Under the Surface (17 page)

I do, but I
really need to get back to my place.

“I want to,
but I have photos to edit at home and homework. Plus, I feel bad for always
taking you from Noel.”

“Oh…well you
should get home then,”
Emmy says and she sounds disappointed. Now
I feel bad for leaving after only being here a short while. I just wanted to
check up on her, but since Noel is here I know she’ll be okay.

I give her a
hug goodbye but catch Noel giving me a look.

Shit, she
probably thinks I’m running out after what she said.

I give Noel a hug goodbye too.
“It was nice meeting you,”
I say, then whisper so
only she can hear, “and I will.”
Talking about her earlier
advice to make a move.

She’s back to
smiling again, her angry look wiped from her face

* *

I’m editing another round of senior
photos. This one is of an eighteen year old guy, whose name is Aidan, and he’s
planning on going to college next year to study journalism.

I remember
when I was eighteen, a senior in high school, and I thought I had my whole life
planned out for me. Go to school to study photography, make it my career, but
all that went downhill after my mom died. I lost the passion for a while. I
stopped taking pictures, and I failed out of school. And in the end, it did
nothing but slow me down. Now I’m a year behind in college and at the end of
the year will get a degree that I can honestly say I don’t like.

And I don
’t entirely know what
I’ll do with it.

Looking back,
if someone asked me, and believe me plenty of people have, I would never admit
to the mistake I made. How failing my first year of college might have fucked
me over for future careers. Now I’ll most likely end up in an office somewhere,
filing paperwork, clocking in at nine and out at five—what a fucking
disappointment to my previous plans.

I make good
money doing booked photo shoots. Weddings, engagements, baby pictures, and of
course senior pictures. But I can’t say this is where my passion is. I need to
create something more expressive. Say something other than, “I’m graduating
high school,”
or “I’m engaged.”

I hear a
knock at my door and turn away from my computer to see Mason walking in.

He plants
himself on the corner of my bed, facing me at my desk.

“You’ve been
in here a while. I called your name a couple times, but didn’t hear a sound
from you.”

I didn’t even
notice he was calling for me. I’ve been too zoned out, scanning over photos and
thinking about my freshman year of college.

“I’ve been focusing
on a few things. Thinking about graduating in the spring. You know, the stuff
that just kind of makes your mind wonder off.”

“You’re
thinking about how you aren’t going to be a photographer after college, aren’t
you?”

Mason always
seems to know what’s really going on. I’ve brought this up to him quite a few
times before, usually when I’m drunk.

I don
’t say anything. Just
drape my arm over the back of my chair and lean my head down.

“You have got
to stop thinking that. I know you think you failed, made a huge mistake by
going to college here, but think about it. If you never would have come here we
wouldn’t have ended up as roommates and we wouldn’t be best friends. That
literally should be enough of a positive to get you out of this mood.”

He’s fucking
right. If I wouldn’t have transferred here, and been so desperate to stay out
of my own house and live on my own, I never would’ve answered Mason’s add for a
new roommate. I saw it on a community bulletin board on campus and immediately
called. He was desperate, I was desperate, and it couldn’t have worked out to
be a better living situation.

Now I’m
cracking a smile.

“I guess
things could have ended up worse,”
I say.

“You’re damn
right they could have…hey, hold on a second.”
Mason starts
pulling out the flat bins underneath my bed. He looks for the one he wants and
grabs a leather bound book from it. About 9x9 in size. One of my older
portfolios

“This right
here,”
he hold up the album. “Is the answer to your questions as to
whether or not you can make it as a photographer after
college.
”
He flips through the pages before tossing it to me. “Open your
eyes, Ren. You have fucking talent. Talent people would pay to see, pay to
experience. Hell, people would probably pay you to follow them around for
weeks, just to take their pictures. Finish college, and use all this,”
he waves his hands around the
room,
“To make a
career for yourself. And if you don’t, I’ll be pissed and start pawning off
your photos to support my love of all things fine: women and liquor.”

“Alright,
alright, I’ll stop getting so depressed about this and think of how I can keep
making money off my pictures after college. Now get out of here and let me
work.”

“Aye
aye
captain!”
Mason salutes me before
leaving my room.

Chapter Seventeen

Emilie

Since I’ve been feeling better, all I’ve
done is go to class and go to work.

I haven’t
been sleeping either, and the last time I’ve been to the pool was last week.

I’m starting
to go stir crazy.

And Ren is
over, and please don’t mistake this for me not wanting to see him but…okay
forget that, at the moment I don’t want to see him.

All night
I’ve gotten nothing from him but questions.

Have you ever
had a boyfriend? You said you don’t date, I understand that, but why? How come
you never talk about your life in Nevada? What city did you used to live in? On
and on and on. I understand that he wants to get to know me better, but these
are the kinds of questions that I never like to answer to people. Ever.

Yes, I don’t
normally date people, I’ve only ever hooked up in the past. But I can’t tell
Ren that I’ve finally found someone I want more with, and it’s him.

I decided to
excuse myself for a minute to get a glass of wine. And you better believe I’ve
been standing in the kitchen taking my own sweet time opening this bottle.

“Do you need
any help?”
Ren asks from the couch.

“No. I know
how to open a bottle of wine, Ren. Just give me a second.”

I roll my
eyes and continue to fumble with the bottle opener. I wish Ren would just take
his camera and computer, which he’s been working with a majority of the night,
and go back to his house.

Only because
I think I’ve used up all of my allotted time opening a bottle of wine, I pour
myself a glass. A very large one, and don’t bother getting one for Ren.

He eyes my
glass of wine as I sit down next to him, but doesn’t say anything. Just looks
back at his computer.

He’s been
editing photos and creating a new online portfolio. I want to ask him more
about it, but I feel like he’ll shut me down because I’ve ignored all his
questions tonight.

To break the
silence, I turn on the television. I flip through the channels, probably
looking as aggravated as I feel, and decide on an old movie I’ve seen a million
times.

“Who was your
best friend growing up?”
Ren asks.

Another fucking
question.

The entire
time we’ve been friends he’s always known to back down when he notices I’m
uncomfortable in a conversation, but tonight he hasn’t stopped pushing me. Like
he won’t stop until I give him an answer.

Fine, I’ll
give him an answer, and I know he won’t like it.

“I didn’t
have one.”
And that’s the truth. I had friends I would play with at recess
when I was really young, like seven and eight, but as I got older I pretty much
avoided most people, and most people avoided me.

“Ever?”

“Ever. Well
not until Noel, and not until you. I didn’t really have any friends growing up.
I was kind of a loner…
not
kind of, I was.
”

I see nothing
but sympathy when I look at Ren. This is one of the reasons I don’t share these
things with him. I don’
t
want
peoples’ sympathy. Can’t he see how far I’ve come? From no
friends, living with an abusive father, to a college student, living and
surviving on her own.

“Stop looking
at me like that.”

“I can’t help
it. That just sounds so…miserable. Growing up without friends.”

“It was
miserable,”
I whisper, quiet enough that I don’t know if Ren can hear me. But
how was I supposed to make friends with people who would probably do nothing
but question the bruises I was always hiding? Or deal with how closed off
I
was?

I’ve changed
so much in the last few years. I don’t like looking back on how bad my life
used to be; it was dark, so dark that sometimes I didn’t know if I could find
my way out of it. But I did, and things are good now. I don’t need sympathy
from Ren. I want his friendship…well I want more than friendship with him, but
I definitely don’t want the reactions he’s giving me now.

I sip more of
my wine, and go back to watching the movie.

“Do you think
—
”

“No more questions!
Enough, Ren. Can I please just sit here and watch this movie? You never
question me like this. That’s one of the things I like about you, so why start
now?”

 He
pauses. “I’m just trying to figure you out. You’re so fucking guarded, and I
never see past this wall you’ve built up around yourself. I’ve seen one glimpse
of what’s going inside that head of yours, but anytime I try and find something
out about you, you shut me out. I’ve been patient, but I just want to know more
about you. Find out why sometimes when I look at you, you look on the verge of
tears, or you’re thinking back on a bad memory. I don’t think it’s wrong, as a
person who cares about you, to want these kinds of answers.”

It’s not
wrong, but some messed up part in my brain refuses to give them to him. I care
about Ren just as much as he cares about me, and probably in a different way
too, but I just can’t give him answers. At least not now.

“I think you
should probably go home now.”

He shakes his
head. “
I don
’t want to leave when you’re this pissed off. Talk to me. Tell me
why you don’t like answering the things I ask. Why you keep yourself so
guarded?”

“No.”

“
Tell me.
”

“I said no.”

“
Please
,
Emmy.”

I’ve had
enough. I finish off my drink and walk into the kitchen. “I’ll see you tomorrow,
Ren.”
I say as I walk away from him. He can show himself out.

“Emmy, I,”
he pauses before finishing what he was going to say. I keep my
head down, staring at my kitchen counter until I hear him leave out the front
door.

I toss my
glass into the sink, shattering it in the process. Maybe I shouldn’t have
driven him away like that, but I couldn’t help it.

The broken
wine glass can wait. I run off into my room, stripping off my clothes in the
process. I start pulling open my drawers until I find a swimsuit, a black two
piece. I toss it on quickly and throw on a pair of leggings that are on the
floor next to my bed, and the gray sweatshirt that’s next to it.

A towel is
the next thing I grab out of the basket of clean laundry on my bed. Once my
keys are in my hand I’m out the door. No bag and no phone.

I need to get
to the pool; I need to get into the water.

Chapter Eighteen

Ren

I’m sitting in my car, still parked
outside Emmy’s apartment complex. For the last few minutes I’ve been wanting to
go back inside and talk to her. I never should’ve left in the first place. But
since she asked me to, and I really knew she meant it, I needed to leave.

It’s the
middle of the night. I’d been at her house for hours today, trying to get some
answers out of her—like I promised myself I would, but it was a complete
failure. She kept shutting me out, like I knew she would. But that’s not going
to stop me. I’ll get her to open up eventually; I don’t care how long it will
take.

A movement on
the second floor of Emmy’s apartment catches my attention. It’s Emmy, and she’s
running out the door.

Where the
hell are you going?

Maybe Noel’s?
I can’t think of anywhere else she would be heading this late. And she’s alone,
without a car, and it’s two in the fucking morning.

I start up my
car and follow behind her. I don’t think she noticed I was still in the parking
lot when she left.

I feel like a
complete creep for chasing after her like this, but I’m dying to know where she’s
going. I can give her a ride…but maybe if I offer she’ll make me turn around
and take her home.

Fuck.
Am I the reason she’s taking off right now? Because I kept
pushing all those questions on her?

She shouldn’t
be running around like this when it’
s so late. It
’
s dangerous.

I trail
behind and drive for a few short minutes before she walks up to a cheap looking
motel. If she’s meeting someone here, some sleazy fucking guy, I’ll lose my
goddamned mind. The parking lot is surprisingly full, only two spots left, and
I park in front of a gated pool.

If I see her
go up to someone’
s room, I
’ll have to completely give up on any chance between the two of
us. Thinking back to Noel’s advice for me to make a move on Emmy, I can’t see
how she didn’t know Emmy was going off and seeing someone.

Has this been
happening the whole time I’ve known her? She’s never said a damned thing to me.

I keep
looking over at the entries to all the rooms and am yet to see Emmy go into
one. I pray to god she’s only passing through this parking lot to get to
somewhere else. I face back to my front windshield and see her. She’s standing
by the pool and taking off her sweatshirt.

And now her
pants.

And now she’s
in a black bikini.

And I
definitely can’t stop staring.

She has the
perfect body. Just the right amount of curves, and nice toned legs. Rarely do I
get to see her showing this much skin. The last time was when we went to the
party and she wore that napkin she called a dress—but boy did I fucking love
it.

But my
perfect visual disappears as Emmy jumps into the water. She starts swimming
back and forth inside the pool. Maybe this is how she relieves stress? I
remember her telling me how much she loves swimming.

I snag my
camera off the seat next to me. I need to get a picture of this.

I think I’m
about to take my new favorite photo, but what does it say about Emmy?