Page 26 of Dark Knight
He's been weirder than usual. I hope he doesn't think we're going to be friends or something just because I sort of broke down a little after that Chaz guy overwhelmed me. I know it's stupid, and I'm probably hurting myself in the end. Plus, I hate feeling like he knows so much about me when I know so little about him. It seems unfair. It's childish, but I want to balance the scale somehow. I'm not sure how I can do that when there's hardly anything around here that was here when he was a kid except for whatever he locks in his bedroom.
He's got to be hiding something. Otherwise, why go to the trouble? Somewhere along the line, he got the idea that he was some dark, mysterious figure. Like a spy or something.
He's not that important.
Still, I want to know about him. I hate feeling like there's a power imbalance here.
Bianca wasn’t much help when I asked if she knew anything. I mean, she’s close with Dad. He has to let something slip, right?“Callum’s never really talked about him,” she finally confessed. “You probably know more about him than I do, being where he grew up and everything.” I stopped short of asking if she could find something out for me, because we're not kids anymore and this isn't middle school and I'm not desperate to find out more about a boy I'm crushing on.
He's in the third bedroom, the room at the back of the house that faces the yard. I hear him muttering on the other side of the door and would rather believe he's on the phone than imagine he’s talking to himself. I've already gotten myself into enough trouble lingering close to a door while he’s unaware, so instead of lurking and trying to overhear something, I head downstairs for breakfast.
It's not like he has a clue I listened to him jerking off. If he does, he hasn't shown any hints of knowing. I doubt he would let something like that go without making a snide comment or scolding me like I’m a child. I know what I did, and I can't forget it. I also can't help but hope it happens again, if only because my body showed the first signs of life below the waist in ages.
That might not be the honest answer but it’s the one I’m going with. Otherwise, I’ll have to admit that the sound of Romero getting off turned me on, and that is unacceptable. No fucking way.
My jacket hangs by the front door, catching my eye as I round the banister for the kitchen. I left Chaz's card in the front pocket.Should I call him?Romero will lose his shit if I do, which isn't exactly enough to convince me to forget it. It's sort of the principle of the thing. I did say I want a job, and I do need something to do besides sit around and wait until it's time to go back to bed. But I just don't know. Getting used to being around people is one thing, but being forced to talk to multiple people over the course of a day might be more than I can handle. It's like learning to be a person all over again, going back to square one.
A smile touches my lips as my eyes land on the coffee pot. At least he made coffee, though I do miss the espresso machine back home. Regular coffee doesn’t scratch the itch the way a cappuccino or a latte does. Maybe I can convince Romero to buy one?
What am I thinking?I'm just going to order one. I don't need his permission.
To think, I graduated college five months ago. I figured I'd be living it up right about now, eating expensive dinners with new friends I met at the agency. I would surely have landed a full-time position, meeting interesting new clients and having an apartment of my own. Obviously, I would hire someone to come in and clean for me once a week because I would be way too busy to worry about things like tile grout in the bathroom.
It’s so funny I could almost laugh through emptying the dishwasher and mopping the kitchen floor. How glamorous. But I was different back then, before graduation and Europe. Somehow, I was caught up in this idea that I could make my relationship work if I just changed myself enough to make Kristoff happy. I may as well have aged a couple of decades in less than half a year, and I wish so much I could go back and give that girl a hug and tell her she doesn't need him. That she's better off without him. That there is bound to be a better life, and a much better boyfriend out there for her. I would have also told her to stay home instead of flying to another country with a man. That’s life. It’s always easy to look back at what we should have done.
Once there's nothing left to clean in the kitchen and I'm finished with my coffee, I'm sort of at a loss. I’d love to go out and take a nice, long walk—the rain has held off, and when I open the window looking over the tiny backyard, a rush of cool air makes me smile. This is the kind of day when you want to drink a lot of hot chocolate and maybe eat a bowl of soup, something cozy and comforting. I don't have either of those things. There’s very little comfort in my life when it still feels like my insides are cold. Icy.
“Goddamn it. Little bastards.”
My ears perk up at the voice coming from out back. Rather than find something to watch or search for a new book on my tablet, I go to the back door and open it quietly, like I’m trying to sneak out. Which is ridiculous, being that I’m not trapped here. I peer outside and find Mrs. Cooper, and from the way she keeps throwing her hands into the air, she appears to be pretty distraught. When her chin starts to quiver, I have no choice except to go outside and figure out what the hell is going on, especially since I can't stand the idea of watching a sweet old lady like her break down and cry.
“Mrs. Cooper?” I call out from the back steps. “Are you okay?”
Her head snaps up, like I’ve startled her. Her wrinkled cheeks are red with emotion. “Oh, Tatum. Hello.”
“What's wrong? I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be nosy, but I heard you out here when I was in the kitchen.”
“These little bastards.” She shakes her head with a hopeless little sigh that goes straight to my heart. “Look what they did. Hopping the fence so they can cut through my yard.”
Her mums were a beautiful yellow, orange, and purple yesterday. I was admiring them and wanted to compliment her on them the next time we ran into each other. I even considered asking Romero if we could get some for the front porch—I’m not trying to go so far as to plant them in the ground, since I don’t know the first thing about planting, but a few pots might be a nice start.
It hurts to see what was so beautiful yesterday trampled and broken up this morning. “Oh, goodness. I'm sorry!” I cry out, approaching the fence to get a better look at the wreckage.
“I don't mind them cutting through. It's a shortcut, I understand. But why do they have to trample on my flowers?” She draws her thick cardigan tighter around her trembling shoulders, and I gently pat her arm over the chain link fence.
“Do you want some help cleaning them up? I was thinking about finding a lawn and garden store around here to get some flowers for myself. I'd be happy to—”
“No, no, not at all, dear. I can head out and do that.”
“At least let me help you clean up a little. Please?”
“Well, I’m a bit overwhelmed, and the cool, damp weather doesn’t do my joints any favors,” she admits with a soft laugh. Romero could easily look out the window and see me on the other side of the fence. I don’t know why it matters that I’m visiting with the old neighbor. She’s as innocent as can be, so why does he appear to be so bent out of shape every time he sees us together? What he thinks or wants doesn’t matter. I walk through the gate that connects the two yards.
“Here’s a pair of gloves. We don't want to ruin those pretty hands of yours.” She smiles, and I gratefully slide my hands inside. With gloves protecting my delicate hands, I gather the broken blooms. “I’m going to go inside and grab the broom so I can clean this up.” I give her a nod. I don't know how successful she'll be if everything is wet, but I don’t say that.
“Do many of the kids around here behave like this?” I ask when she joins me again. “I noticed a group of them riding their bikes around a lot. They’re always yelling and cursing at each other. They seem kind of...I don’t know…rough?” I shrug for lack of anything better to say. These kids are nothing like the kids I grew up with.
“Oh yes! They prowl around this neighborhood looking for trouble, I swear. In fact there was a rash of tire slashings just last spring. Up and down the block. Everyone had a tire slashed.”