“Not…every day,” she replies. A hint of that fire makes an appearance in her big brown eyes.
“Then what’ll you do from tomorrow onward? We might be staying in the apartment for a while.”
Her gaze drops to the floor, and she shuffles her feet. “I… I don’t know, Keith. Maybe my mom is right. Maybe I’m just a disaster magnet. And I brought my bad luck into your life.” She bites her trembling lips but a sob escapes her mouth.
“Jesus, Clem!” I grasp her shoulders, until she looks up at me. “Your mother is crazy. You’re no disaster magnet. You saved Mere. You were in this situation because of me. If anyone, it’s me who is responsible for what happened. Don’t you dare, for one second, take the blame.”
Her red eyes look at me and on instinct I crush her to my chest.
Like last night, her tears, her scared face, burns a part of my frozen heart. Crushing her into my arms, I remember when I took advantage of her vulnerability. Like a beast I pounced on her.
I shut my eyes, trying to get away from the image of her wide, lustful—God, Keith, not lustful, but scared—eyes begging me to make her forget the torture she suffered.
Instead of consoling her with my words, I ravished her like a man who hasn’t touched a woman in ten years. There’s some truth in that thought, but she’s not mine to ravish for a multitude of reasons.
She is fifteen years younger than me, for fuck’s sake.
She is Mere’s friend.
She is my tenant.
But even with all those reasons, I can’t release her out of my tight hold.
What the hell is wrong in this world?
This girl, with a heart as pure as gold, thinks she is some sort of bad luck charm.
How much can bad parenting mess with our heads? I hope I haven’t done such damage to Mere.
She grabs my T-shirt and sobs for several more minutes before pulling back. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, Clem. I understand loneliness better than I want to.”
Her bloodshot eyes meet mine and she walks back into my arms, giving me a tight hug, before walking away.
I don’t know why, but for once, this affection of hers doesn’t feel wrong. This is genuine. She understands the loneliness of my heart. She is like no-fucking-one, people who pretend to get it, but don’t.
I clear my throat. “Also pack all your colorful bags.”
I try to lighten the mood and it works. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips, and she takes out the yellow suitcase to pack her obscene number of handbags.
* * *
I arrange all my guns in the vault of the main bedroom.
These apartments in the Kings Security campus are designed for men like me, equipped appropriately, including a gun vault.
I look around my hung shirts, neatly rolled socks in the drawer, gray T-shirts, and jeans placed carefully inside the drawers in this bright room.
This feels weird.
My bedroom is usually dark. I don’t open the curtains except sometimes at night. It ensures that dust doesn’t settle on things which aren’t used much, like Melanie’s cosmetics, her candles, and books on the nightstand.
But this room is airy and bright. All the furniture is new and white, unlike mine, which is rustic. My computer glasses, a glass of water, my watch, and earplugs sit on my nightstand, but the other side is…vacant.
This feels different.
What surprises me most is that the absence of Melanie’s pictures and her things does not rip my heart out of my chest as I always thought it would.