Page 56 of Embody

Me: Stop doing that. Ignoring a problem doesn’t make it go away. We no longer have plans, JT! We’re fighting!

 

Jefferson: I said something stupid, you slapped me across the face. I learned not to say shit like that again and you got me for it. Does that not conclude the fight? And don’t call me JT.

 

Me: I’m sorry I slapped you. It was completely uncalled for and very out of character for me. It won’t ever happen again. But that doesn’t mean we’re done fighting. I’m very unhappy about what you said and we need to discuss it, after I’ve had some time to think. And aren’t you mad I slapped you? BTW- your name is JT, why is that a problem?

 

I know the answer; I just want to hear him say it. Who’s playing games now? This girl, that’s who. Long overdue.

 

Jefferson: We’re done texting. Either get your pretty self out here or I’m coming to you. How sturdy do you think your front door is? The answer? Not near sturdy enough. Motherfucker’s getting kicked the fuck in if I’m not laying eyes on you in the next five minutes.

 

B&E threats probably shouldn’t induce full-body,notthe scared kind, shivers. Too late. I felt that sexy ass warningeverywhere.

And, Idohave to take my trash out anyway…might as well save my door and hear what he has to say. Since,again, I was already going outside. Totally of my own accord.

I’ve taken approximately four steps out of my apartment, carrying one bag of trash and dragging the other behind me, when he’s suddenly right in front of me.

“Give me those,” he grates, ripping both bags out of my hands. “Where’s it go?”

“In the dumpster.” I point across the parking lot and he looks, then jerks his head back to me, his eyes bulging with an angry brittleness.

“Please tell me,” he finds an impossibly lower octave, as tense as his jawline, “that you usually do this in the daytime, and this is a random, fluke occurrence.”

“Sometimes,” I hitch a shoulder. “But if not, Idoalways look outside for any lurkers first.”

“Jesus,” he groans, dropping his head and slowly shaking it back and forth. “Bellamy,” he glances back up, scowling, “lurkingliterally meanshiding! Waiting,hidden, to strike. So, when you look outside,you’re not gonna see them, if they’re fucking doing it right!”

I’m betting the vein in his forehead pops before the one in his neck…we shall see.

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” I scowl right back, propping my hands on my hips.So they aren’t tempted to get slap-happy.

“Take your trash out during the day!Everytime!” Yep…forehead vein’s about to blow.

I make an exaggerated scoffing noise. “Good thinkin’, genius. Why didn’t that occur to me? Hmm,” I tap my temple and pretend to ponder. “Oh, I remember now! Because during school, I already have to haul butt, lugging my backpack and breakfast, to the bus stop at the ass crack of dawn! Andthismorning, the start of my shift versus the bus schedule had me scramblingearlierthan ass crack, so I wasn’t thinking about the freakin’ trash. Unfortunately, I have no say in the timing of public transportation. My bad.”

“Fuck me, relationships are high maintenance as hell. I’m losing track of all the issues we havejust from tonight. Hold on, lemme go dump your trash and we’ll start crossing things off the list. Don’t move.”

Before I can blink, let alone move, he’s headed back from the dumpster, closing the space between us with quick, deliberate steps. I put both hands up in front of me and start backing away. I’m not ready for him to touch me yet, for reasons other than the one I blurt out. “Come on, you can wash your hands in my apartment. Thank you for doing that for me.”

“You’re welcome. Question though. Is that the dumpster you’ll have to use when you move to the third floor?” he asks as we walk to my place.

“Yeah,” I laugh. “How would a trash truck get to a dumpster up two flights of stairs?”

“All right, okay,” he nods repeatedly, maniacally, unhappy with whatever he’s deliberating in his head. “So now you’ll be dragging your trash,at night of course, down two flights of stairs and even farther across the poorly lit parking lot.Then, going all the way back, nocturnal prey the entire time. Great, fucking fabulous news! Lemme guess, next you’re gonna tell me that I should be happy because of something even more spectacular, like…there’sonly fivesex offenders that live in this complex?”

“You tell me,” I poke the bear. “Your family’s part owners, you guys run thorough background checks or not? Soap’s by the kitchen sink,” I tell him after opening the door to my apartment.

He doesn’t answer my question, stomping past me to go wash his hands, grumbling under his breath the whole way. It takes him a while, and when the water’s stopped running, yet he hasn’t stepped back into the living room, I sneak up behind him to find out what’s taking him so long.

Texting in turbo-speed on his phone.

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