Everything You Need (6 page)

“Good. We’ll talk more later, okay?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, then walked away from her and climbed the stairs, knowing that Mary hadn’t finished with him yet and that he was going to hear more about Kris and how unhealthy his relationship with her was. He was aware that it was true; he just couldn’t force himself to care.

Chapter 7

Standing by the window in Ashton’s kitchen, Kris stared at the phone that vibrated in her hand, its display flashing her mother’s name. She sighed and answered it.

After a hurried hello, Mother’s rushed words travelled over the line filling Kris’s ear. “...the stay paid... sold the apartment... rent is mine...”

Another tired sigh left her throat before she squared her shoulders. “Slow down,” she ordered her mother. “I haven’t sold the apartment.” In her need for money, her mother might have turned to such a short-term solution, but she wasn’t stupid enough to decide to let go of a roof over her head and two hundred dollars a month just so her mother would be able to stay in rehab a little longer, no matter how much she wished for her mother to get better. “The message I sent you... George is going to leave because he’s graduating this spring.”

“The rent is mine. You get it now that I’m in here, but otherwise it’s mine. Grandfather made sure that it’s mine, he wrote it in his will.”

Grandfather hadn’t put anything in the will, but he had expressed the wish that if Kris took tenants, she would share the rent with her mother, something her mother was very well aware of, but Kris nodded anyway, because it was easier to agree than to fight. “Yes, it’s yours.” She could have waited before notifying her mother about losing the tenant, but her mother didn’t deal with changes well and needed time to adjust; it was better to suffer her small tantrums over the phone than in person. “Listen, I can’t talk right now. I’ll call you later, okay?”

She cut the connection without waiting for her mother’s reply. She pocketed the phone before she glanced through the glass at the small inner yard, at the oak tree that stretched above the cobbled pavement, its leafless branches hanging low over the two benches that stood under it. It looked so lonely and small as it stood there, trapped by the tall two-story buildings that surrounded it on all four sides. That’s how she was, lonely, small and imprisoned by her mother’s inability to take care of herself. She leaned her forehead on the cold glass and her fingers brushed against it as if she were caressing the tree outside. There was an image reflected on the glass, an outline of a man standing by the kitchen door. She pushed herself away from the glass and faced Ashton.

He stepped forward, just one step, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on her. “Who’s George?”

She glanced past Ashton, half-expecting to see the brunette that had ambushed them on the stairs. “That girl, is she --”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” He took another step forward.

Kris hadn’t thought she was, because in that case Ashton would have tried to get rid of her, not asked her to go upstairs in front of the brunette. But there was something between them, an intimacy, because the brunette’s gaze had burned holes in Kris’s back. “She looked angry.” And surprised and sad.

“She’s a friend. She thinks that just because we have known each other since forever she can boss me around.” His fingers rubbed the back of his neck as he absently stared at the floor, like he was pondering something. It was probably that girl. They might be friends, but she behaved quite possessively, as if she wanted to be something more. Kris wanted to ask him how long they had known each other, when he lifted his head, narrowed his eyes and repeated his question, “Who’s George?”

She was tempted to say, ‘Why do you care?’ Really, why
did
he care? “My tenant.”

“The one who’s leaving?”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “Do you want to know who was on the phone, too?”

He nodded and then, after a moment of silence in which she didn’t offer him an answer, he smiled. “But you don’t seem to be willing to share.”

She shrugged. Another stretched moment of tense silence. The air around them became heavy and suffocating. Their eyes locked and she couldn’t move, it was like he had cast some sort of spell over her.

He broke their eye contact and lessened the distance between them in one step. “Kris,” he more whispered than said. “Oh, Kris, what are we going to do?”

She wanted to ask ‘about what?’ but then she looked up at him and lost herself in the embrace of his dark eyes. There was something glittering in them, something so familiar and so alien at the same time. Affection, that what it was. But that affection wasn’t meant for her. It was for the girl whose face adorned the pages in the sketchbook, the sketchbook which cover carried the inscription
Kate
. She needed a quiet corner, she needed to think about everything that had happened today. She needed to analyse it and to adjust her expectations and behaviour accordingly, because if she didn’t... If she didn’t, she would allow herself to hope for things that weren’t possible and she would end up hurt. Right now, she needed to push him away, she had to escape the spell of his gaze, and yet, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, knowing full well what would follow if she didn’t. He would kiss her.

There was just a step of distance between them and suddenly there was none. His arms wrapped around her and he leaned over her, his hands sliding up her back.

She should have moved away, broken free from the prison of his arms, but it was as if she was stuck and she did the only thing her body was capable of doing. She rested her hands against his chest, feeling the hard muscles under her fingers, and pushed herself up on her toes.

Their mouths touched and their tongues slid against each other.

A buzz of electricity shot up her spine and heat spread over her body, making her light-headed. Her fingers fisted the fabric of his shirt. What was it about him that made him so irresistible to her? Why couldn’t she resist him, push him away? What was so special about him? She didn’t know anything about him besides him being an artist, who lived above the gallery, that he liked
Good Omens
and that he felt something for the girl named Kate.

#

“Hey! Hey, you!” a female voice called out.

Kris heard the calls together with thunder of boots against the asphalt, but until the hand descended on her shoulder, stopping her, she thought that it was meant for somebody else. She turned around.

Ashton’s friend stared at her with something like dislike in her brown eyes. She released her. “I’m Mary,” she said. “Ashton’s friend.”

“Yes?”

“I need to talk to you.”

To tell her to leave Ashton alone, most likely. But Kris couldn’t do that, even if she wanted to, since she owed him twenty hours of posing. A cold wind rushed around the corner and she shivered and pulled the scarf higher. “Talk.”

“Not here.” Over her shoulder, Mary glanced at the gallery, four buildings behind them, and pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her thick jacket.

She’s afraid that Ashton might see us
, Kris speculated. She could refuse Mary and tell her that she didn’t have time, but from her experience that usually didn’t work. She had better get this over with. “Walk with me.” She resumed her stride. Even though it was only a little after five, the twilight had darkened the sky and the street lights cast a yellow glow on the pavement. There were a few people around, passing them with their hands in their pockets and with curved spines, as if they were trying to huddle deeper into the warmth of their clothes. “What do you want to talk with me about?”

“About Ashton.” Mary fell into step with her.

“What about Ashton?”

“The only reason he’s interested in you is because you resemble his former girlfriend.”

So Kate was his girlfriend. “I know. Kate, right?” Kris said with her eyes fixed on the pavement before her.

Mary stopped for a second and then she was back at Kris’s side again. “He told you?”

Kris looked at the brunette and at the surprise written on her face, then without saying anything, she shifted her focus to the road before her.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

Kris agreed. It didn’t mean anything, especially since she had stumbled over Kate’s existence accidentally, but she didn’t tell that to the girl beside her.

“Just because you know, it doesn’t mean anything,” Mary said, her voice laced with stubbornness. “So he told you and you look like her, it doesn’t mean anything. After he sleeps with you, he’s going to toss you aside like all the rest.”

Sleeps with you.
A small shiver shot up Kris’s spine. To sleep with Ashton... warmth knotted itself in the pit of her stomach. Swallowing, she pushed the strap of her brown bag higher on her shoulder, glancing at the girl walking beside her. She said, ‘after he sleeps with you, he’s going to toss you aside like all the rest.’ “But not you?”

“I have been there from the beginning, I know him. I know what makes him tick.” Mary frowned. “I don’t mind sharing him, but I will not --” She bit her lip.

She was in love with him. Did he know? If he did, did he care? Kris sighed. “What do you want from me?”

“Stay away from him.”

“I can’t do that,” Kris told her. “He has already paid for my time.”

Mary’s mouth thinned and Kris expected that ‘don’t sleep with him’ would be next, but instead in a small voice Mary said, “You’re going to hurt him.”

“Isn’t it going to be the other way around?” Kris stopped. “Isn’t he going to be the one tossing me away, not I him?”

Mary, who also stopped, faced her. “You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t.”

“How could you, when you don’t even know him? And what he went through.” Mary’s gloved hands curled. “He wants you, but only because you look like Kate. Once he realizes that you can’t take her place, he’s going to...” She trailed off without finishing her sentence. Her eyes narrowed at Kris.

‘Toss you aside’ should have been the end of the sentence, according to what Mary had said, but... It could also have been: ‘He’s going to be hurt.’

“He’s going to sleep with you and then he’s going to forget you,” Mary said in a high voice, then turned on her heel and stomped away.

Kris watched her until she disappeared around the corner. She sighed and continued her walk home. She tried not to think about Mary or Ashton, and tried not to feel pity for the girl, but twelve minutes later, after she entered her apartment building, she was still thinking about Mary. One couldn’t choose whom to fall for. Unfortunately.

On the stairs, she ran into an older lady, her upstairs neighbour, who dragged a heavy bag. “Can I help you?” she offered.

“Oh, Kris, is that you?” Mrs. Smith leaned toward her to see her better.

“Yes.”

The older lady gave her the bag. “You are always so kind.”

“How are you?”

“You know how it is,” Mrs. Smith said. “But you look well. How is your mother?”

“Okay.”

“You’re such a good child.” Mrs. Smith patted Kris’s arm. “Such a good child. Your mother’s lucky to have you.”

Tell her that
, Kris thought. She carried the groceries to the fourth floor, then after a goodbye to Mr. Smith she returned to the third floor where her apartment was. She unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The foyer with two shoe-cabinets lining the wall and an upholstered bench between them was lit and the kitchen door open.

Kris could see a tall man by the counter, making a sandwich. “Hi, George.” She kicked her boots off her feet and slid into a pair of slippers, before she started to peel off the warm cocoon of her clothes.

“Hi,” the brunet greeted her back. “Do you want a sandwich?”

“No, I have already eaten.” She hung the coat and the scarf on the hooks above the bench, while she put the gloves and the cap into the basket on the shoe cabinet.

“Hey.” George strolled out of the kitchen, taking big bites of his sandwich. “The toilet’s leaking again,” he mumbled between his chewing.

It was the probably a limescale problem again, which meant she would have to take the toilet tank down and clean it. It had become a regular occurrence in the last half-year. “I’ll fix it.”

“You should just buy a new one.”

“I will.” Sooner or later, which in her case meant later. A new toilet tank would cost at least a hundred, which she wasn’t willing to spare right now. She glanced into the small kitchen where dirty dishes were piled in the sink. “Don’t forget to clean up afterwards,” she said to George, then strode into the hallway with a wardrobe and three doors; the one at the end led to her room, her safe haven. She went into her room, lowered her bag onto the chest of drawers at the foot of the bed and sat on the blue bedspread. She leaned back on small pillows that lined the bed in a U, giving it a couch feel. Her eyes landed on a black paperback laying on her night-stand; with her gaze she traced the golden embossed letters. She had already read the
Good Omens
, but when she wanted to return it to Ashton, he had said that she could keep it. She had, and now the book was on her night-stand, and every time it came in her line of vision, it reminded her of him. She pulled her legs against her chest, wrapped her arms around them and leaned her chin on her knees. She closed her eyes.

Ashton’s face appeared before her, with a soft, yearning expression in his dark eyes as he looked down at her.
Oh, Kris, what are we going to do?