Taking Mine (32 page)

SAVING THE HEAVIEST BAG
for last was my first mistake. I should have taken it when I first started bringing the trash to the street. Five trips in and I’m starting to think about saving it as a decoration. It would be a great conversation piece. The sound of an engine dying catches my attention and I look through the opening of the front door. Since Lance kicked it in, it doesn’t shut all the way. If it weren’t for my morning workout trudging garbage, I’d be freezing.

Justin’s returned from wherever he went after he left my kitchen this morning. I had expected him and Lance to trade shifts, but instead he drove away. Justin gets out holding a brown bag in one hand and says something to Lance that must be a dismissal, because he starts his own SUV and pulls away. I level myself as I watch Justin walk to the broken door.

He raps his knuckles against the wood, already spotting me through the gap as he pushes it open. “It looks good in here,” he says, observing my progress. He lifts the brown bag. “I brought some stuff to fix the door.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Technically, I do. It’s a security risk to have a front door that won’t lock, let alone shut.”

“Just give me the receipt and I’ll reimburse you for the materials,” I say, grabbing the last trash bag and dragging it toward the door.

“Don’t worry about it. I used the company card. Here, let me help,” he says, reaching for the bag in my hands.

“No, I got it,” I say, pulling it out of his reach.

“Lilly, don’t be stubborn.”

I don’t respond.

“Is this how it’s going to be,” he says, his face hardening. “You’re going to pretend everything between us didn’t exist?”

I throw my hands up. “And what would you rather me do, Justin? Tell me, because I’d love to figure out a way to make our situation suck a little less.”

He bends, catching my eyes with his. “You said you’re not ready and I’ll respect that, but you don’t have to shut me out in the meantime.”

I sigh, nodding, and it pacifies him enough to let me pass. He’s not going anywhere. He’ll be in close proximity for however long it’s going to take for the case to go to trial. Depending on how long the prosecutor takes to build the case, it could be months, sometimes a year or more. Justin’s already nailing a piece of trim over the doorjamb when I return.

I place my hands on my hips. “How old are you?”

He stops, leaning back on his knees to look up at me. He holds my stare as he says, “Twenty-six.”

I nod, already expecting his answer to be much older than what he told me before, and I walk away.

“Is that it?”

I don’t bother to turn around when I reply, “Yup.”

I’m in my bedroom when I finally hear him return to his work, the hammer meeting the wood a little harder than before. If he’s insistent on telling me the truth, then it’ll be according to my request. I’ll ask the questions and I’ll do it on my time. I don’t owe him anything, and he owes me everything.

About fifteen minutes later, I hear his footfalls making their way down the hall. He grips the trim of the door, leaning slightly inside my personal space without actually stepping over the threshold.

“Your door is fixed. Just make sure you turn the knob completely when opening and closing.” We stare at each other in silence. “Have anything else you want to ask me?”

I stare up in thought and then shake my head.

“Nothing at all?” he says, obviously perturbed by my snub.

“Nope.”

He bites the inside of his cheek and shoves off the door. “Fine. You know where to find me if you need me.”

The front door slams so hard I’m almost positive he broke what he managed to fix. I smile, but it’s only momentary before the shame sets in. I force myself to shake it off. He doesn’t get to make me feel bad when he screwed me over in the first place.

KALEY’S FACE MORPHS
as she begins to cry on my doorstep. Lance, who stands next to her, shoots me a panicked look. I’ve never seen Kaley cry, and I’m sure he hasn’t either. Her two main emotions consist of happy and smartass with little wiggle room between the two, so watching her mid breakdown is basically traumatizing. It sheds a whole new light on being on the consoling side.

“I just don’t know what else to do,” she says, crying into the palms of her hands.

I guide her to the couch and force her to sit. “I’m sure everything’s going to be okay. You’ve got a lot of jewelry and clothes you can sell.”

The judge ordered all of Johns Monroe’s assets to be frozen mere hours before his bail was set. A seven-figure bail proves costly when you no longer have access to your bank accounts. The prosecutors do believe that Monroe’s wife, Kaley’s mother, has been smuggling money into an off-shore bank account in Switzerland, but in that case they’re out of luck.

“But what am I going to do when that’s all gone?”

Go figure that I’m the person trying to coach Kaley on the hardships of life. “You’ll get a job and support yourself. You’ll make it just like the rest of the world does when they don’t have rich parents.”

“Like you did when you were stealing from other people?”

I clench my teeth. “Don’t pretend you have any idea what it’s like to live on the west bank. You’re crying about not living in a six-thousand-square-foot house anymore and I’m over here trying to keep the water on.”

This shuts her up, but it doesn’t erase the anger shining behind her eyes. “Then why weren’t you in class today?”

Her question throws me for a loop. Today was supposed to be the first day back from Thanksgiving, but when I woke up this morning, I didn’t feel like getting out of bed, so I didn’t. I slept in as late as I physically could before my brain forced me awake, and then I still didn’t move until I heard Kaley banging on my door.

“I don’t think I’m going to go back.”

“How can you not go back?” she exclaims, incredulous.

“I mean,” I say, raising a shoulder in indifference. “I’m not going to go back.”

She reaches over and pokes a finger into my forehead. “You are the stupidest, stupidest, stupidest person I’ve ever met.”

I swat her hand down. “Excuse me,” I say, completely alarmed by how fast the conversation flipped on me.

“You’ve worked your ass off to get where you are and you’re just going to quit? Nuh uh,” she says, poking me again. “You’re going to wake up Wednesday and get dressed and finish off the rest of the semester.”

“No, I’m not,” I say. “And I’m finding it bizarre that you’re trying to order me to do so.”

“Lilly, you’re so smart. Giving in now is just stupid. Five years from now you’ll regret it.”

I scoff. “Says the girl who came here freaking out about what she’s going to do in life.”

“I’m not like you. I haven’t been working for a degree. I don’t even have enough credits to graduate in May. Besides, I probably won’t have the money to attend next semester.”

“Me neither,” I say.

“But this semester is paid for. You might as well go. You can switch to somewhere cheaper next year.”

A knock on the door turns our attention to Lance as he peeks his head in. “Everything okay in here?”

Kaley rolls her eyes. “Everything’s just peachy, Protector of the Weak.”

Lance winks at her. “That sounds like the start of a good porno. Want to test it out with some role playing?”

“I’ve been there and you’re not a very good actor.”

He makes kissy noises and shuts the door.

“You two hooked up?

“Yeah, but that was before you met.” I’m confused and she must see it because she says, “I met Lance last semester.”

“When? How?”

“He was at a frat party at the beginning of the summer. We hooked up on and off during the break. I called it off because I thought he was being too clingy, but now I see that it’s just because he was trying to milk me for information. Too bad for him that I didn’t know anything.”

“How ironic,” I say.

“We both got fucked by undercover cops. Go us,” she says, raising invisible pom-poms.

“So you’re not testifying?”

She shakes her head. “I literally know nothing. That’s why I don’t have my own round-the-clock secret service. At least you have Justin to pass the time.”

Something on my face must give me away because her face falls. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say, lying. I pace for a moment. “How are you okay with being used like that?”

“Like what?”

“Finding out that Lance was sleeping with you for information.”

Her face screws up in thought. “He’s a boy. He’s going to sleep with anything within walking distance. Ashley had nothing to do with the investigation, but he slept with her. It’s just how it is.”

I slouch back down, unmoved by her revelation.

“Besides,” she says, placing a hand on my knee. “I didn’t love Lance…and he didn’t love me.”

I fight the burn in my throat and look away.

Sensing my refusal to talk about it, she zips her lips. It takes approximately two seconds for her to break the lock on her mouth. “Do you love him?”

There’s an ongoing loop in my head where I ask myself the same questions every day, all day, and I don’t need Kaley adding to them.

Gathering that I’m not going to let my walls down, she deftly re-zips and smiles. “I promise to not bug you if you promise you’ll be in class on Wednesday. There’s only four weeks of school left.”

She’s right, and I’m angry with myself for needing someone to push me. Just because my heart is trying to kill me and I’m slowly dying of starvation doesn’t mean I can’t function. School is important.

I sigh. “Fine.”

“Good,” she says, standing, new cheer in her step. “Don’t make me use the sympathy card to get in again. Next time I’ll just get Lance to kick the door in.”

My mouth is still hanging open when she leaves.

That bitch.

“
MUST YOU FOLLOW ME
?” I say, careening around to face Justin.

“Yes,” he says, stopping when I stop.

I clench my teeth to hold in a growl, swiveling back around on the sidewalk. I hope he doesn’t plan on sitting in lecture with me. That’s where I draw the line. I need some form of space, and having him chauffeur me around campus is demeaning as it is. Listening to girls giggle in the bathroom about the cute boy waiting on his girlfriend almost did me in. I can’t even pee in peace.

At least he can’t smoke on campus. I’m sick of seeing smoke billow outside of his car window every time I look outside. I’ve fantasized about walking out there, crumbling the cigarette pack between my fingers, and shoving them in his face.

I hear his footfalls pick back up with the echo of mine in the hallway. I’m late, no surprise there, but I’m here and that’s what counts. At least, that’s what I told myself when I pressed snooze three times this morning before forcing myself to get out of bed. Justin reaches for the door handle.

“No, you’re not coming in with me.”

“I won’t have a visual.”

“It’s not any less than when I’m at home.”

He lets his grip fall from the door, taking a step back. “Text me if you need me.”

I’m surprised he relents, but I don’t question it. I keep my head down and thankfully, unlike Whitticker, my Criminal Rights professor doesn’t like to call people out when they’re late. The classroom is fairly empty, nobody ready to give up Thanksgiving break. I choose a spot in the last row, happy with the amount of empty seats surrounding me. The back entrance to the classroom opens and I roll my eyes.

Pissed that Justin just couldn’t let it go, I don’t bother to look up as he takes the seat next to me. “I’d be lying if I said murder hasn’t crossed my mind a few times today,” I say, annoyance dripping from my voice.

“That’s funny, me too,” a voice says. Although familiar, it’s not Justin’s.

I look up and my eyes clash with the guy Justin punched months ago when we went to Blackjack’s. It’s the guy whose car we broke down, and he works for John Monroe. His eyes are clearer, less cloudy than I remember them. There’s no escaping the hostility.

“Get your shit. We’re going outside.”

It’s not that I don’t want to move—actually, that’s exactly what it is—but it’s like I physically can’t. Somewhere between the synapses that run from my brain to my legs, there’s a communication issue.