Expressionate Page 4

  How would I know?

  My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I ignore it.

  Numbness sinks into my bones. When I sleep, I dream, but when I wake, it’s always there. That night, Trisha cries in her sleep. I listen even as I dream of Elysian fields burning. Dreams washed away by giant floods. And the constant reminder that I don’t understand. I don’t understand why she’s crying. Why Lawrence is so important to her. Why it matters. I broke up with Todd because I couldn’t feel anything beyond minor lust and companionship. He didn’t hurt me in any way. How does Lawrence hurt Trisha? Why does he hurt her? Why does she let him?

  I get out of bed and retreat to my computer. I know there’s no way I can find the answer no matter how vast the internet is. No, I’m just searching for the right thing to say come tomorrow morning. What do I tell her? What is the best advice to give someone dealing with a tough relationship? I pause, my fingertips hovering over my keyboard as I look back at her, snoring lightly as she snuffles and rolls over. How does someone even fall in love? I wonder.

  When she wakes up her mascara is completely gone, streaked across the pillow she’d used. I don’t tell her how tired she looks; I’m sure she can feel it. It’s hard to watch her slowly drag herself around my apartment though; going through the motions of getting up, going to the bathroom, and eating cereal at my kitchen table. When she offers to stay and help me unpack the rest of my things, I shake my head.

  “I’d love to have you stay,” I say. “In fact, if you really want to stay, you can. But I don’t think you’re gonna be happy until you feel comfortable going home.”

  She’s quiet for several moments before she graces me with another wan smile. “You may not understand relationships,” she says, “but you always know what to say.” Despite her kind words, I flinch inwardly. It’s not like I choose not to understand, I had just shut that part of myself down a long time ago.

  I stare at her as she gets up and rinses her cereal bowl in the kitchen sink before disappearing down the hall to my room. Exhaling a deep sigh, I hope that it helped. She seems better than she had been the night before and, sometimes, that’s all I can really ask for.

  When Trish reemerges from my room, I’m sitting at the kitchen table staring out the window, a soggy bowl of fruity flavored cereal slowly turning to mush in my milk. Trish smiles at me, dressed in the same clothes as the night before. She stops by the table and hugs me awkwardly. I try to return her hug and wish I could stand up without pushing her away to not make the embrace so uncomfortable.

  “I’m going to go talk things out with Lawrence,” she says. “Thanks for the hot cocoa and the advice.”

  I blink at her, thinking, what advice?

  Before I can ask, though, Beverly steps into the kitchen looking like Athletic Runway Barbie. Her make-up is done to perfection despite the fact that she’s wearing workout clothes meant for sweating her ass off, and perhaps that’s her plan, but not in the way her glittering sneakers would have people believe. Her white-blonde hair is tied up in a high ponytail with enormous shades covering the upper portion of her face. She’s wearing a tight tank top and spandex shorts that could probably pass for decent on someone else, but somehow, on her, seem painted on. Those sneakers of hers have obviously never seen the light of day or the darkness of dirt beneath their soles. I have to wonder, where is she going?

  Trish steps away from me and looks her over in much the same fashion as I am. What she sees seems to amuse her.

  “I’m off for a morning run,” Beverly pipes up swiping her keys from the counter. I hadn’t even noticed them laying there, but considering how cluttered our place still is, that’s not much of a surprise. What is a surprise, is that Beverly is going for a run this early in the morning despite having obviously been drunk the night before.

  Trish smirks and then covers a laugh when she glances at my confused expression with a cough and a hand over her mouth. Beverly shoots her a disgusted look as though merely being in the same room as someone who coughs would infect her. Without a backwards look, she heads for the door and doesn’t bother with a goodbye or anything else.

  “You know she’s not really going for a run, don’t you?” Trish snickers.

  I glance at her. “What do you mean?” I ask. “She was wearing running clothes.” Really small running clothes, but knowing Beverly, it’s like everything she owns is small. The cut offs, the tube dresses, the midriff tops. Her closet is probably half of mine just because her clothes show so much more skin.

  “She’s probably going to go bang that guy she was talking to when I came in last night.”

  “Which one?” I remember the girl – Ally – and her brother… the one with the pain-filled eyes. I know he didn’t take but maybe one look her way when they met. There’s no way he would be ready to fuck his neighbor, but then again, I don’t know him. Perhaps, he is.

  2

  Tax

  Present Day

  23 Years Old

  Cross’s low voice rumbles from the direction of his bedroom as I walk through the front door after my morning run. There’s a pause, and a ridiculous high-pitched giggle. Ah, neighbor girl – the giggling blonde, not the hot, dark-haired, mystery girl. I shake my head and pound the side of my skull with a fist. Did I really just fucking think that? What am I? A little bitch?

  Yeah, the other neighbor girl is way hotter than the flirt who immediately zoned in on Cross, but, she’s hot in an ‘I'm disinterested in you and everything else in this world’ kinda way. Those chicks are always the hardest to get in bed – but when I finally do get them in bed, it’s every bit worth the wait. The less interested they are, the more interested we – we being fucking guys – are. She was probably just playing off that. She probably knew I was into her. Goddamn, I wish Ally had kept her mouth shut about the shows. It isn't like she's allowed to go anyway. She’s way too young for those kinds of crowds. I plan to keep my little sister away from skeevy-dudes and alcohol for as long as I fucking can.

  I cross to the master bedroom and knock on the door. Ally opens up with a smile on her cheery face. "Hey, Tax," she says brightly. "How was your run?"

  I stare down at her before I grunt, "Fine." I might have preferred going a few rounds in the ring – the craving is always there. The craving to fight. But I don’t do that anymore. My runs, and exercise routines with Cross are the next best thing.

  Ally smiles brighter. "That's great. Hey, maybe Love can go with you sometime. She seems really nice. She'd probably make a good running partner."

  I narrow my eyes on her, realizing immediately what the little, nosey, brat is up to. "No, Looove," who the fuck names their kid Love? "would not make a good running partner because I like running alone."

  "Okay." The smile never leaves Ally’s face.

  I huff a sigh and slide into her room, quickly making my way to her bed. I sit and prop myself up. I thought it best, since she was living with a group of guys, to give her the master suite so she would have her own bathroom. Girls need privacy for like...periods and shit, right? I grimace at the memory of Ally clutching a handful of the hot girl from next door’s tampons.

  "Did you need something?" she asks, perching on the stool in front of her vanity.

  "Yeah," I grunt, "we gotta talk about school."

  Her smile dips and she lowers her head. "I'll be fine," she promises. "I know I haven't been doing well, but if I get a tutor or something for English, I think I can get ahead and maybe even get back to the grade I'm supposed to be in."

  "I'm not worried about your grades," I say. "I know you'll work hard. You've never done anything less. I'm worried about if this–" I gesture to myself before nodding to the door to point out that she's no longer living with our parents. Hopefully, they've both choked by now. "–will affect anything."

  "Living with you?" she asks.

  I shrug. "Yeah, I know it's not exactly normal for a girl your age to be living with a bunch of guys, and if I could afford to get us our own place I would,
but–"

  "It's fine, Tax," she assures me with a soft smile. "I’m used to it by now."

  "Yeah, but most of last year you were taking online classes and we were moving around a lot and I was fighting for custody. Most of that year was a fucking shit storm."

  "And we made it through," she replies.

  I stop for a moment and just look at her. She's so fucking young and yet she's seen so much fucking misery. I would give anything in this world to just go back to when I was eighteen stupid years old and change my mind about walking out of my parents’ house, thinking she'd be okay without me.

  It wasn’t the fighting that had made me leave – I fucking loved that shit. Not at first, but then it became like an addiction. The blood on my knuckles started out badly and then… it started giving me a rush. The roar of the crowd soaked into my skin and made me feel powerful when everything else made me feel weak. Thinking about it right now is enough to make me break into a sweat when I know I’m supposed to be cooling down after my run. Back then, though, a lot of things seemed to get in the way. I had dropped out of high school, barely even got my GED. Was arrested for aggravated assault – a pussy ass, wannabe thug at school that tried to take me before I dropped out. Possession of drugs – it was fucking pot. I didn't give a shit if my parents lived or died, but I thought they'd at least provide for their fucking daughter. Big mistake. Hell, the only reason I won custody was because neither of them had bothered to show up to court.

  Ally looks at me like she knows exactly where my thoughts are, and I hate that she's such an adult at her age. I hope I can give her a better life than either of us have had so far. She stands from her stool and walks over to me. Bending to kiss my sweaty forehead, she puts her arms around me to hold me. She fucking holds me like I'm the one that was left alone and starving as a fourteen-year-old girl in a shitty neighborhood. Like I'm the one that could have died, or been raped or... She smoothes my hair back – wet from the perspiration – and then smiles at me again. Smiling. Always smiling, this girl. She's gonna fucking rule this shitty world someday with nothing but that smile.

  "I'll be fine, Tax. I have food and running water and you. I've got my big brother. Everything else will work itself out."

  "You're fucking amazing, you know that?" I hate that my voice sounds like I'm being choked out, but she doesn't acknowledge it. The little brat just lets go of my face and winks at me as she climbs back onto her bed, pink notebooks and all.

  "I know," she says. "Now, get out of my room. I have to finish my summer essay."

  I roll off the bed, but not before snagging one of her tiny pink pillows and lobbing it at the side of her face. “Love you, squirt,” I say.

  She growls at me as I open her door and slam it shut behind me before she can throw it at the back of my head.

  Cross’ room has gone silent except for the occasional moan. Damn, boy works fast. He better not make this fucking place impossible to live if he fucks all of the neighbors. I stop in front of my own door and cast an annoyed glance back at his as a rather loud feminine moan trails out. And he better not fucking shag the hot girl next door.

  After getting ready for the night and pulling on a black t-shirt that won't glow or turn see through under the hot stage lights, Blake and I wait for Cross in the living room. Ally is laid out on the couch, television remote in hand, and a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

  "What happened to studying?" I look pointedly at the open book next to the popcorn.

  She shrugs. "Study break." She flips through the channels until she lands on something with two girls fighting over a pompous looking prep boy. I balk and walk over, taking the remote from her. She narrows her eyes at me as I flip through the channels myself. When I land on a documentary about fast food chains, I stop and hand the remote back to her.

  "That looks good," I say, turning away.

  She raises an eyebrow at me. "You know I'm just going to flip it back when you leave."

  "Let me pretend that you're innocent and have less crappy taste in TV shows."

  "This is less crappy?" She gestures to the depiction of a man walking through a potato field, talking about all the ways they can be molded into fries and chips and other things.

  I nod. "Yup."

  Blake even raises an eyebrow at me before flicking his gaze back to the screen of his phone.

  "Got something to say?" I snap, kicking his boot. He chuckles, shaking his head, but keeps his dark head bent over his phone. I roll my eyes.

  "Alright, motherf–" Cross stops himself as I send him a glare when he steps out of the hallway into the living room. "I mean. You guys ready to go?" He flicks the keys up in his hand, jangling them in our direction before shoving them in his pocket and heading for the front door.

  I rub a hand down my face. "Okay, Ally," I say. "No going out. No letting people in. Call my number if you need to, and if you can't get ahold of me, call the bar. The bartender and owner know your name and know to grab me if you call. If anything happens–"

  "Make sure all the doors are locked and call you," she finishes the monologue, and I stand there for a moment, looking at her. She starts flipping through channels again and I resist the urge to snatch the remote from her once more. Brat. I ruffle the top of her head and she smacks my hand away.

  “See ya later, squirt.”

  Blake gets up and heads out the door after Cross, and I follow. The back of the Jeep is loaded down with all our instruments, and it's a tight fit for Blake to squeeze in, but because he's the smallest of us, he's the bitch riding hump in the middle back there. He shoots me a dark look when I say as much.

  "Shut the fuck up," he snaps as he straddles the middle seat, with his legs on either side of the floor hump. Cross and I laugh as the engine revs to life and Cross shoots out of the parking lot, cranking the radio as he does. Hard, thumping beats, not unlike our band’s sound, reverberate through the speakers.

  "So, the neighbor, huh?" Blake says, tucking his phone into his pocket and leaning forward between the two front seats. I frown, confused for a moment, thinking he's talking about hot chick.

  Cross grimaces. "She wasn't as good as I thought she'd be," he admits, and I realize they're talking about the hot chick's roommate.

  I turn to him. "She coming tonight?"

  He shrugs. "Yeah, she said she would. I don't know if I'm gonna be chasing her anymore, ya know?" he says. "I've kinda had her kind of girl a lot. Maybe I'll see something else I like at the bar tonight."

  I narrow my gaze at him, resting my head back against the seat with my arm propped on the window sill. "Just don't go after the other one. I'm calling it."

  "What?" Cross swivels his head so fast the car jerks and my arm falls off the window frame. Blake and I curse in damn near perfect unison.

  "Fucking keep your eyes on the road, dipshit!" I snap, bracing against the ‘oh shit handle’ in front of me instead of above me where they usually are.

  Cross turns his gaze back to the road but doesn't forget his intentions. "You into the roommate?" he asks.

  I can feel Blake's curious eyes boring holes in the side of my face.

  I shrug. "I think she's hot. We'll see. I’m not a fucking eunuch.”

  "You could’ve fooled us,” Cross mutters before Blake’s voice rises above his.

  “You think a lot of chicks are hot. That don't mean you call dibs on them. When was the last time you did that, huh? Not since before Ally moved in with us."

  "It's not a big deal," I insist.

  "You're never interested in chicks anymore, man," Cross says. He shakes his head as he turns into the parking lot of City Limits. It's a fucking full house tonight. It's gonna be packed inside. "Just wondering what's so fucking different about this one, since you've barely spoken two words to her."

  "You don't need to talk to a chick to want to bang her," I snap. "Why should I?"

  "We were just curious, man, chill," Blake says as Cross slams the Jeep into park.

  "If you're real
ly into her," Cross says. "You might get a chance at her tonight 'cause your girl's here."

  My gaze snaps up and through the windshield I watch her and her roommate at the entrance of City Limits. While the roommate is dressed to kill in an outfit similar to the one from the night before, hot chick looks less than impressed. In fact, she looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here right now. Her hair is slapped up in a messy ponytail, she's wearing jeans that cup the goddamn gorgeous curves of her ass, and a tank that reveals the tattoos peeking out from her back that spreads across both shoulders. I find myself with the mental image of stripping that tank top away and taking my time to lick my way across the ink lines on her skin. I can’t say they’re not a surprise, but damn if they don’t get me hot.

  "Let's go." I slam the Jeep door closed before heading for the back to begin unloading speakers and instruments.

  3

  Love

  I'll have a glass of Merlot," Beverly says to the bartender.

  She turns back to me, her crop of blonde curls nearly slapping me in the face. The gruff looking man behind the bar, with an open flannel over his dark, City Limits Employee logo shirt, doesn't even bother to nod at her before looking to me.

  "Long Island," I say politely.

  He nods and bustles away. I tap the power button on the side of my phone. Nine new, missed calls from Todd. I sigh and delete them.

  "God, I can't wait to see Cross play," Beverly gushes. "I bet he's really good. I know instrument guys are good with their fingers and he definitely was, so he has to be good."

  I blink at her from my seat. I did not need to know that. I pull out my phone and check my recent messages; still no word from Trish on whether or not things worked out with Lawrence. I assume, since she hasn't called crying again, they probably made up. My drink arrives in a tall glass with a thick black straw next to Beverly's thin stemmed wine glass. She takes her Merlot and chugs it like a shot. I stare at her for a moment and notice that the bartender, too, has stopped. His upper lip quirks with a slight look of surprise, but he doesn’t say anything as she hiccups and frowns.