Page 41 of Ordinary Girl

Eighteen

Joel

She’s busting my balls, but she got good reason to. She’s also messing with my head, and that isn’t her fault, and I don’t need this shit but it’s happening.

I don’t have any calls to make. And she’s right, I could’ve taken her to the clubhouse, I chose not to do that. A rash decision, and I don’t know why I made it, but here she is. In my home.

Splashing my face with cold water, I take a second to think. I stare into the mirror and try to work out what the fuck’s going on. Skip stuck me with looking after her, and I fought that, and yet, now, I don’t want to let her out of my sight. When the fuck didthathappen?

I head back downstairs. I don’t trust her not to have bolted the second I came up here, but she hasn’t gone anywhere. She’s in the living room, where I told her to go, sitting in the armchair by the window reading a book.

I lean back against the doorjamb and cross my arms. “See? Idohave books.”

She looks up and throws me a small smile. She’s got the prettiest smile, and I’m only just realizing that she’s doing it a lot more often now. Smiling. I mean, she’s not doing it a lot, but she’s doing it more. That’s a plus.

“Yeah. You’re full of surprises.” She turns her attention back to the book, swinging her legs over the arm of the chair.

“I should probably get you back home.”

“I don’t have a home,” she says, without looking up.

“Jesus, Ana…”

She slams the book shut, her eyes boring into mine. “You can stand there and tell me that this is my life now, but I don’t have to believe you. I can humor you, sure, but don’t tell me this is all I have left. Thatthisis my future. Don’t do that.”

She’s spoiling for a fight, but I’m not giving her one.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

She puts the book down on the window ledge and gets up: comes over to me, her eyes locked on mine.

“I don’t know if I want to leave yet.”

She pushes past me, goes back into the kitchen, and I follow her. “Freja will be wondering where you are.”

“So, tell her I’m with you. IfIcall her she won’t believe me.” She leans back against the counter and crosses her arms. And there’s something different about this woman now. Something harder. Colder. And that’s not surprising, given what she’s been through, but it kind of kills me that we did this to her. “You got any food in this place?” She looks around, rolls her eyes, and sighs quietly. “This ridiculously tidy place.”

“In the fridge. Help yourself.”

I go call the club: tell Freja that Ana’s with me, that I’ll keep an eye on her. And when I go back into the kitchen she’s making a sandwich and drinking beer, the TV now playing quietly in the background.

“Want one?” she asks, indicating the sandwich she’s making. I shake my head. She shrugs, and spreads mustard over some bread. “This is a nice house.”

“Well, it’s home, I suppose.”

She turns around, sandwich in one hand, and pushes herself up onto the countertop. “I’m finding it really disturbing that it’s so clean, though.”

“You think we all live like pigs, just because we ride bikes?”

She keeps her eyes on me as she takes a bite of her sandwich. “You do a lot more than just ride bikes, though.”

I smile. She doesn’t. “Maybe. Still doesn’t mean we need to live in squalor.”

She chews her food and glances back over her shoulder, into the yard outside. And for a moment or two there’s a not entirely uncomfortable silence.

“You must hate being on babysitting duties, huh?”

Her eyes are back on me, and I find myself smiling again. “I know I got a hundred other things I’d rather be doing.”

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