Page 16 of Broken People

Sighing, I fumble with my less-than-reliable lock for a minute before it gives in, close the door, and exhale the discomfort I’d felt just now in the hallway. I think about the night I’d accidentally introduced him to Cori. Well, no, that’s not exactly true. I introduced them on purpose. I just wasn’t prepared to watch him take her home and for how that would feel—like I had swallowed fire and was struggling not to choke on the smoke. I wasn’t prepared for how it would feel to see them together in the months that had followed, but I did a great job maintaining the façade that I couldn’t feel it burning, and he had done a great job making sure I still knew how important I was to him.

As a friend.

I take out my phone and text Jake to let him know I had made it home okay, and that I wished he was here. I desperately wish he was here. I miss his warmth—his physical warmth and the warmth he gives off. Despite everything I’ve heard about him, it feels honest somehow, and it calms me in way I’ve probably needed for much longer than I realize. I could use his calm right now. I collapse on top of the covers and fall asleep in my clothes.

seven

“Youknow,Ruby,Ithink I’d be completely lost without you. I don’t know what I would do,” Dane, not someone who is madly in love with me, tells me before we open the doors on Wednesday night. I’d come in to do inventory and help him out with payroll. It’s become a habit as of late, but I don’t mind. We both know I need the money and it’s kind of nice to be here, in one of my good-feeling places, without the chaos and the alcohol, and see that it still feels the same. Also, he’ll likely let me leave a little bit early, and it’d be nice to spend a little bit of extra time with Jake before he leaves tomorrow.

I think about Evie and Olivia asking me the other night if I was worried about him traveling, and I’m not. But it feels weird, because I’m not sure what this is exactly. We haven’t given it a label, and I’m not the type to ask for one. I’ve learned not to ask questions like this until I’m sure I know what the answer will be, and I don’t really know the answer to this one. I’m not sure what he wants from me. I’m not sure where I expect any of this to go. Maybe we are both just waiting.

“I know, I know. I’m the heart and soul of this place,” I say, dripping with sarcasm. I pull another tiny, folded paper square from my pocket and stuff it into another one of the unlocked mailboxes.

“Life is better when you learn how to accept a compliment. Trust me,” he tells me.

“Well, I guess I’ll never know,” I reply.

“What do you write on those things anyway?” he asks.

“I don’t know, stuff that I think people might want to hear, but no one says out loud.”

“Really? That’s pretty deep. I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“It’s just words,” I tell him with a shrug. “I’m not really an expert on how regular people function, though, so maybe I’ve gotten it completely wrong. Do you want to read one? You can let me know.”

“Nah, it feels…violating. Don’t let me stop you though.”

“Hmm.” I guess I’m not the only one that sees it that way.

“Come to sate your thirst and your soul,” Aria shouts from behind the bar.

“Stay for the debauchery,” I add, hiding away the last of my little life letters, as I’ve come to call them.

Once the doors open, it isn’t long before we are completely slammed. We’re deep in the middle of another night of weird karaoke. Alex is here. He’s with a guy from work that I’ve seen with him before, but don’t necessarily know. He orders a drink from me and says hi but doesn’t linger at the bar for long. I wonder if he will try and wait me out or if they have other plans. I hope he has plans to go, because I know I do. It doesn’t stop me from staring a little bit though. He is a beautiful person. He’s beautiful when he’s brooding, and right now he’s smiling and his eyes aren’t as sad as they have been. I watch his dark hair falls away from his face when he throws his head back and laughs, and it trips me up for only a second. It’s not something I, or anyone I presume, gets to see very often, especially as of late. I don’t know how he does it. He’s effortlessly cool, easily and naturally exuding peak Seattle grunge, something I see butchered regularly by too many people trying way too hard.

Maybe suffering is the key ingredient.

“You know, there’s something wrong with him.”

“Huh?”

“Your neighbor—Cori’s ex. There’s something really not right with that guy,” Aria says.

So they keep telling me. “Alex is alright. He’s just…been through some stuff, you know. Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“She’s scared of him. She told me. I guess he’s got this temper…”

“I’ve heard some weird stuff about her from him, too. Like I said, don’t believe everything you hear.”

“Alright,” she says, shrugging it off.

We go back to our busy night, and when Chuck comes in, Dane tells me that I can go, just as I had anticipated. After I make sure Alex isn’t looking my way, I sneak quietly out the back door into the alley and disappear into the late-night fog.

I’m sitting on Jake’s couch with leftover Chinese food and a book, watching him try to find all the things he needs to pack for his morning flight. Apparently, he’s one of those people who are unable to find anything they want when they are actually looking for it, because I’ve seen him tear the place apart like this a few times already in the short time we have been together. I think that he must not have been looking for me either, and laugh to myself a little bit, even though it isn’t funny. Then, I think about that first bit, and wonder if instead, he found something he didn’t want. Ugh, why does my brain always go to these places? Surely these kinds of things don’t happen with this kind of frequency to normal people. With my disproportionate slice of the trauma pie, mine must have developed shortcuts.

He storms through the living room, muttering something under his breath about how he can never find anything with some choice colorful language thrown in there. “You know,” I tell him. “Maybe it’s a sign. The universe just wants you to stay here with me.”

“I just want to find that stupid fucking garment bag. I swear I just saw it in my closet last week,” he says. Then, he’s tearing into a closet on the other side of the apartment near the guest room, pulling out canvas after canvas, tossing them carelessly on the floor. I’m intrigued, because why, in his sleek, modern apartment with its sad, barren walls, is he sitting on an art stash of that size? Most likely, he just never got around to decorating and has put it off for so long that he isn’t concerned with it anymore. That, or maybe he stole it and hasn’t gotten around to selling it. Maybe he’s from a family of art thieves and this is where they get their money from. That one kind of makes me laugh, too. Then, I think that maybe it belongs to an ex-girlfriend that he can’t get over, or maybe they’re someone else’s boudoir photos. Fine, I’ll pry.

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