Call Me Cat (8 page)

THERE WASN'T MUCH
that could be salvaged. The blood-stained message still soaked the walls, but Crackhead had been taken as evidence. A fine coating of fingerprint dust somehow did more to make my living room look like a crime scene than anything else. I felt like I was in an episode of
CSI
, one where a guest character comes on for an episode, has their life torn apart by murder and mayhem, and then is never seen again.

I picked law school so I wouldn't be constantly cast as the disposable victim. I wante
d to be the hero in my own story, convicting the bad guy and giving a sense of closure to the wronged. I was tired of being the victim.

I'd worn gloves and jeans as
protection against all the broken glass. With trash bag in hand, I filled it with pieces of furniture, books and personal items that were beyond repair. Over a dozen bags later I found myself staring at a box with precious little left of my life. A few pictures, my jewelry (most of it cheap stuff I'd gotten at various farmers markets), and on top of it all the now-unframed and slightly scratched portrait of me with my parents. I couldn't tell if the creep or the police had taken anything else, and I didn't know if they'd found anything that could help catch the guy who did this, but at least I still had a few things that mattered to me.

Growing up in foster care, I'd learned fast to live light, keeping only what I could carry in a box or suitcase from one family to the next. As I left my apartme
nt that day, I felt like that fifteen-year-old girl with long brown pigtails, wearing a hand-me-down dress too big for my small frame, carrying a box to my new temporary home.

I'd been luckier than most.
I'd never been beaten or raped—horror stories I heard from other girls I'd lived with. A few parents were even kind and good, but none were permanent. None replaced the parents I'd lost that night.

And so I eventually stopped crying myself to sleep at night. Stopped dreaming of them coming back to save me. Stopped believing anyone would save me. I learned I had to save myself. That I could only depend on one person, and that was me.

I was still that fifteen-year-old in so many ways.

As I locked up the apartment and picked up the box
from the stoop, I heard the scuffle of feet behind me and turned in time to notice someone in a black hoodie disappear behind the building. My heart pounded in my chest, and I checked around to see if anyone else had seen him, but I was alone.

The hair on the back of my neck stood on
end, a shiver ran down my spine. I carried the box to Bridgette's car, and couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me, but each time I turned around to check—nothing.

It took another thirty minutes to take all of the trash bags to the dumpster and check in with the property management office. I didn't know the protocol for this kind of thing. I
had to move out, but I would lose my entire deposit with the shape the apartment was in.

The bell
s over the door rang as I stepped into the warm office and kicked the snow off my feet. When Martha noticed me, she came out, a sympathetic smile on her heart-shaped face. "The police were here. I'm so sorry."

"Thanks. I have to move. I feel awful with the state of the apartment."

She waved away my concern. "You've been an excellent tenant and the police explained everything. We're not going to penalize you. But, your car was towed after being parked too long in a guest spot. I couldn't stop it, I'm sorry."

"I couldn't afford to fix it anyway, don't worry. Thanks for trying."

She handed me an envelope. "This might help. I couldn't get you the entire security deposit back, but I got you half."

It was more than I expected and I choked on tears as I hugged her. "Thank you. It does."

My vision clouded from the mix of emotions pouring through me as I stared at the envelope on the way to my car. I didn't see him until I'd nearly run into him.

He caught me by the shoulders. "Catelyn, you okay?"

I looked up into Ash's handsome face, his dimple subdued under his concerned frown. He smelled like leather and peppermint today and looked yummier than he had any right to. "I'm fine."

"I didn't realize you lived here," he said.

"I don't. Well, not anymore. I just moved out."

"Oh. Do you have a moving truck?"
He glanced around.

"No. It's complicated.
What are you doing here, anyway? Are you stalking me?" I asked the question in jest, but then remembered my feeling of being watched and took a step back. How well did I really know this guy? I'd run into him so randomly so many times. Who's to say he wasn't some weirdo who liked to follow girls around scaring them?

"I thought we covered
this stalking business. I had some errands in this neighborhood. When I saw you come out of the office looking upset, being the knight in shining armor type, I came to see if I could help." He put on a charming smile that I'm sure melted girls everywhere, but I forced myself to stay frozen. If I melted I might never reform into something resembling myself again.

"I'm fine, but thank you for your concern. I really should be going." I walked toward the car, willing myself not to look back.

He reached for my arm and I turned, enjoying the feel of his hand more than I should. "We could be friends," he said, a sad look on his face.

I hesitated, not knowing
what to say.

He took that as a sign and continued. "I'm not a bad guy, I swear it. Just give me a chance."

"What if I'm the bad one?" I asked, leaving him speechless as I got into the car and drove off.

SUN PEEKED OUT
over the trees, giving us a break from the snow and some much needed vitamin D. I stood in the golden rays like a cat, basking in the almost-warmth as I waited for Bridgette to meet me at the Starbucks at Copley Place. I had no idea why, since a pair of socks at this mall cost more than my entire bank account.

A sporty red car pulled up and Brig stepped out with a big smile on her face. She blew a kiss to the driver, presumably the new boy toy, and he drove off, burning rubber as he went.

I walked over to her. "He's charming."

"He's hot." As if that was enough. She linked her arm with mine. "Now let's get you a makeover, girlfriend."

"Brig, you know this place is way out of my price range."

She held up a platinum card. "Daddy gave his blessing for a splurge. He wa
nted to do something to help. For instance, buy you decent shoes." She looked down at my feet and sniffed.

"I can't take money from
your dad. Let's just go to Walmart, and I can pick up a few pairs of jeans and sweaters. I'll be fine."

Brig would have none of it. I had two choices: 1) I could fight her and ruin our day. And still not win. 2) I c
ould accept the gift she could afford, forget all my problems for a bit, and have fun with my best friend.

It was surprisingly hard to choose option 2. I had to remind myself it was okay to enjoy life once in aw
hile. And if I was being honest, a part of me really wanted a nice wardrobe of designer clothes. What can I say? Even I have my little vanities.

So I agreed, and she whooped and hugged me and laughed and dragged me into a hair salon. "First things first, you need a new cut, a waxing and a mani-pedi."

I had no say in any of it, but two hours later I had to agree I looked amazing, even in my shitty clothes. My hair, which had been layered and styled, fell down my back in dark waves. My eyes popped after the waxing and my nails and toes flashed a sexy red.

For the first time in a long time, we talked, laughed, and didn't delve into anything too serious. In other words, we had fun
—something I'd almost forgotten about.

It took another several hours to make the rounds through Barneys of NY, Saks Fifth Avenue, Coach and Gucci
—and of course we had to stop at the Godiva Chocolate Store for a treat.

We were laden with bags, clothes and sweets when we saw Lucky walking toward us. He looked so out of place in this mall, I felt almost sorry for him.

"Hey Lucky, what's up?" I smiled at him and Brig scowled and shifted her bags on her arms.

"Hi, Catelyn. I didn't know you'd be here. I was just checking out this place to see if I could set up a coffee kiosk over the break. I'm trying to branch out with my business." He picked at a scab on his chin and shuffled his feet, his shoulders slouched.

"That's great. Good luck!"

"Thanks, Catelyn
."

My phone buzzed with a text
, and I handed Bridgette a bag and checked my message.

You girls look beautiful in all your new clothes. I bet you'll look even better without them. Guess you're not so lonely anymore, but I still am. See you soon.

I froze.

Bridgette
, who'd been going on about how she could tell a person's character by how they walked, stopped mid-sentence when she saw my face. She grabbed my phone and read.

Lucky frowned. "Something wrong?"

"No," I said. "Nothing."

"Okay." He shrugged, obviously aware of my lie.
"Have fun shopping." He walked off, twirling his mustache.

Bridgette
glared at me. "The killer's in the store."

"Or saw us come in," I said, scanning the aisles for someone shady.

"This is getting scary, Catelyn. We have to go to the police."

It was my turn to scowl. "Like they'll do anything about it."

"For a girl who wants to work within the system of justice, you sure don't have a lot of faith in it," she said.

"You wouldn't either, if you were me."

DETECTIVE GRAY TOOK
our statement, all the while looking constipated and in need of a good shit. Then he took my phone. "We need it as evidence."

"The number he texted from is blocked. Can you trace it?"
I asked.

"We're looking into it," he said.

"Have you found anything that might give us a hint as to who is doing this?"

"We found several different prints at your apartment." He stuck my cell phone in an evidence bag and
labeled it. "We're running them against you, your former roommate and Miss Beaumont here. If anyone else pops up, we'll let you know."

Bridgette
leaned in closer to him. "This case needs to be your number one priority, got it?"

The detective nodded
and walked away, leaving us to show ourselves out.

Bridgette
watched him. "He's an asshole, but he does have a nice ass."

"
For a future doctor, you really have a one- track mind," I said.

We drove back to her house
, and I carried my box up to the guest room, then went to Bridgette's room and flopped on her bed. She handed me her cell phone. "You'll need it for work. I'll get a new one from my dad."

"Thanks."

She lay down next to me, our heads side by side with our feet dangling from the bed. "What do I do now?" I asked, looking at her.

"First, we have an awesome winter break. Then, you move into my dorm. And somewhere along the way, you lose your V-card to Mr. Hottie Billionaire."

"So you're Team Ash over Team Jon?"

She nodded. "I prefer the bad boy. They
say girls want a bad boy who'll be good just for them and boys want a good girl who'll be bad just for them. If that's true, you two would be perfect for each other."

I rolled onto my side and leaned my head against my hand. "I have a confession."

She sat up and crossed her legs. "Oh, tell! Tell!"

"Ash has been calling me."

Her expectant face fell. "That's good, but hardly newsworthy. Are you going to go out with him?"

I sat up to face her. "No, not calling me.
Callin
g
,
calling me."

Her face lit up again. "O.M.G. For real? Like, for phone sex?"

"We haven't actually had phone sex, but yes, that's the line he calls."

"If you're not doing it with words, then what are you doing?" She raised an eyebrow.

I pulled one of her overstuffed pink pillows onto my lap. "We just, I don't know, talk."

"About what?"

"Stuff. Life. He's much less annoying on the phone than he is in person."

She laughed. "I think you are the only female in the world who's annoyed by Ashton Davenport."

"Maybe. He's just so arrogant and dismissive of everything I believe in."

"But he's sexy. Like
, god-status sexy." She fanned herself.

"I know you know that there are more important things than looks, Miss Genius IQ, so quit playing dumb. Yes, he's sexy, and there's a certain appeal to him being a self-made man, but I don't think things would work between us. Besides
, how am I supposed to explain that I'm Cat, his phone sex operator?"

She threw a pillow at me. "You make things so complicated. You always have! Just have fun. Live a little. Maybe tell him as Cat that you want to meet and when you show up as Catelyn he'll realize that the two women in his life are one and the same. He might be relieved."

"I don't know. This is a bad time to get involved with someone."

"Girl, there's never a good time to be involved with a man. So you might as well feast while
there's an all-you-can-eat buffet available."

I threw the pillow back at her. "Ok
ay, enough about me. Who's Mr. 'My car is overcompensating for something'?"

"If he's overcompensating, it's not his cock that's lacking, that's for sure. He's an awesome lay. Not very bright, but he doesn't need to b
e." She stood and yawned. "Let's change into our pajamas, get some ice cream and watch movies all night in my room. We can pretend we're still undergrads with nothing to worry about but our next test."

That sounded like a perfect night. We spent the evening pigging out on jun
k food and talking about boys, avoiding any serious discussions until later. But my worries didn't vanish, and I couldn't be the college girl she imagined, because even in undergrad, I hadn't been carefree, not like her. I'd always had concerns that stretched beyond finals and boys, which is why I'd never been in a serious relationship.

Bridgette
may be my best friend, but she could never understand the darkness in my past. No one could.

Expect maybe Ash.