These Things About Us (16 page)

Trace narrowed his eyes at me. “We’re staying closed tonight so everybody can cool down.”

“Your Dad knows about last night?” He had to. Unless Trace and Wesley had the power to keep the doors of the pub shut.

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t tell him.”

“Alright beautiful people, I am leaving,” Vincent sang and, in slow motion, moved his hand towards the door handle. “Whoever wants to come with me better get their ass moving.”

“Shut up Vince, the grown-ups are talking.” Vince flipped Trace off but sank down against the door with his chin propped up in his palm. Seeing him like that, the grown-ups thing made a lot more sense. Vincent was about Trace’s age, maybe 22 or 23, but with his knees pulled up and his bottom lip stuck out, he resembled a five-year-old boy. Trace cleared his throat and I realized he was watching me watching Vince. “Come with us.”

I drew my eyebrows together. “Is that a question?”

“No, actually it isn’t.” Trace grinned.

“There’s no way for me to get out of this, is there?” I sighed.

“No, there isn’t.” 

With all that he’d done for me it seemed horribly wrong to turn him down on such a simple request. It wasn’t like I was about to rob a bank for him. I just had to meet his mother. I just had to spend a couple of hours with Trace without freaking out, or yelling at him, or looking at the muscles working under his skin until it made my toes tingle and my ears flame up.

No problem at all.

I threw my hands up in defeat.
“Okay, let’s do this.” 

Vincent was driving a bright yellow VW that was, according to him, ‘just the right kind of old to make it retro chic.’ To me, it simply looked outdated. I was stuck in the backseat next to a pile of size 12 high heels that came in all colors of the rainbow, including animal print and glittery silver. Since Vincent smoked like a chimney, I tried not to inhale too deeply to avoid nicotine poisoning. Taking short, shallow breaths also made sitting by the shoes easier.

“How do you guys know each other?” I asked after ten minutes of silence.

“Uni,” Vince answered. “Your loverboy beat the shit out of Harris Cooper for calling me a fucked up arse bandit. It was a Tuesday and I decided we should be best friends.”

“I’ve been regretting saving his ass every day since,” Trace grinned and earned himself a shove in the shoulder from Vincent. I made a mental note to tell Wesley that he shouldn’t be afraid to tell his brother he’s gay. 

“He’s not my loverboy. Wait. You went to college?”

“Wow. You don’t have to sound so surprised.” Trace rolled down the window to let some fresh air in and I tucked my knees up because the air might have been clean but also cold.

“I’m sorry. I just… I mean, you’re a bartender in your father’s bar.” Dad had wanted me in the family business ever since I was born. He would have found a place for me even if I had dropped out of high school.

“A bachelor in performance and composition doesn’t exactly guarantee a golden future if you don’t want to sell your soul to a record label.”

“They didn’t want his soul, they wanted his songs,” Vince yelled with an insistence in his voice that made me wonder how many times he had lectured Trace on the topic.

“They wanted the lyrics, not the music,” Trace continued matter-of-factly, “I declined. I’d rather have fifty people listening to my songs the way they’re supposed to sound than have five million listen to a blonde teenager in country boots squeaking the lyrics to the wrong music.”

Vincent broke into a talk about the importance of being recognized for your work in order to leave an imprint in the world, but I didn’t really listen anymore. Trace was looking out the window but his mind was off somewhere else.

How had I not noticed that Trace was just like everybody else? He had hopes and goals and things he wished for. There was a future he dreamed of and one he feared.

After a few more minutes the houses on the side of the road grew sparse and after about an hour in the car we headed into a small town of grey stone houses mixed with modern buildings in bright colors. The VW groaned under us as Vince forced it up a steep slope before he steered into a driveway. We stopped in front of a small, white house with a small fountain in the front yard. I stepped out of the car and realized the silver glistening in the fountain wasn’t water but bottle caps.

“Is there anything I should know before we go in there?” I asked, watching Vince ring the door bell.

Trace turned to me and sighed. “Unless you want to get high, don’t eat the cake. Actually, don’t eat anything. It’s like bloody wonderland in there.”

“I love it,” Vince grinned just as the door swung open.

“My favorite boy!” A tall woman exclaimed and threw her arms around Vincent. Her blond hair was teased and stacked high on her head with all sorts of decoration sticking out of it. A plastic flower the size of my hand was fixed to her hair knot, as well as a string of colorful beads and several feathers. Her face was long and thin, just like the rest of her. “It was about time you visited me again. I thought you forgot all about me.”

“Wouldn’t dare to, Monica,” Vince laughed and pulled out of the hug.

“I hope so. Hello, handsome,” Monica turned to Trace and wrapped him into a short hug as well. Her entire right arm, just like Trace’s, was covered in ink but where Trace’s tattoo sleeve was made up of a couple of black swirls and Caribbean ornaments, hers was a mix of cartoon characters, pin-up girls and flowers.

“Hi Mum,” he said and returned her hug.

“You’ve got to stop growing, boy, or you won’t fit into my arms anymore.”

“I’ve stopped growing when I was eighteen, Mum.”

“You have to come by more often then, so I won’t forget how big you are. Who is this?” A well-known pair of green eyes landed on me, only that they looked at me from a different face than usual. “My son brought a girl over!” She pushed Trace off and within moments I found myself in a tight hug.

“Hi,” I pressed through squeezed lungs.

“Mum, this is Kitty. Kitty, my mother, Monica,” Trace introduced us and shuffled his feet.

“You’re tiny, Kitty. Isn’t that uncomfortable in bed? One of you probably always has to bend in the most awkward ways, don’t you?” Monica chippered.

“God, I’m going to need a lot of cake for this,” Trace mumbled and pressed past us into the house.

“I’m just a friend,” I explained. I hoped force of will could keep the blood from rushing into my cheeks. “There’s no bending and no bed sharing going on.”

“Let’s go inside and you can tell me all about that
friendship
you have.” She said friendship like it was the code word for secret affair.

Monica led Vincent and me into a crammed living room. There were all kinds of masks strapped to the red walls, paper figurines and toy airplanes dangled from the ceiling and two couches and about five antique-looking chairs were stuffed into the small room. To make it worse, the heavy smell of incense sticks hung in the air. If it weren’t for the wide floor-to-ceiling windows to the garden, one could get claustrophobic in here. “What are you drinking?”

Trace was nowhere to be found, and I wasn’t sure if drinking was as much of a risk as eating. “Do you have coffee?”

“Do we have coffee? Honey, I wouldn’t function without it.” Neither would I. The barista in Coffee Donna, the coffee shop around the corner from the pub, had my order memorized. I had already cut back to only two cups a day but it still gave me headaches to go without any for too long. “I’ll be right back. Make yourself comfortable.”

Vince was already sprawled out on one of the couches, a cupcake with pink icing in his hand. I sank down on the other couch and let my head fall back so I could look at all the small things above our heads. I would have loved to step on a ladder and take pictures of the miniature sky of paper cranes and airplanes and snowflakes.

“Someone should have told me we were having a pretty girl over. I would have changed.” A dark-haired guy stepped around a small end table and sank into one of the plush armchairs. His lips were split in a mischievous grin and he wore a muscle shirt two sizes too small, showing off something that could have resembled nice arms if you didn’t see a pair of well-toned ones every single day.

“Thanks, mate, but you’re still not my type,” Vince grinned and raised his cupcake towards the guy. I couldn’t help smiling at Vincent’s perception of himself as a pretty girl.

“Likewise, Vince. I was talking to your gorgeous friend over here.” He nodded in my direction and I wrapped my arms around myself, uncomfortable in the spotlight of his attention. I didn’t even wear make-up or nice clothes. How much did a girl have to do to become invisible to all men?

A large hand squeezed my shoulder and I cringed under the sudden touch. Trace leaned over the backrest of the couch, handing me a green apple. “Sorry, I couldn’t find anything else safe for you to eat,” he explained, keeping his eyes trained on the guy in the armchair.

I fought for my voice to come out loud and strong. “An apple is totally fine. Thanks.”

“Do you need anything else?”

I needed for him to stop circling his thumb in the back of my neck, so I could think straight. His touch sent hundreds of tiny needles through my body. It didn’t help that he was taking care of me again, damn it. He was turning me into putty.

I swallowed. “No, I’m good.”

“You’ve met my stepbrother.” He sounded strained as he gestured towards the guy in the armchair. “Nate.”

“Nice to meet you.” The words sounded as forced as they felt. “You guys have a nice house.”

“It’s filled with a lot of useless shit,” Nate grumbled.

“I kind of like it,” I shrugged and Trace gave my shoulder an encouraging squeeze. “At least it doesn’t look like it was ripped from a catalogue. It looks like real, unique people live in here.”

Monica came in carrying a large tray filled with cupcakes and cookies and steaming cups. Trace sat down beside me, his leg pressed up against mine, as I took the cup of coffee from his mom. She was talking about an art exhibit she was participating in. It was about alienating everyday objects and Vince asked a question about an artist I didn’t know.

I wanted to take a sip of my coffee but Trace’s hand shot out and covered the cup. “Hold on,” he murmured for only me to hear. He lifted the cup from my hands and sipped from it himself. He scrunched his nose at the cup. “I hate coffee. Shit. Kitty, you don’t want to drink this.”

“For a matter of fact,
I
like coffee and what it tastes like,” I mumbled.

“That’s not what I meant. Remember what I told you about the cake? You want to drink this as much as you want to eat the cake.” He put the cup down on the table and spoke up, “Mum, what did you put into the coffee?”

Monica turned from Vincent to her son, wearing the most innocent smile I’d ever seen. “What do you mean?”

I couldn’t even drink coffee in this house. Vincent, who was supposed to drive us home, was getting high on cupcakes, Nathan was still undressing me with his eyes, Trace was leaning so close I could feel him breathe and Monica had been about to drug me. My throat tightened and I rubbed the birthmark on the back of my hand. I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs to do the freaking breathing exercise because the smoke from the incense sticks clogged my airways.

“Why can’t you serve normal things for once?”

“The coffee is as normal as coffee gets. Everything in there is organic and healthy for your soul and body.”

I didn’t need to know what exactly she had mixed into the coffee. I knew it was not healthy. Not for your soul or your body. It was terrible and it messed up a lot of lives. I pressed against the memories, pushing them back so they wouldn’t resurface. I had to get out of here. Away from all these people. I jumped up from the couch, mumbled some excuse about not feeling well and darted out of the room, not slowing down until I was out of the house.

I gripped the rough stone of the bottle cap fountain to keep from crumbling to the floor. My knuckles were turning white from the pressure and bile was burning in the back of my throat.
I wasn’t going to lose it. Not here, not now.
I just needed to regain control over my body and then figure out the rest. I forced air into my lungs and it stung in my chest, but I counted to four – like I was supposed to – before I released it.

“What’s wrong?” Trace walked up behind me but I didn’t dare facing him. He was part of what made my body spin out of control.

“Nothing,” I mumbled, squeezing my eyes shut against the blazing pain in my chest. His warm hands got hold of my arms and I liked the feeling of his skin on mine too much. I spun around and smacked his hands away. “Don’t touch me!” I backed against the fountain, putting a few inches of air between us. “You just keep touching me and you’re making it worse. Every single time you put your hands on me, it gets worse.”

He held up his hands like he would if he was approaching a scared animal. “I won’t touch you. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“Everything is going wrong, Trace. I’m losing control more and more and I don’t know how to stop it. I cannot lose control again.” My eyes started to burn, but I couldn’t make the brimming tears go away and it just reminded me that I was weak. “I’m going to lose everything I’ve worked for because sooner or later I’m going to fail. I’m going to start sleeping with random guys again, or I’m going to get into stealing for the kick of it, or into alcohol and drugs and parties just like I used to, because that’s who I’ve always been. I’m kidding myself thinking that I can be a normal, nice girl. I’m not nice. I’m mean and I hurt people. Everything else is just a façade and it’s going to crack. You and your mother and everything in there, you’re cracking it.”

Trace waited for my rambling to stop, his eyes never leaving my now tear-streaked face and shook his head. He let his hands fall down and pushed them into the pockets of his jeans. Completely calm, he said, “I don’t think you’ll go back to being that girl you’re talking about.”

“I’m turning back into her bit by bit, every single day. You didn’t know her. You don’t see how she’s taking over my thoughts and my body.”