Perfect Lie (11 page)

I gulped it down and let the warmth spread throughout my body before I poured another and made my way to the living room. I plopped down on the couch and turned on the television. I hardly ever watched TV anymore, but the house was too quiet when Trish wasn’t here.

I settled on the news and listened to the anchor ramble on about the government until my mug was empty and my eyelids grew heavy. I struggled to hold them open, but I soon gave in, and the anchor’s face was replaced by Brock’s.

“Are you going to sleep all damn day?” Brock whispered in my ear, and I startled awake, wiping my mouth to make sure I hadn’t been drooling. I sat up and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make myself look presentable.

“Shh. You’re going to wake my roommate,” I whispered, and pointed the mountain of blankets in the bed across the room. Heather had moved in late last night, and she didn’t arrive silently. It took two of the workers to drag her in here, and they basically left me to calm her down. It took about an hour before her drugs began to wear off, and then she passed out, snoring like a chainsaw.

Brock glanced over his shoulder and smiled as his eyes met mine again. He brushed his knuckles lightly over my cheek, and I knew my skin blushed red under his touch. “You’re beautiful when you wake up.”

“Hardly.” I pulled my covers off my legs and stepped out of bed. The tile was cold under my feet, and I looked around for my shoes.

“What is it?” he asked, as my eyes scanned the other side of the room. I held my finger to my lips and tiptoed to my new roommate’s side, searching around her bed. I crouched and ran my hand under the bedframe. When my fingers landed on my old sneakers, I grinned as I pulled them out and held them up for Brock to see.

“She seems like she’s going to be fun,” he joked, as I walked toward him and dropped my shoes on the floor. I grabbed his arm to steady myself as I slipped my feet into each one. “You want to get back at her? I could piss on her clothes.”

I laughed a little too loudly. “You’d do that?”

“If it made you feel better, I would.”

“Well, it doesn’t. Boys are so gross.” I let go of his arm and walked to the door, stopping to look back at Brock, who was eyeing the mass of blankets that hid my new roomie. “Come on.”

He shook his head and followed me into the hallway. “You can’t just let her get away with stealing your shoes, Bird. She’ll think you’re weak, and it’ll only get worse.”

“I know. I’ll talk to her about it when she gets up.”

“Yeah, talking will solve the problem.”

“What do you suggest I do?” I stopped and turned to face him, frustrated that even in a place like this I was dealing with bullies. Brock reached up and tucked my hair behind my ear, his expression softening.

“Nothing. You’re a good person, Lie. Don’t ever change that.”

I turned and continued toward the front room, where everyone was waiting to be taken downstairs for breakfast. Brock and I leaned against the back of the couch near the end of the line. Robert, a gangly redhead, leaned next to Brock, his freckled arms folded over his chest as he talked to another boy in front of him.

“He looked like he’d been hit by a fuckin’ truck.” Robert laughed as he replied to the other boy and nudged Brock with his elbow. Brock’s jaw clenched, and he shook his head slightly but didn’t respond. “Come on, man. Back me up here. It was hilarious.”

Brock still didn’t respond, and I leaned forward to look at Robert. “Who are you talking about?” I asked, and Brock stood up straight and turned toward him to block my view.

“Stop trying to start shit,” he growled, which made Robert laugh nervously, but he didn’t relent.

“My bad, man. I didn’t mean to put your business out there in front of your new piece.”

Brock’s hand went around Robert’s throat, and I saw the thin bones in the back of his hand protrude as he gripped tighter.

“Stop it!” I stepped between them and pulled on Brock’s wrist. He reluctantly released his grip as he sneered, “What’s wrong with you?” The line began to move, and Robert stepped around us to follow the others toward the steps.

“Nothing. Let’s go eat, Bird.” He grabbed my hand, but I pulled back, refusing to follow until I had some answers.

“Tell me who he was talking about,” I pressed.

“You want to miss breakfast?” When I didn’t respond, he groaned, lacing his fingers behind his head as he stretched his back. “He was talking about Keller, some dick who was in here before you showed up. We had a disagreement, and I fixed it. No big deal.”

“You hurt him? Why would you do that? You’re not like these guys, Brock. You don’t need to stoop to their level.”

“You’re not like these fucks, but I am.”

“You’re a bully.” I took a step back, wondering if all this time I was being played, part of some sick joke or a way for Brock to pass the time.

“Lie, I’m not like those assholes from your school. I would never hurt you.”

“But you hurt other people. Why not me then, huh?”

He took a step closer as one of the workers yelled, “Last call for breakfast.”

I raised an eyebrow at Brock, who made no movement to leave. “What makes you think I’d be OK with that?”

“Bird, the kid wasn’t some innocent little fuck. He asked for what he got. I was protecting myself, just like I’ll protect you.” He took another step, and I didn’t move away. “I never said I was perfect, but I’m trying to be a better person.”

“I know you are.” I avoided his eyes, but he ducked down to make me catch his gaze.

“You forgive me?” He put his hand over his heart, and I simpered, unable to be mad at the one person in the world who cared about me. His arms flew around me, and his lips brushed against my cheek. “I won’t let you down, Bird. I promise.”

I was startled awake by a hand on my shoulder, and my scream was muffled by Abel’s hand over my mouth. His other held a finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet. I pushed up from the cushion and brushed my hair from my face as he knelt next to me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked him. “What time is it?”

“It’s early…or really late. I don’t know. It’s, like, three in the morning.”

I groaned and flopped back down on the couch. “If your booty call is over, please lock the door behind you and make sure to visit your doctor within forty‐eight hours.”

“Wake up, party animal.” He shook my shoulder, and I reluctantly opened my eyes.

“What could you possibly need that’s so important at three a.m.?” I groaned, as I wiped the sleep from my eyes.

“
You
have a problem.”

“I do, huh? This ought to be good.” I sat up and stretched my arms over my head.

“Yes, you do. Her name is Trish, and she’s fucking obliterated. We did a few shots, and she fucking lost it.”

“Lost it how?” I was wide‐awake with concern now.

“I was asking myself the same question until I discovered the pill bottle in my glove box was gone.”

I rubbed my hands over my face out of frustration. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I never joke about—”

I waved him away to stop talking as I stood up from the couch. “It’s too early for your bullshit. Can we tone it down until…let’s say…five in the morning?”

He laughed and stood up next to me. “Fine. I’ll take the couch. Be warned that I tend to sleepwalk when I’m drunk, so wear something sexy to bed.” He stepped closer, and I put my hand on his chest to stop him.

“You aren’t staying here.”

“Kettle, I let you spend the night with me. It’s only fair you do the same.”

“What am I supposed to do about Trish?”

Abel lay out on the couch that I had just been curled up on and closed his eyes, not bothering to respond.

“Just great.” I turned to go to my room.

“Good night, Delilah.”

“ ’Night, Abel.”

I lay awake for the next hour, getting up to check on Trish every few minutes. I was terrified she was going to overdose or vomit all over the place. Her skin was pale, and she shivered like a puppy in the rain. I forced her to drink several glasses of water and eat a few slices of toast. She cursed and swatted at me, but I wasn’t about to let her destroy herself. Eventually the weight of my eyelids won out, and I finally was able to get some shut‐eye.

My dreams were a montage of childhood memories. I pictured my mother yelling at me to eat my cereal, and when I refused, she flicked the ashes of her cigarette into the bowl and told me I wasn’t allowed to move until I learned to listen. She locked herself in her bedroom, and after what felt like a lifetime in my young mind, I did my best to eat around the gray milk.

My memory faded into Christmas morning at my grandparents’ house. I couldn’t have been older than ten as I sat perfectly quiet on the sofa. I heard my mom and grandma arguing in the kitchen over money. My mom was crying because she couldn’t afford groceries, to which Grandma replied that she should have kept her legs closed. I didn’t know what that meant at the time, but my mother’s response cleared up any confusion. My stomach sank, and the red and green ornaments on the white plastic Christmas tree across the room blurred into a swirl of color. I heard my mother tell my grandma
that if she wanted me, she could keep me. My grandpa snapped at them with a string of curse words before closing himself off in his den.

On the ride home from my grandparents’, my mother counted out a stack of cash, and that was the last time we ever visited them.

“It’s rude not to feed your guest.”

I jumped. “Fuck. Abel, go the hell away.” My eyes slowly came into focus on his bare, toned chest. They traveled lower, over the ridges of his abdomen to the delicious V that disappeared below his low‐slung jeans.

“My eyes are up here, Kettle.” His eyes locked on mine, and I knew I was busted. “It’s five in the morning. It’s officially time to start with my—what do you call it? My
bullshit.
”

“Why don’t you go harass Trish?”

“I tried, but she yelled at me about needing her beauty sleep.”

“She’s
very
serious about her beauty habits.”

“Duly noted.” Abel grabbed my ankle and tugged me across the bed a few inches.

“I’m not the live‐in help, Abel. Go make yourself some breakfast.” I swung my arm blindly behind myself toward him but didn’t connect.

“Careful there, Lie. You almost felt what a real man is like.”

“You’re a pig.”

“The expression is ‘hung like a horse.’ You getting up, or do I have to carry you to the kitchen? Who let you women out of there anyway?”

“Ha‐ha, very funny.” I rolled over and gave him a dirty look before putting my arm over my face so I could go back to sleep.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

I heard his footsteps retreat, and I sighed as I tried to drift back into unconsciousness.

“This is kind of hot, Lie.” My eyes popped open and landed on Abel holding up a hot‐pink thong. I’m sure my face was the same color as the tiny undergarment. I flew from the bed and snatched it out of his hand, slapping him on the arm.

“What are you doing, you pervert?” I whisper‐yelled.

“Personally I liked that matching beige number you wore to bed with me the other night.” His face was so close that we were breathing the same air, and he smelled even more like alcohol than when he’d come in earlier. His tone was carefree and flirty, but his grin was pure wickedness.

“Stop it. That’s only for my boyfriend to see.” I walked around him and opened my underwear drawer to shove them back in.

“Ah, yes. The boyfriend. What’s his name? Broke?”

“Brock.” I slammed my drawer and turned to face him, my back against the dresser.

“Right. Brock.” He took a step closer, and I put my hand on his chest, his skin hot under my touch.

“How is it possible that you’re even drunker now?”

Abel pulled a silver flask from his pocket and shook it. “You also had a fine sampling of boxed wines in your fridge. Very classy.” His eyebrow rose.

“Only the best for guests who won’t leave.”

He looked down at his chest, where my hand was still against him, then back to me. I pulled my hand away and tucked my hair behind my ear. “You get even more obnoxious when you drink.”

“Thank you.”

“Wasn’t a compliment.” We looked at each other for a long minute. “Fine. I’ll make you breakfast. Maybe it’ll help you sober up.”

He grinned in victory as I walked around him and toward the kitchen. I kept the light off and turned on the small one over the stove.

Abel took a seat at the table and stretched out his legs on the chair next to him. “Don’t you want to know how I like my eggs?”

“No.” I pulled open the fridge and grabbed the half‐used carton of eggs and the milk. I placed them on the counter and grabbed some cheese and turkey lunch meat. If I was going to make breakfast, I was going to make it how I liked. I might add a little spit to his.

I grabbed a pan and set it on the stove then turned on the burner and cracked the eggs into a bowl.

“Don’t you miss him?” Abel asked, and I sighed as I poured a little milk in with the eggs.

“Miss who, Abel?” I knew exactly who he was talking about, but I wanted to delay the inevitable heartache for an extra moment or two.

“I miss my family,” he said.

His confession surprised me, and I turned around to look at him. “Why don’t you go to California to see them?”

He laughed sadly. “My mom used to cook everything from scratch. It was crazy. Most people I knew had maids and cooks but not us. Mom wanted to make sure we ate healthy and weren’t eating some bullshit fast food.”

“Must have been nice.” I turned back around and mixed the eggs with a fork.

“It was.” I heard the smile in his voice. “Nothing like home cooking, right?”

“I wouldn’t really know. I cooked for myself mostly, and it was never anything fancy. I lived off hot dogs and mac and cheese on the good days.” I used the back of my hand to catch a wayward tear on my cheek as I grabbed the butter from the fridge.