Page 10 of Left In The Dark

Parking two feet away from me, Jimmy slides his headphones down around his neck and steps down to the ground. “That for me?” He points at the glass I have lowered beside me while I sip on my drink.

“No, I typically drink two cups of lemonade at one time.”

Jimmy mimics my mouth movements, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, hand it over. I’m growing as parched as the desert over here.”

“So dramatic.” Lifting the glass, I move it closer in his direction and he snatches it from my fingers.

“I try,” he chirps, downing half the glass. “Want to get something to eat in a little bit? The grass that was spitting all over my clothes out there was starting to look appetizing.”

I stifle a laugh. “No need. My mom’s cooking us something to eat.”

Stretching his arm back, he shakes the grass from his hair. “Oh, cool. I’d rather have her food than any diner or fast food anyway.”

“What are you doing later? Wanna catch a movie?”

His mouth closes before opening again. “I kinda have plans.”

My eyebrows jump toward my hairline. “Like a date?”

He makes a face. “It’s . . . more like . . . I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“I see. Someone’s keeping secrets.” I guess that makes two of us. I still don’t know if I’ll be able to go through with my plans if Blake fails my test. I’m hoping he doesn’t. Could it be possible he was only trying to show off in front of his friends because he’d appear weak if he didn’t play along? Is there more to him than meets the eye?

I want there to be, but at the same time I want a reason not to hate myself for the awful thoughts I have surrounding that man. I want to hurt him in the worst fucking way. I want him to cry and scream from humiliation while I feed him slop like a little pig. I want him to learn firsthand how I care for the animals on the farm.

“It’s not that. I just don’t want to say anything until I’m sure of what’s happening between us. Don’t wanna jinx shit, you know?” He doesn’t meet my eyes, confirming my assumption of there being more to the story.

“If you say so, but know I’m here anytime if you want to talk about it.”

“I know.” His lips turn up and he polishes off his glass. “Better get to the rest of that grass. It won’t cut itself.”

“Thanks again for this,” I say, collecting his cup. “And don’t forget lunch will be done soon.”

“Oh, I never forget about food, and I’m actually getting back to the job so I can work up a good appetite.” He pushes out his stomach and I laugh.

“I’ll go work up one too then, and after we eat you can go get ready for your date.”

He stops halfway to the lawnmower and lifts a finger pointedly. “It’s not a date.”

“Uh‑huh.”

“It’s not,” he snaps, lips turned into a half grin, and he lifts himself back onto the lawnmower, flipping me off when I start laughing.

After waving Jimmy off from the porch, I head back inside and wash the hard day’s work off me. A tinge of red runs around my feet. I clearly didn’t get all the blood out of my hair yesterday, and seeing the evidence of last night only fuels my hate for Blake. I scrub my hair harder, turning up the heat until the water is scorching my skin.

I don’t step out to dry off until the water turns cold and my skin is raw. I swear I can still smell the blood and pungent odor no matter what I do. It was so deep in my nose last night that it might be following me around for a while and I’ll be the only one affected. That’s what he wanted. It’s what he always wants. To just hurt me. I’m done trying to figure out why, because I’m not even sure he knows anymore, or if he ever did.

We’re adults who are clearly still trapped in the childish games of the past, but if he wants to keep playing, I’ll play harder. Being older and stronger should have its advantages, but he managed to pull one over on me last night and at some point I’ll have to figure out a way to break the fucking cycle. I’ll be living here for a while and I can’t keep letting him be the reason I run from my life.

Dressing in jeans and a plain black shirt, I run my fingers through my wet hair while briefly glancing in the mirror. My clothes are still in my bags, and boxes are piled high by my door waiting to be sorted through. As I’m ripping the tape off the top of one, my phone vibrates on the dresser, and I move to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Lo Lo!” Lydia yells. “Where are you? What are you doing?”

“I’m at home,” I say, perching myself on the side of my bed. “I was going to start unpacking but if you have better ideas, I’m all ears.”

“I do for later. Reese and I are going to see a show at the Balcony. You know, the club on River Street?”