Heartbreaker (5 page)

SeVeN

______________________________________

I’ve been sitting in my dream kitchen with my almost mother in law for the past few minutes sipping my c
offee and talking about insignificant stuff. We don’t mention anything unmentionable and it makes me a little uncomfortable. Not that I’d be comfortable with the unmentionable either. My legs are jiggling and I can't seem to stop them. I really hate it when they do that.

Each time the second hand ticks on the oversized clock on the wall, it sends a small shock through my system, like its poking every one of my nerve cells. I’ve never been this on edge before. Well that’s not quite true. I have. But that was so different to this.

Seeing Cam is all I’ve thought about for the past two years and now I’m here in his house, waiting for that moment and I all I can think about is running again.

Such a coward, Bailey Ryan.

His mom asks if I want more coffee, and I’m pretty sure I don’t, but once again say yes. It gives me something to say and gives her something to do. The coffee breaker. I almost crack a smile to myself, when I hear a crash from the other side of the door.

“Mom, yo
u moved that damn table again,” Cam says, nudging through the door, hopping on one bare foot, the other being rubbed by his large beautiful hands. My eyes are trained on them for a moment, as I recall those very same hands touching me.
Shit.
I’m not supposed to be thinking about that. I’m here for other reasons. To move on. Then his gorgeous blue eyes land on me and I forget all that. All I see is him and me. Me and him. No past. No lost two years.

God I want him so bad right now.

“Bailey, what ... what ...” he splutters, placing both feet on the ground and stretching to his full six foot height.

I don’t know if I have a voice right now, but I need to say something. His mother is looking between us, like she’s waiting too.

I swallow down a lump. “Hi, Cam.”

He doesn’t say anything just continues to stare at me, then he blinks and looks at his mother who now has her eyes firmly set on him. There's worry there. Concern for him about seeing me, I guess.

Hello.
Maybe I do matter.

That thought makes me a feel a little better, even though I know it shouldn’t. Even though I know I’m horrible and to blame and stupid and I hurt him. I still want to smile and latch on to that one thread of hope.

There’s an uncomfortable silence, with so many silent conversations going on right now.

Then I let my eyes trail over him. I swallow an even bigger lump. My brain registering, he doesn’t have a shirt on, his worn jeans hanging from his hips, his brown hair scruffy and messed. Bed hair. His arm pressed with red creases. Then I realize where those creases have come from. Jennifer Jaimeson's head has been lying there. Wrapped in his arms. The realization of knowing who he got that messy bed hair from, and who made those marks, crashes me back to earth and the bile rises in my throat. I swallow for the third time.

Hold it together, Bailey.

I start counting back from ten. Imagination in overdrive. I can’t manage to say anything. I’m angry, but I have no right to be. But I am. I really want to punch Jennifer Jaimeson right now. For a moment, I fantasize about finding her and doing just that, when Cam speaks.

“Bailey, what are you doing here?”

Not sure how to answer that question. I’m not really sure myself anymore.

I bite my lip and clench my coffee mug. “Dad. Um, dad asked me to come see you.”

Cam scoffs and shakes his head. “Right. Now I get it.”

He doesn’t. He gets nothing.

His mom hurries toward the door, muttering about washing or shopping or some other lame excuse.
Come back
, I want to yell. I don’t want to be here alone with him. There is too much hurt, too much pain, too much past and I don’t want to deal with it. This was a big mistake. We can never be fixed, we can never be civil.

My leg’s jiggling so much I’m afraid it’s going to knock my cup off the table, but I try so hard to hide it. God, this is awful.

Cam finds a pale blue shirt hanging over one of the kitchen chairs and stuffs his arms in it and buttons it up quickly. I try not to look. I keep my head down, but my eyes stray, wanting to betray me. Trained on him like an eagle on its prey. That has never changed. It probably never will. Once he was the same with me. Not now though. He’s looking everywhere except at me. Okay, so that stabs my gut, but maybe I need a dose of real time, it might make this easier.

I allow myself to glance at him. He’s finished buttoning his shirt and reaches for a steaming coffee sitting on the table. Black with two. I know this, because I’ve made him hundreds of coffees. His mom must have made that for him, while my thoughts were elsewhere. I look at the clock but I can’t hear the ticking anymore, because my ears are thundering with my racing heartbeat.

“I… I … uh… wanted to thank you,” I manage to say.

He crosses his arms and looks to the floor. “Thank me. What for?”

I hate the tone in his voice—incredulous, laced with hurt and frustration. It brings back bad memories.

... Bailey, you can’t do this. You can’t go ...

But I did. And that’s the crux of all this. This stuff between us. And yes there is so much more.

However the truth is in that one moment. And it can’t, and won’t be forgotten. I know that for sure.

I rise from the table on unsteady legs while Cam is still mesmerized by the floor.

“Just thanks, Cam,” I say in a whisper.

Because I am thankful. Thankful he loved me. Even if it was for a little while and not forever. I will always have that. It can’t be taken away from me like everything else.

I
suck in a sigh and turn toward the door. He hasn’t moved and I know he won’t.

So I leave.

Just like I did last time, except this time I’m walking and not running.

eiGHT

______________________________________

I’m having my next session at Gerry’s house today. She lives above the shop she part owns with her older sister.

She told me business has been booming. Who’d of thought our little old backwater, Hicksville would become so popular. Just goes to show what a block buster can do for the local economy. I mean Gerry’s mom started their business, selling all kinds of
hocus pocus
stuff, but now with the release of the movie, Knowledge of the Hidden, the place has been crawling with all kinds of crazy folk, looking to solve the mystery of the Wicca Woods as we call them. Not sure of their official name, the proper plaque got knocked down years ago, and someone replaced it with a beaten up wooden plank, with Wicca Woods, painted in blood red paint. The town council didn’t make any effort to remove it, they actually approved, as it added to the mystery and attracted tourists to the area.

The woods are
scary, particularly knowing the history of the witch hunts, and the gruesome end those women faced in those woods. Brrrr, I feel the temperature drop. Always did creep me out. Cam and I went out there at midnight on a few dares, it terrified me, but Cam always made it fun and made me feel safe. Guess I won’t be going on anymore of those innocent adventures. Though Bennett did ask me to take him next time he visits. He loves all that spooky shit. Don’t think I will. It won’t be the same. That’s a memory I want just for me and Cam. A little treasure to tuck away and bring out on lonely nights.

I sigh big and deep, not sure I’m looking forward to my session today. I kick off my leather boots and tuck my black stocking legs under
neath me. I flare out the purple baby doll dress I’m wearing, so it sits in a circle, hugging me. I love this dress. My mom gave it to me for my birthday a few years back and I never took it to Chicago. I left a heap of clothes behind, so I’m kind of discovering a whole new wardrobe again. I’m considering burning my clothes from the past two years. I haven’t worn any of them. They don’t belong in my life anymore. They belonged to another life, another Bailey. And I’m not her anymore. I don’t want to be. I want to be me.

Gerry knocks quietly and enters. Not sure why she's knocking on her own door, or what she thinks I might be doing, but she always had impeccable manners. My mom loved her too. Loved her cheery nature and her attraction for all things colorful. Speaking of which, she isn’t layered
in colors today, but is wearing stripes. A vertical striped purple shirt and a horizontal striped black and white skirt. My eyes go blurry for a minute. Maybe if I look at her long enough I’ll see a hidden image like those puzzles I used to love as a kid.

She screws her nose
. “You okay, your eyes look funny.”

I suppress a chuckle and shake my head. “No, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Right.” She takes up the same position she did last time, on her bed. I guess we have our set places signalling therapy can begin.

I’m kind of surprised she didn’t bring a notepad and pencil, since she’s taking her role as my Dr Phil so
seriously, but it’s nice knowing how much she cares.

“So you went to see him?” she asks.

My heart jolts. I didn’t think we were discussing the present. I was all prepared to rewind, not fast forward.

She waits. Patient as always.

“I did.”

“And.”

“And nothing.”

“What did he say?”

“Not much.”

“What did you say?”

“About the same.”

“So, that’s it.”

I shrug.

She sighs.
“Okay. Well, are you ready to continue? You know from where we finished yesterday.”

I’m not so sure now. My hand
s are shaking, but I give a small nod.

Gerry settles back onto the bed, resting her head aga
inst the wall and looks at me, expectantly.

Now I sigh.

Then begin. Again.

Eighteen months ago ...

Bennett’s his name, and I only know that, because I spied it written on one of his text books. Every night I enter the class, it’s the same old scenario. The pile of books on the seat next to him, the room full except for that one seat. Seems no one wants to miss this class, ever. I even try to quit work early one night, so I can beat him to that seat. It doesn't work. Seems him and everyone else works on early time.

I decide not to fight it, and go through the ritual of asking him to move his books so I can sit down. It seems to amuse him and I don’t have any other friends to amuse, so I put up with it. He still doesn’t say much, just takes heaps of notes. He hasn’t offered to give me any after the first time. I learnt my lesson and make it a bit of a competition to write more notes than him. Sometimes I write random thoughts, like, Mr Eale’s glasses fog up when he talks about the wall street crash, must have lost out, wonder if that’s why he’s teaching. And I star it, filling up the page so it looks like I’ve got more written than Bennett. Keeps me amused, childish as it is. Not sure if he’s noticed, he never says.

Till one day.

We’ve been doing the silent routine for about a month now. Kind of comforts me to see him three nights a week. I pretend like he’s my friend. I imagine going for coffee and chatting. He’s hot there’s no doubt, but I don’t get the hot vibe from him. He doesn’t get my blood racing. Cam’s the only one who’s ever done that. I’m such a sadist. I should try more. Flirt more. Most of the other girls in the class are always giving him shy glances and cute smiles. He doesn’t seem to pay attention though. And I wonder why. Perhaps that’s why he likes sitting next to me. He obviously doesn’t get the hot vibe from me either. He’s never flirted once. Well not really, apart from saying he was waiting for me and writing out my notes that first night. Then it seemed more like a friendly act, than a coming on to me act.

One day I arrive, late as usual and there's no pile of books, just an empty seat which makes me frown. Then he speaks.

“So, Bailey, how do you like Chicago?”

He knows my name. He knows I’m not from here. My frown deepens.
Who is this guy?

He chuckles. “You have,
Miss New to Town
, written all over your face.”

“I do.”

He gestures towards the vacant chair and I sit. I’m curious about him and how he knows so much about me.

He shrugs. “Not really. I saw your license.”

“Oh.” So he’s been spying on me as well. I did drop my purse one day and all my cards spilled out. He helped me collect them, but never said anything. Weird.

“You haven’t answered my question.”

Huh? What question?

He shakes his head again
and smiles. Wow, he has a really nice smile. “Are. You. Liking. Chicago,” he says, pronouncing each word slowly.

I shrug
. “Oh, um, yeah, I guess.”

He continues to drill me on, where I’ve been, where I live, what I do, until in five minutes I’ve pretty much filled him in on my six months in the windy city.

I sound boring and I’m sure he’ll stop talking to me soon. The plethora of pretty girls eyeing us, with much more interest today, would probably have better stories to keep him amused. But he continues chatting to me until the class begins. Then he stops and starts taking his notes like usual. So I do the same. I’ve been taking fewer notes today, wondering about him. Mr Eagle’s going on about the economic principle of supply and demand, and my mind wanders, I sketch a picture of my room and how I could change it around. Given the space, I don’t have many options, and it looks better in my picture than in real life. Then Bennett reaches over and puts a cross over where I’ve put the couch, writing, bad Feng shui underneath.

What the heck?

I glance at him under hooded lids and he grins and shrugs.

After the class, he doesn’t hurry out like usual, he lingers, putting his books away slowly. “So, you want to grab a coffee. I can take you to the best coffee place in the city.”

I bite my lip and don’t answer straight away.

“You do drink coffee don’t you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s go. You have to try their chocolate cheesecake, it’s the best.”

“Um … okay,” I agree, not really sure if he’ll let me argue with him anyway.

So over the actual best coffee and chocolate cheesecake I’ve ever tasted, Bennett and I start our friendship and it’s the best day.

I feel like I’ve finally arrived, finally made a start on my new exciting adventure.

Good times here I come.

Yeah, right. I should have known better.