Love You to Death (9 page)

“Is this alright?” he asked. “I didn’t know
your favorite color—”

“It’s fine,” I interrupted. I didn’t care if
the room was painted black and only hosted an air mattress. This
was temporary. This wasn’t my home. I didn’t have a home. I didn’t
have anything.

“Are you hungry? I could order a pizza.”

“Stop hovering, Ward. The Beaver is fine,
just tired.”

He shook his head, putting his hands on his
hips. “Now
that’s
way before your time.”

“I used to watch Nickelodeon a lot,” I said,
crossing the room. A mirror hung over the dresser. I looked at my
reflection, trying to find the girl I used to be. All I saw were
two narrow slits between purple, yellow, and green bruises.

“I’m ready for my close-up.” I smiled at the
ugly girl staring back at me. It was a brittle smile, meant to be
sarcastic more than anything. I disgusted myself. Turning away, I
caught Cass’s gaze. He looked torn between being angry and being
sympathetic.
Whatever
, I thought. I didn’t care.

“You’ll be fine. The doctor said your face
wasn’t damaged. You’ll be good as new in a few weeks.” He smiled,
trying to encourage me.

He thought I was worried about my looks. I
shrugged. Let him think what he wants. He didn’t have to know the
real reason I was depressed. I should be disfigured. I deserved it.
I let them kill Stewie.

“Okay then, I’ll call for pizza. You like
pepperoni?” he called over his shoulder as he headed to the
kitchen.

“Fine.”

I went into the bathroom across the hall. I
turned on the spigot and sat on the toilet. I let myself cry for a
few minutes then splashed my face carefully with warm water.

After dinner we sat in the living room,
watching TV. Cass was lounging in his leather recliner, wearing a
pair of black sweatpants and a sweatshirt with the Baltimore PD
logo on it. I was wearing my own new sweatpants and sweatshirt.

Earlier, when he’d told me to get
comfortable, I told him I didn’t have any other clothes. He’d
smiled, leading me back into my new bedroom to the dresser, which
was full of newly purchased jeans, shirts, and sweaters. In the
smaller top drawers I found an embarrassing supply of bras and
underwear. They were all in my size. I didn’t ask how he knew.

I wanted to thank him, but I wasn’t sure
how.

What was the proper amount of gratitude for
someone taking you off the street, giving you a house to live in,
and a new wardrobe?

“Are you tired?” He flipped the channels
absently.

“A little,” I admitted.

“The doctor sent a prescription home with
you, for the pain. I’ll get it filled tomorrow.”

I nodded. The doctor had given me enough
painkillers to last until then. He stopped flicking through the
channels, settling on an action film. Nicholas Cage was looking
quite scruffy, battling in the underbelly of a plane.

“Why me?” I asked, watching him closely.

His eyes were bright in the glare of the TV’s
light. I was glad he didn’t pretend to not understand my
question.

“You need someone to look out for you.”

“So this is some kind of white knight
syndrome?” I picked at a piece of string hanging from my shirt
sleeve.

“Call it whatever you want.” He sighed,
sounding frustrated.

“Charity?” I choked on the word.

“Are you going to start in on that already?”
He turned to glare at me. “We already went over this. You can take
care of the house until you get a job.”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“Whatever you say.” He pushed out of his
chair, handing me the remote on his way to the hallway. “I’m going
to bed. Goodnight.”

* * * *

The days seemed to pass slowly, one melting
into the other as I forced myself to go on living. Stewie was
always in my thoughts, which irritated Cass for some reason. To
keep the peace I pretended to forget my friend.

I found a rhythm, a routine of my own. I made
breakfast for Cass every morning. Then I cleaned the house, did the
laundry, and went food shopping. I’d gotten a job as a part-time
cashier at the little grocery store in the strip mall a few blocks
away. I walked there, since I didn’t have a car or a license.

Most nights we watched TV or played cards.
I’d gotten my GED, which I aced, and Cass encouraged me to apply
for classes at Towson University.

For the most part, I managed to keep myself
busy during the day. It was the nights that were hard. When my head
hit the pillow and my body sighed into the mattress, safe and snug,
that was when my memories haunted me.

I missed Stewie. I missed him more than I
thought I could, almost as much as I missed my mother. I mourned
him the only way I could, the only way Cass would let me. I grieved
alone, in secret. I cried myself to sleep every night.

I didn’t even have anything to remember him
by. I’d asked Cass for his backpack, but Cass had said the jerks
must have stolen it because it wasn’t recovered at the scene. It
made me sick to think of them touching his things.

By the end of the third month, I was looking
very healthy. My body and face filled out, making all the sharp
angles and hollows from my starvation days disappear. I settled
into Cass’s home much easier than I ever expected to. The first
time I realized I’d called his house my home, Cass had called to
ask if I wanted him to pick up something for dinner.

“No, I already have chicken in the oven. Just
come home,” I’d said.

Home.

It was a loaded word. But it was true. I
couldn’t deny it now. I felt more relaxed here than I had anywhere
else in the last year. I took long hot showers and wore soft cotton
pajamas. I enjoyed the regular routine of getting up in the morning
and sleeping at night. Like a normal person. My world was peaceful
again.

And Cass treated me really well. There were a
few lingering looks now and then, but for the most part he behaved.
Just as I was starting to think I might’ve been wrong about him,
the boom fell. Yesterday afternoon I came home from work to find
him pacing in the living room. He wasn’t supposed to be home for at
least another hour.

“Hey,” I said, closing the door behind me. I
had a bag of groceries cradled in my arms as I walked past him
toward the kitchen.

“Where were you?” His voice was quiet.

“At work,” I sat the bag on the counter and
started putting the items away. Cass came in behind me.

“I called for you. They said you weren’t
there.” He stood in the doorway. Smoke curled upward from the
cigarette he was holding. He never smoked in the house. I looked at
him for signs of something wrong. He looked the same as always:
wind-whipped blond hair and sleepy blue eyes.

“They were wrong. I switched with Leah. I
worked her afternoon shift. Maybe the person didn’t see the new
schedule?” I shrugged.

“Leah who?” he asked, laying the cigarette on
the lip of the sink.

“Leah Nelson. Her kid had a doctor’s
appointment. What’s with the third degree?” I opened the fridge to
put the eggs and milk inside. Cass liked Eggs Benedict every
morning. The fridge door slammed shut. I barely had time to move my
hand out of the way.

“What the—?” I turned around to confront
Cass. His face was a blank mask.

“If you ever lie to me, I’ll make you regret
it.” His voice was stiff as he delivered his threat.

“Why would I lie to you? What’s wrong with
you? Did you have to chase a perp in your expensive Italian
loafers?” I laughed.

With speed and agility I had only guessed he
possessed, he snatched me up by the front of my coat and pushed me
up against the wall of cabinets; the knobs dug painfully into my
back. His hands trembled ever so slightly. His eyes were now
flashing with tightly leashed anger. Fear crept into my chest.

“Don’t laugh at me,” he gritted out between
his clenched teeth.

“I’m not. I was just joking.” I made my lips
curl up into a forced smile, trying not to lick my lips.

I don’t know how long we stood there, with
him gripping my coat and me trying to breathe. Finally, something
clicked for him. I literally saw the sanity return to his eyes.

“Sorry,” he said, letting me go, helping me
take off my coat like nothing had happened. “It was a rough day.
What’s for dinner?”

I turned away from him, pretending to look
through the cupboards. “I was thinking about making chicken and
penne pasta in a cream sauce.”

“Sounds great. Did you get fresh bread?” He
pulled a beer from the refrigerator, popped the top, and took a
sip.

“No. I, uh... you said you liked garlic toast
with the chicken.” I was nervous all of a sudden. I hated this
feeling. It was all too familiar.

“Yeah, you remembered.” He flashed that
megawatt grin of his and went into the living room. I heard the TV
come to life and knew Cass wouldn’t come into the kitchen until I
called him for dinner. My shaky legs gave way under me and I slid
to the floor, huddling on the linoleum with my arms wrapped around
my waist. The tears came quietly.

Chapter
Nine

“Look out!”

A grape hit me in the forehead. I blinked.
Kirk McGowan loped through the produce section over to where I
stood counting out my drawer. He was a college student working on a
teaching degree at Towson. Kirk was tall and athletic with a great
sense of humor.

“It was a grape and run!” His partner in
crime, Junior Freeling, howled with laughter.

“I’m so sorry, Arden. Are you okay?” He
gently touched his fingers to my brow.

“I think I’m okay. I’ve never been assaulted
with a grape before.”

“It was the Grape of Wrath!” Junior doubled
over.

“Shut up, Junior,” Kirk ordered, trying not
to laugh. Junior was a real goofball. Junior’s comments weren’t
that funny, but he thought they were, and
that
was funny. I
was laughing while Kirk inspected my head for injuries, which I
seriously doubted I had. It was only a grape.

“What’s going on here?”

I turned to see Cass scowling at Kirk, who
quickly removed his hand from my face.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, hoping to diffuse
the situation before it developed into something bad.

“It didn’t look like nothing.” Cass
maneuvered his hands on his hips, pushing back his suit jacket to
reveal his badge and his gun. Junior turned tail, running to the
back room. Kirk raised his eyebrows in appreciation.

“Wow. Are you a cop?” he asked.

Cass relaxed, looking flattered by Kirk’s
interest. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“Yeah, I am. Detective Cassel Bateman.” He
held out a hand. “And you are?”

“I’m Kirk,” he said, grasping Cass’s hand. “I
was just making sure Arden was okay.”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Cass went back to
frowning.

“Oh, Junior and I were having a fruit war.
Arden accidently got beaned by a grape.”

“I see,” Cass chuckled. “Who knew grocery
stores were so dangerous.”

“Yeah... well, I better get back to work. It
was nice to meet you. See ya, Arden.” He waved, walking back to the
produce department.

I glanced at Cass and continued counting my
drawer out.

“Almost done?” he asked, flashing his
prettiest smile.

“Almost, gimme ten minutes.” I hurried to
finish and went into the back for my coat.

Cass was waiting in the car. He didn’t say
anything to me as I got in and buckled up. It took less than five
minutes for us to get home. We shuffled into the living room single
file, me first. I heard the click of the lock just as Cass grabbed
my arm and whirled me around.

He slapped me hard. If he hadn’t been holding
onto me I’d have fallen to the floor. Instinctively, I covered my
face with my hands.

“Don’t
ever
let me see another man
touching you!” he raged.

“He was only making sure I was okay.” I
offered the explanation again.

“I don’t care if you’re on the ground with a
gunshot wound! He doesn’t need to touch you!”

“What’s
wrong
with you?” I wrenched
out of his grasp. I had to make myself stand my ground and not run
or show any fear.

“You’re
mine
, Arden. You got that?” He
clutched my forearms in a bruising grip, and gave me a
teeth-rattling shake. “
Mine
. No other man is
ever
going to touch you.”

“Cass, you’re talking crazy! We’re just
friends.” I licked my lips nervously. I should have seen this
coming. I had plenty of life experience in this area.

“Well, you tell
Kirk
,” he said,
sneering, “that
friends
keep their hands to themselves.”

My temper flared over my fear. “You’re acting
crazy!”

Cass’s surprised eyes glazed over like shards
of ice. He stood there, motionless. Uneasiness folded around me.
Cass leaned in, his face so close to mine that I could see the tiny
lines around his eyes.

“Don’t ever call me that again.” His voice
was deceptively soft.

“I won’t.”
Tread carefully
. I could
sense the tight rope by which he was balancing on.

“You need to watch that smart mouth of yours
a little better now that we’re together.” He stepped back, trailing
his hands up to my shoulders carefully, as if I was made of
glass.

I did my best not to flinch under the touch
of his fingers as they slid to my neck and up my throat, caressing.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to mine. It was a light,
unassuming kiss. Cass eased back looking very pleased. He didn’t
seem to notice that I hadn’t reciprocated. He patted my head, like
I was a good little girl.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked, stepping back
and taking off his jacket, tossing it over the back of the
couch.

“Peppered pork chops,” I mumbled as I
shuffled into the kitchen. My hands were shaking as I opened a
drawer, took out the potato peeler, and pulled a bag of potatoes
from the lower cabinet. Cass came in to get a beer. He paused
behind me to plant a kiss on my still-stinging cheek.