. 

And
then I thought of Ollie and felt a healthy dose of guilt.  I wasn't helping the
situation at all.  I was only making it worse and I wasn't stupid; I knew it
affected the people around us. 

We
didn't speak for the rest of the trip, treating each other to an icy silence
that spanned the next few days leading up until Brooks left for an assignment
with Ethan.  The others took advantage of their absence to watch movies that
Ethan and Brooks apparently never wanted to watch.  So we had a movie marathon
and ate a lot of popcorn that Ross openly disapproved of.   That only made me
want to eat more of it.

The
day after they returned, Brooks was apparently happy to reunite with us because
he bellowed, "Field trip!" from the hall before waltzing into the
kitchen at lunch with Ethan on his heels.