Page 21 of Close Quarters

I shoved the unnecessary thoughts aside as I got out of my seat, hesitating long enough to drain the glass of lemonade I wasn’t going to waste. Leon and Mona stayed seated, watching us quietly, Leon looking thoughtful, while Mona still seemed vaguely amused.

“Let’s go,” I grumbled to Elliot, who sighed, and we walked out of the room. The Big House wasn’t a labyrinth, so it was easy to find our way back to the foyer and descend the stairs toward the front doors.

“Boys?” Mona’s voice called before we opened them. “Ever thought to ask what cabin you’ll be in?”

Elliot and I glanced at each other. “Kinda thought you’d tell us that before we left.”

“Details, details,” she said airily. “It’s fourteen. One of us will stop by in a few hours to ensure you’ve settled in.”

“Lovely,” I muttered, pushing through the front doors.

After we descended the stairs, Elliot glanced at me. “How the hell do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Like…talk to her like you do.”

“She makes you nervous, doesn’t she?”

He let out a laugh. “No, she scares the shit out of me.”

I didn’t know what to pay attention to first, the amusement at the very idea or the surprise he was being so candid. “Doesn’t bother me a bit. She’s a little intense, but she doesn’t seem the type to be a bitch just because she’s a bitch.”

“See, I’m not so sure she’d be happy to be called that.”

“Eh, my sister is a bitch too, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing…she’s had to be a bitch. It’s what’s kept her afloat.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Got four siblings.”

“Damn, your parents really liked having kids.”

“No, they liked fucking. They hated having kids.”

“Ah, umm?—”

“Don’t fucking apologize,” I said with a shake of my head. “Just go get your shit. I want to move before they start checking up on us.”

“Fine, whatever, dick,” he muttered, walking off.

For someone who seemed to understand that I didn’t want Leon treating me with kid gloves, Elliot sure seemed intent on making the same mistake. I didn’t get how people could see how I’d been acting and still decide that compassion and kindness were the way to go. It wasn’t like I did anything to deserve that kind of treatment, and not only that, but I didn’t need people to treat me like that. All too often, it came across as the most insulting pity imaginable.

It didn’t take long to gather my things from the cabin. I was glad the place was empty as I gathered my clothes and a couple of books I’d taken from the on-site library. I probably wouldn’t get much peace to read with Elliot as my roommate, but I might be able to squeeze in time when he was asleep.

I hadn’t made friends with the guys in my cabin, so I was sure they wouldn’t be all that torn up to see me gone. It wasn’t like I’d antagonized them, but I’d never tried to connect either. Maybe Leon had a point. Maybe I needed to connect with people if I was going to be living here for several more months.

“Ugh,” I grunted, the thought sounding as pleasant as slivers shoved under my fingernails. The last time I tried connecting, really connecting with someone, had ended up with me dating a man I had beaten half to death. Not that it hadn’t been fully justified. Even the arresting officers had been sympathetic. That sympathy hadn’t extended to the sentencing from the judge, however. Still, maybe she had just wanted to make the point that beating two people so severely they were hospitalized for weeks wasn’t something she wanted to encourage, no matter how justified it was.

What few things I had tucked under my mattress I stowed in my pockets, save for the small, rectangular locket. It had been my grandmother’s, containing a picture of my grandmother and me on one side and Mara and me on the other. I’d always used it to try to ground myself whenever my temper felt like it was getting the better of me.

The picture of Mara and me was taken at a California beach. A rare treat for us, considering how dirt poor we were. Our faces were frozen in a laugh as we toppled backward, the ocean taking our legs out from under us. Or the picture of my grandmother and me on her front porch, drinking lemonade as we chatted, me still a gangly teenager whose smile looked more like a smirk, her smile warm but always hinting that she was keeping a secret. It was usually enough, even now, but it wasn’t like it was something I could carry with me while working. I was glad that, unlike in prison, I was allowed to have it with me as a personal item, but I still kept it hidden from curious eyes.

That was all I had to take, and I left the cabin. My former cabin mates were bound to see my stuff was gone, my sheets stripped from the bed and thrown in the communal laundry hamper. They would probably assume I’d been given the boot until they realized I hadn’t. I wasn’t going to feed the rumor mill that would start spinning once they figured out I was still around and bunking somewhere else. It would probably be Elliot who spilled the beans to anyone who would listen.

Closing the door, I made my way to the new cabin. The feel of the locket in my hand was unusually heavy when it was usually a rare source of happiness. No one knew what had happened to my grandmother. Not that I wanted anyone to know my personal business, that was mine to deal with alone. I almost wished I could use that to explain why I’d hit Riley, but even with all the pain and rage inside me, I knew better than to blame it on anyone but me.

The problem wasn’t acknowledging whether or not I was the problem. That trick had been discovered when I’d been handcuffed and put into the back of a cop car. The next step that was supposed to follow? Hell, if I knew. I thought it was supposed to be learning how not to let history repeat itself, but I didn’t know how. Then again, it could be something else entirely, a step after taking on the rightful blame but before fixing the problem that caused the issues.

---