“Humans are made to do shitty things? That’s depressing,” I told him. But I kind of liked the way it sounded, cynical as it was.
He sat down next to me on my bed and the metal frame creaked. He was too big for my bed. He looked like a grown man in a dollhouse. I felt like he was going to lecture me about something, maybe ask if I did my homework. His knowing eyes were focused on me, and in a rare occurrence, he didn’t look away or stare at the floor.
“That’s life,” he said.
“Life is depressing?”
“Every life I’ve come across,” he replied, his eyes still on me.
I couldn’t disagree with him, though it made everything feel so heavy.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
“You told me about the way you and your mom made sense of things, believing that when stars burn out, the good in the world dies along with them.” He chuckled softly. “That’s the most depressing thing I’ve heard, and I’ve seen and heard a lot.” He drew out the end of the word.
I laughed at that and continued to look unabashedly into his eyes. He was a good head taller than me sitting down, and his black jeans and dark skin looked so nice against each other.
Kael’s hands moved to his leg and my tummy flipped, thinking that they’d move to me next, that he was going to touch me. But instead, he rubbed at the top of his leg.
“What’s wrong with your leg?” I asked him.
For all the voices downstairs, I couldn’t hear anything except the slowing of Kael’s breathing and the sound of the air conditioner vent blowing from the ceiling.
“It’s . . .” he started to say. I watched the words hesitate on their way out. “It hurts sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”
“Can I ask what happened?”
He closed his eyes and didn’t say anything as the seconds passed.
I remembered his first massage and how he kept his pants on the entire time, the way I thought I saw him limping, but couldn’t be sure. “You don’t have to tell me. I could . . . maybe . . . I could help, you know?” I offered.
I was sorry for asking in the first place, but he leaned down and grabbed the bottom of his jeans and started to roll up the fabric.
It was such an intense moment, the air so still between us.
And then the silence was broken by the ringing of a cell phone. Kael’s cell phone. I jumped from the suddenness of it. Kael let go of his pants and stood up, pulling the phone from his pocket. His face changed as he stared at the screen and silenced the ringer. My heart was racing, beating inside of me.
“Everything okay?” I said.
His handsome face was distorted into a scowl as he looked at the number. He ignored the call. I thought a text popped up, but I couldn’t be sure. “Yeah,” he said.
I didn’t believe him.
He shoved the phone into his pocket and looked at me. My eyes went immediately to his right leg and he stepped back. Then he scanned the room like he was looking for something he couldn’t see.
“I . . . I, um. I have to go,” he stammered.
He moved so quickly, like a soldier, and he opened my door before I could stop him. His name was stuck in my throat as he turned around to look at me, as if to say something. Our eyes locked for half a second before he seemed to change his mind and turned away from me. I didn’t know what to think about what had just happened. We had been so close. I had opened up to him and he was opening up to me . . . and then he was gone.
I was so overwhelmed with everything that I didn’t even understand why I burst into tears the moment he disappeared from view.
“Happy birthday,” I managed to say, after he was long gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
I woke up with a headache like I’d never had before. My mouth was like the inside of a hamster’s cage and my hands felt too big for my body. Even my hair hurt. I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow so that I wouldn’t have to open my eyes. I rummaged through the bedding to find my phone and I felt the cool glass screen against my fingertips. When had I climbed into bed and under the familiar purple bedspread? Slowly, I turned over. Even more slowly, I opened my eyes.
Two missed calls and a Where r u? text from Austin. Great.
The person I was thinking of was Kael.
It was bad enough that he was the last person I thought of before I fell asleep. Did he have to be the first person I thought of when I woke up? I could picture him sitting there on the bed next to me. I could almost feel the impression his body made on this small bed. And I could see his face as he walked out the door, leaving me behind.
I had to do something about this situation.
I had to keep away from this guy.
Where did he get off thinking that I would be there for him whenever he felt like showing up? Who did he think he was with this on-again, off-again bullshit? This guy was playing me with his “So you missed me when I didn’t come back?” attitude.
Last night he had opened up, let down his guard, and let me inside. He talked. He listened. He laughed. And the way he started to roll up his jeans . . . we were getting so close, and then he turned back into the stranger Elodie’s husband happened to know.
I never wanted to see him again.
I needed to see him.
I didn’t want to know where he went last night.
I needed to know.
I should never have let him stay over that night Elodie brought him home. I should never have brought him to my dad’s for dinner. And I sure as hell should never have brought him to last night’s party.
I didn’t like my anger and regret. How dare he make me feel this way.
Lesson learned. Remind yourself about that, Karina, as you go about your day.
Shit! My day!
I had to work. I did a quick phone check for the time. It was eight thirty and I had to be at work at ten. It didn’t matter that I felt like hell. No way could I get my shift covered on such short notice. Anyway, I needed the hours to pay that last cable bill, so I was going to have to suck it up. I was used to that. At least I didn’t have anyone scheduled until after lunch. I’d be the one taking walkins. That wouldn’t be so bad, though, because most clients didn’t talk much at all during their first treatment. That was something, at least. I usually dreaded walkins, but today I preferred that to seeing anyone I knew.
Rolling out of bed was the hard part. The first hard part, that is—more belly flop than roll. I shimmied into my pants, then my T-shirt, and I pulled one of my vintage hair scrunchies off my dresser and stuck my hair in a ponytail, replaying the events of last night.
I didn’t want to admit it, but I was starting to feel that addictive pull. Addicted. There was no other word for it. His beautiful face. His strong body. His confident voice. I loved the way he didn’t bother with small talk, as if he knew instinctively what was important. I could tell that the other guys looked up to him. But what else was going on? What was it that made him shift from being another random guy at a party with a beer to a soldier, hypervigilant and on guard? What had Mendoza been trying to tell me about his boy?
Mendoza’s voice in my head was drowned out by the sound of my brother’s snores as I passed his room. I was glad he was asleep. I didn’t want to talk to him. Or anyone else, for that matter. Just a quick pee and I’d—