Page 53 of Full Tilt
Words stuck in my throat and I could only nod.
“I’m sorry if that’s personal,” she said. “I was thinking about how we’ve both been hurt by people who were supposed to love us. I protect myself too. By drinking, partying, making loud music.” She turned back to face the television. “I hate that people leave when they’re supposed to stay.”
I nodded, at a loss for words. We watched the movie and ate our popcorn, while the minutes ticked closer to tomorrow.
Onscreen, a young woman thrashed in her bed. Her boyfriend screamed as the girl died a bloody death, her body dragged up the wall and cut to ribbons by unseen hands.
Kacey buried her face in my shoulder. “Tell me when it’s over,” she said, her voice muffled.
“What, this scene?”
She nodded against me, clutching my arm. Her hair was soft against my cheek.
On the TV, the boyfriend’s screaming stopped. “Okay, she’s a goner,” I said.
Kacey turned her head to peek at the screen with one eye, then both. “Sorry. I’m a total wimp about horror movies.”
“It was your idea.”
“It’s a great movie.”
“But you’re scared to even watch it.”
“So?” Her challenging eyes were bright and vibrant, as if backlit with a cerulean light. “What’s your point?”
“No, nothing,” I laughed, shaking my head. “Makes total sense.”
Kacey elbowed my side, then curled into it again.
She felt so soft and warm against me, while I was a brick wall with my hands tucked under my crossed arms to keep from seeking her. I wanted to fill my hands with Kacey; hold hers or lay my palm on the bare skin of her thigh that was pressed against mine. Or put my arm around her because—my God—wasn’t this the last time I’d ever sit on a couch with a girl and watch a movie again? Have her hide her head in my shoulder during the scary parts, or share a bowl of popcorn? This was my life, what was left of it, and I was missing it.
I tried to lose myself in the movie. Minutes ticked by. Onscreen, a young, feathered-haired Johnny Depp failed to stay awake despite certain death. “You hadonejob, Johnny,” I intoned.
Kacey buried her face in my shoulder, her fingers clenched around my arm, as Johnny was sucked into his bed and a geyser of blood erupted to spray the room.
“Tell me when it’s over.”
“How would I know if it’s over?” I said, laughing. “You’ve alreadyseenthis.”
“Twice.”
“All right, the screaming’s stopped, you can come out.”
Kacey lifted her head and Jesus, she was so beautiful. Her laughing eyes exhilarated, as if she’d just gotten off a rollercoaster.
Her beauty sucked my breath away. If I kept sitting here with her, I was going to do something stupid. Something unfair to the both of us.
I got up, muttering about needing the bathroom. I felt all alongthe right side of my body an unpleasant coolness where she had been touching me and now she was not. In the bathroom, I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
“Keep to the routine, Fletcher. The fucking routine.”
That mantra was a frail, rickety bridge between what I wanted and what I would never have. It would fall to pieces in a stiff wind, but it was the only bridge I had. Without it, I would free-fall to nothing.
“Keep. To. The. Routine.”
When I returned to the living room, Kacey sat up, yawning and stretching. She smiled when she saw me. A surprised smile. As if we hadn’t spent all evening hanging out together. As if I’d been years away in Africa and not two minutes in the john.
But I felt it too. I missed her. Every time I closed my fucking eyes, I missed her.
