“What I’m really trying to get to is that if she told me she couldn’t have kids, it wouldn’t matter to me. I’d still feel this, whatever this is, for her.”
Callie looked away, quickly, and nodded. “That’s because you’re one of those fairytale good guys.”
“So men like me aren’t real?”
“Not for someone like me.”
“I don’t believe that. And I don’t believeyoubelieve that. I think you’re saying that crap, because you’re protecting your heart.”
“Good night, assface,” she said, laughing.
“Night, Pop Tart.”
Callie flipped me the bird when I got to my car, making me laugh out a burst of puffy vaporous air. Across the street, a woman sat on the steps of her house, smoking a cigarette, watching us. Somewhere a baby cried.
I drove home slowly, my gaze barely focusing on the road, hands loose on the steering wheel. My mind turned and spun the puzzle of Callie around and around in my head, bouncing to Brooke and back again. I wondered what both women would be like if the male figures in their lives were kinder to them. What kind of men had they let beat them down so low that they believed they needed to stay on the bottom? It was incomprehensible to me why a man would want to hurt a woman with lies and deceit. I just didn’t get it at all.
I turned on some music to change my line of thinking—something fast and fiery. But the songs just blended into one another until I was remembering what Brooke looked like in a towel, or the first time I hung out with her and Dean weeks ago, and we danced at the bar in the city.
What if something had happened between us that night?What if when I pulled her tightly against my chest, she looked up at me and breathed a sigh of my name? I would have tucked her hair behind her ear softly, watching the beautiful spread of crimson splash over her cheeks. What I would do to go back in time, just to lean forward, and bring my face closer to hers and feel the heat of her breath on my lips.
Would that one kiss erase his harsh hands on her? Would being with me make her forget all the disgusting things he said or did to her? All the times she was scared of him?
I pulled my car up to the curb in front of my apartment, not remembering a second of the drive home, and hung my head in my hands.How do I get Brooke to feel good again?
I wondered on the subject as I made my way into the apartment and opened the front door.
It was dark inside, the only light was a small glow coming from the bottom of the closed bathroom door.
Throwing my coat over one of the kitchen chairs I made my way through the darkness toward the closed door and knocked. “Brooke?”
“Shit, shit, shit.” I heard her mumble from inside.
“You okay?”
“No,” she said weakly. I tried the handle, but the door was locked.Sometime in the day, she must have freaking fixed it.
I walked back into the kitchen and flicked the lights on. A half empty bottle of booze sat on the counter next to an empty glass.Must have been a hard day.
Beside the alcohol sat a bag with the remnants of the lock packaging. I rummaged through its contents until I found the key that went with my newly-installed lock. I laughed loudly at my luck as I made my way back toward the bathroom.
“Brooke,” I said, knocking on the door again. “I’m coming in.”
“No, uh, I’m fine,” she whined. Something fell and thudded softly against the floor behind the door and what sounded like the lid to the toilet smacked down.
Right. Sure. I unlocked the door and opened it quickly.
She was on the floor, leaning her head on the seat of the toilet, eyes red from crying. “Wait! No, don’t come in here!” She stiffened and stumbled up. Then, clutched at her stomach and mouth and promptly puked down the front of my pants.
“My God, Brooke. You’d do just about anything to get me to take my pants off, wouldn’t you?” I laughed. “That’s the second time you puked on me.”
She looked up at me, with wide eyes. “Oh my God, Ryan…I’m so sorry…I had a few drinks and blah. I didn’t even get to get drunk. I just puked. And puked.” She dragged a towel over her face and looked back up at me. “And puked.”
“Totally get the fact you puked, babe.”
“Don’t call me babe,” she said, sadly. “I’m not anybody’s babe.”
“Okay, babe,” I chuckled, stepping out of my sneakers and sliding my pants down my legs.
