Sunday Morning (Damaged #7.5)(9)

“Where were you heading tonight?” I softly asked.

“I wanted to find somewhere quiet to read.”

I slid the hair through my fingers. “It’s a small thing to want.”

“The world is too loud.”

Jodi’s voice hurt me deep inside where I rarely felt. When I was her age, I wanted to feel safe. The only way I could find safety was to hurt everyone around me. I crushed everyone until I was the guy no one messed with, and I could finally breathe. Jodi’s goal was so small in comparison. She only wanted to be left alone to read. Such a minor f*cking request from someone who could want the world.

“You can use my apartment,” I said without thinking. “I’ll get you a key. It’s not far from the trailer park, and it’s quiet.”

“Why?” she asked in a wary voice.

Jodi got under my skin, but I couldn’t tell her this fact. She’d want to believe I was a romantic guy pining over her pretty face. The stars in her eyes and the rainbows in her head would convince her I was capable of feeling what my heart would never allow. I’d gone cold long ago, and there was no rekindling what I’d willfully destroyed to survive.

Jodi needed a reason that made sense to her and didn’t give her false hope.

“Consider it part of my midlife crisis.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“You ought to be,” I said immediately.

“If you hurt me, you hurt me. I’m not going to sit around being scared of you until then.”

Frowning at the setting sun, I wished she was five years older, and I were a different man.

“I should probably get you home.”

“Why?”

“You shouldn’t be running the streets at night.”

“I’m not running the streets. I’m standing here with you.”

“Fine. Then I’m having a hard time not f*cking you on my hog right now. I figure I better get you home before I act like an * and take what I want.”

Jodi studied me fearlessly. “You’re full of shit,” she said and then smiled. “I won’t overstay my welcome, though. Give me a ride home if that’s what you need to do.”

I was accustomed to getting my way. Right then, I wanted to take Jodi out for a meal and get to know her. Then I’d take her back to my apartment and get to know her even better.

Except she was too young for me to know. Fuck, I doubted she knew herself. So I told myself no. I was going the noble route, but it still hurt like hell when I dropped off Jodi at her shithole trailer park. She stared at me after climbing off, and I thought maybe she wanted me to kiss her goodbye. Or she wanted a promise like most women craved. I had nothing to give her. Not yet anyway so I left without saying another word while she watched me go.





6 - Jodi


The day after Kirk took me for a ride, a twitchy kid showed up at my trailer with a key. I studied it all evening, wondering if I should tempt his generosity by hanging out at his place.

Fuck it, I decided. He offered. He gave me the key. Whatever happened next would happen.

On the third floor of a four-story building, I discovered a nicer apartment than I expected. Not fancy by any means but a wall of windows allowed in a lot of sunlight to the large living room. I shut the door behind me and locked it out of habit. Walking slowly, I took in the scent of the place. I recognized Kirk’s cologne. Nothing fancy but like the apartment, I found it impressive. Everything about Kirk interested me.

A folded newspaper rested on the table, and a large TV took up one corner in the room. The couch didn’t look new as much as unused. My wannabe biker boyfriend spent most of his time at the strip club. Resting on the soft leather couch, I thought he was nuts not to spend all of his time in this homey place.

I stood up and walked to a galley-style kitchen where I poured myself a glass of water. Inside the refrigerator were only a few beers. More proof Kirk rarely spent time at the apartment.

Before I returned to the living room, I walked into Kirk’s bedroom. I assumed he knew I’d peek so I didn’t feel guilty about poking around his place.

Much like with his living room and kitchen, the bedroom looked barely used. Did he f*ck women at the club? I doubted he brought them here. The place felt unloved, not like a guy’s party pad or home. It was simply the place where he stored his clothes.

I relaxed in a spot near the windows and opened my book. Inhaling slowly, I enjoyed Kirk’s scent and wished he was with me in the apartment. We could cuddle on the couch and watch sports. No, Kirk probably wasn’t a cuddler. I couldn’t imagine him with a girlfriend at all. He was a man who f*cked women. That was it. I wasn’t a woman so he couldn’t f*ck me. One day, I’d be sufficiently old enough in his mind, and he’d f*ck me. Then what? Would he take back his key? Or would he simply change his locks?

Until then, I snuggled up on the couch and enjoyed the peaceful afternoon. Without the noise and chaos of the trailer park, I dissolved into my book and imagined living the life of Emma Woodhouse in an era and setting that felt impossibly foreign to me.

For the first time in so many years, I was truly happy. I hated leaving his apartment. The sun was nearly set when I forced myself to return home.

For weeks, this was my new routine. I woke up in a shithole, spent my day in a shithole, and then spent a few blissful hours at Kirk’s apartment. I began leaving him messages, telling him about my day. One time, I left an entire essay detailing a girl fight I had with a friend. Kirk normally just wrote “cool” on my messages. For that one, he got sage on my ass.