Ruin Me (53 page)

“Hello, Amy,” Charlie replies as he reaches behind his back to pull out his wallet.

She looks at me again. “Who’s this?” she asks. She grabs a ketchup bottle off the belt and quickly scans it before dropping it into a paper sack.

“She’s my brother’s girl,” he mutters. “Just in town visiting for a little while.”

Amy blinks in surprise. “I didn’t know you had a niece.” She extends her perfectly manicured hand out to me. “I’m Amy Jones.”

I reluctantly take her hand and she jerks it up and down in a surprisingly firm shake. “Claire Holloway,” I say.

“So you’re Tobias’ cousin…” she says, chewing on her lip. “I didn’t know he had one other than Rick.”

I twitch at the mention of his name. “You know Rick?”

“Oh, I know
everybody
,” she gloats, “and everything about them…
mostly
.” Charlie clears his throat and Amy turns her attentions back to the groceries. “Anyway, how long are you staying?” she asks me as she grabs the next item off the belt. She moves quickly with expert precision, barely even glancing at the items as she packs them away into bags. “You’re from Chicago, right? I remember Rick being from there. I would
love
to nibble your ear off about that place over lunch—”

“Maybe some other time, Amy,” Charlie interrupts.

She presses her lips together, taking the hint. “Okay,” she squeaks. “That’ll be nineteen-fifty.”

He hands her a twenty dollar bill and she pops open her drawer. “Keep the change,” he tells her.

“Thanks, Mr. Eastwood,” she smiles. “Have a nice day!”

We step outside and wander back to the truck with the groceries. “So, I’m not allowed to make friends either?” I ask Charlie.

“You’re not here to make friends,” he says as he steps up into the truck.

I roll my eyes. “Okay, then…”

***

I can’t sleep.

I’ve been up since 6 A.M. Charlie sent me to bed at nine, well over three hours ago. I should be more exhausted after an entire day of work and no play, but I can’t seem to catch any sleep.

I grab a pair of shorts and a cute shirt from the closet and step out into the hallway with a random book from the shelf in the corner. After last night, I started thinking about the stairs. Tobias climbed them without making any noise and he was at my door before I even knew he was there. There must be spots on the stairs that don’t make noises when walked on and if I’m going to be here for the next few weeks without losing my mind, then I’m going to have to figure them out.

I grip the railing and slowly move my foot along the first wooden stair, putting soft pressure on them until I find that perfect angle. It takes me nearly twenty minutes to patiently memorize a decent pattern to make it down to the first floor undetected.

The barn door squeaks as I open it, but I’m hoping the distance between it and the house is far enough that the noise doesn’t travel to Charlie’s sleeping ears. I move about in the darkness until I find the ladder I noticed earlier. Splinters of old wood scratch at my hands as I climb, but I easily make it to the top without drawing blood.

I’m obviously not the first person to escape up here. A few small hay bales lie next to an open window in the wall, creating the perfect hideout to lounge in and hopefully relax my active mind. I look to the stars, take a deep breath of fresh air, and smile. You can’t get this view anywhere in Chicago, that’s for sure.

I lie back and open the book. It’s one of those cheesy teenage romances that’s already been adapted into a cheesy summer movie that no one watched. Not my preferred genre of entertainment, but the idea is to bore myself to sleep. My eyes scan the title page and I see the initials M.E. scratched into the corner with a blue pen.

Three chapters in and I’m still no more tired than when I came out here.

Movement catches my eye and I watch as Tobias steps quietly down the front porch from the window above. A few moments later, he slides the barn door open and I slink farther back against the hay bales. I bite my lip, thinking that I’ve been caught, but he doesn’t see me as he walks inside and flicks on the fluorescent lights hastily chained to the ceiling. He moves slowly and cracks his thick knuckles as he walks over to his motorbike.

I watch him quietly and my tongue taps the roof of my mouth. Charlie told me to leave him alone, but a question lingers on my lips.

“Where’d you get all the bruises?”

Tobias jolts and exhales a heavy breath before looking up at me. “My dad told me not to talk to you.” He looks away and focuses on his bike again.

“Do you always do what your dad tells you to do?” I ask, smiling.

His eyes flick up in my direction. It’s hard for me to get a read on him from this distance. I can’t tell if he’s angry or amused. He pauses before reaching out to grab the large, black helmet off the bike seat. “I got them at work,” he answers, avoiding my face.

“At work?” I ask.

“Yeah, at work.”

“Do guys beat you up at work on a regular basis?”

He finally turns and peaks up at me with narrow eyes. “I got them from operating factory equipment,” he claims.

I smirk. “If you say so…”

“Who busted your lip open?” he retorts. I stare down at him silently until he shifts around to grab the handles of his bike. “You should get back inside,” he says. “If he catches you out here—”

“He’ll make me milk another cow?” I quip.

“That… or he’ll make you write out Bible verses by hand — using your non-dominant hand,” he begins. “Or he’ll take you down to the sheriff’s office and they’ll have you pick up trash by the highway. Or he’ll take you to the nursing home in Rolla where you’ll spend the afternoon helping the staff switch out bedpans.”

A smile teases my lips. “Sounds like you speak from experience.”

“I do.”

“And here I was told you were a
good
boy
.”

“I have my moments.” His eyes linger on me a little longer. “I need to get to work.”

“Be careful,” I tell him. “I hear factory equipment can be awfully dangerous.”

He takes a quick breath. “You should really get back inside,” he smirks, ignoring my comment.

“Bedpans?” I ask.

“Bedpans.”

“I guess I will then,” I chuckle. I push off the hay bales and carefully lower myself down the ladder to the ground below. As I turn around, I catch sight of the large punching bag again, hanging off the ceiling in the corner next to the silent cow pins. “Goodnight, Tobias,” I say as I pass by him.

“Goodnight, Claire,” he mutters back.

He pushes the bike out and slides the door closed behind us. I watch him as he mounts it and slides the helmet onto his head. Even now, he reminds me of Rick, with his thick black hair and prying eyes. Their voices are similar as well, each with a deep growl hovering below every syllable. I stand back as he revs the engine and takes off fast into the night.

***

Charlie steps into my room and tosses his car keys towards the bed. They land with a jingle next to my feet. I lower my book and stare at them before darting my eyes back to him. “What’s up, Charlie?” I ask, trying to remain cool and casual.

“I have to make a trip into town,” he says. “You have a license, right?”

I lean forward and pick them up. “Yes…” I say.

“Well, let’s go then.”

“You’re letting me drive?” I ask.

He slips an arm into his jacket. “Unless you have a rather compelling reason for me not to.”

I drop the book to the bed. It’s yet another boring romance I found on the shelf. Whoever M.E. is, they certainly left behind a large library of crap I never intended on reading, but I can’t seem to put down. “No no,” I say, shaking my head. “No reason.”

Charlie holds up a hand. “Work,” he says. Then he raises his other hand, “Reward.”

I smile and hop off the bed. It’s been a week since I arrived here and Charlie has barely let me do anything other than shovel food into my own mouth. Chores being the obvious, and only, exception. The thick, hateful tension between us seems to be breaking somewhat, but I wouldn’t call us friends just yet.

I still hate it here. I wish there was someone to talk to other than Charlie. I don’t enjoy our daily “chats,” the ones where he sits me down at the dinner table and asks me how I’m feeling, what I’m thinking about, and if I still want to take drugs. I’m stuck out in the middle of ass-Jesus nowhere. Of course I want to get high and forget about my troubles, but Charlie has made damn sure that doing so is impossible.

Tobias seems hellbent on not breaking his father’s rules for not engaging with me. Granted, we rarely see each other. He’s gone all night and I’m up all day. There are a few occasions where he’s in the house with us during the day, but they are few and far between — and never last long before he’s on his motorbike again, heading off to who knows where.

“Watch the speed limit,” Charlie warns, shifting in his seat.

I’ve never driven a pick-up truck before, but I’m not about to let him know that. You don’t see large trucks like this in the city. City folk like sports cars and SUVs. We don’t have a lot of use for big, gas-guzzling trucks. It’s strange being up in the air so high, but after a few miles, I’ve gotten used to it. I push the brake slightly, decreasing the speed by a few digits. “So, where are we going?” I ask him.

“
You
are staying in the truck,” he says. “
I
have to see a friend.”

“You have friends?” I chuckle.

“Yes, I have friends.” We pull into town and Charlie directs me down Main Street. “Park at the corner here,” he points.

I do as I’m told and take the parking spot, which thankfully isn’t parallel. There’s no way I’d be able to pull off parallel parking in this big beast of a truck. I point the air conditioning at my face to fight the sweat breaking on my brow. “So, I just stay here then?” I ask.

He pushes his door open and steps outside. “Yes.”

“Okay…” I look around outside.

Charlie wanders a few feet down the sidewalk before pausing and turning back to the truck. He gestures for me to roll down the window. “Or…” he mutters up at me, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. “If you can handle it…” He grabs five dollars and holds it up to my window. “You can go grab us a loaf of bread from the market.”

“Seriously?” I ask, snatching the money from his fingers.

“If I make it back to the truck before you do,” he warns, “I’ll double your chores tomorrow.”

“I understand,” I say, nodding quickly.

“Bread
only
.”

I turn off the truck and hop out of it. “In and out. No problem, Charlie.” I watch him walk off in the opposite direction and wait until I see where he’s going. He crosses the street and enters an office with the sign
‘Bradley Jones, Attorney at Law’
hovering above it. I pick up my pace and rush into the grocery store across the street.

I’ve been in here before, so I know they keep the bread in the back, next to the eggs and milk. Charlie’s serious about doubling my chores and honestly, it’s the last thing I want. He’s just started giving me a little wiggle room and I don’t want to blow what little trust he’s formed in me. I keep my head down, find the bread, and grab a loaf before a minute has passed by.

Thankfully, there’s no line at the checkout. I toss the bread down and fish into my pocket for the money Charlie gave me.

“Hey, Claire!”

I look up to see Amy standing behind the counter. “Hey,” I answer.

“This all you need?” she asks, snatching the bread off the belt to scan it in.

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” she says. “Running errands with Charlie again?”

“Yeah…” I check her face again and notice that her bottom lip is split on one side, bruised and scabbed over just like mine was. She also sports the remains of what looks to be a pretty decent, and recent, black eye. It wasn’t there a week ago when I first met her.

Amy catches me staring at her and she quickly looks away. “That’ll be two seventy-five,” she mutters with smiling lips.

I hand her the money. “So…” I say, keeping my voice low. “Where’d you get the…” I point to her face.

She looks at me with shifting eyes. “Nowhere,” she says. “Where’d you get
yours
?”

“Nowhere…” I mutter.

She hits me with another grin. “They aren’t what they look like,” she claims. “I work out at the local boxing gym once a week. Do you like boxing?”

“Never done it,” I answer.

Her voice gets low. “Do you like
watching
fights?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

I stare at her with confusion. “What?”

She shifts on her feet, her lips curling slightly until she finally gestures me closer across the belt. “There’s a place…” she begins, “outside of town. Below the abandoned school on Third.”

“What kind of place?” I ask.