Faking It (Losing It, #2)(20)

Tonight was the night for forgetting about Bliss, and it had been going remarkably well until now. Singing a song I wrote about her was the last thing I wanted to do.

“Maybe another time,” I said.

“I’m going to get it out of you,” she said.

I had no doubt that if anyone could, it would be her.

The silence of the street swallowed up my thoughts, and that was fine by me. I was happy to just walk with her, no thoughts or troubles to get in the way.

We passed a twenty-four-hour Laundromat, and she slowed to a stop in front of a glass door with a set of buzzers. A staircase trailed upward on the other side of the door, and she pulled the door open without a key.

“No lock?”

She shrugged. “It’s broken. I’ve been asking the landlord to fix it for weeks.”

I looked at the door while she started up the stairs.

“You know, I could probably fix it. My grandfather was a locksmith.”

She called back from the middle of the staircase, “Is there anything you can’t do, Golden Boy?” I could think of one thing. I seemed to be incapable of finding a girl who wasn’t taken.

I let the door swing shut behind me, and climbed up the stairs. We went up two flights and down a hallway before stopping at the last door on the left. She pulled her keys out of her coat pocket, and hesitated for a moment.

She took a deep breath and slid the key in, turning until it clicked. Her apartment was dark as we entered, and she threw her keys on a small table next to the door.

“Hang on a sec.”

She left me by the door to turn on a lamp a few feet away.

The light revealed an apartment that was simple, bare, and lifeless. I followed her into a tiny living room crammed with a futon and a boxy-looking love seat. There were no pictures, no knickknacks, nothing that gave any insight into the tempting creature that had entered my life this morning and hijacked it completely.

“How long have you lived here?” I asked.

She laid her purse down beside the couch and said, “Almost two years in this apartment, but I’ve been in Philly twice that long.”

Then why did she live like she might pack up and leave any day? There was nothing but furniture here. The only thing I saw that was even the least bit personal was a guitar case propped up in a corner.

“Take a seat, and I’ll grab some bandages and stuff.”

She started shrugging off her coat, and then sucked in a sharp breath. Her arms dropped to her side, and her face scrunched up in pain. I leapt to my feet. Her eyes were clamped shut and her teeth dug into her bottom lip.

“What is it, Max? What’s wrong?”

She whimpered slightly, and turned her back to me. She held her arms out to me like she wanted me to reem;  font-style: normal;  font-weight: inowmove her coat. I took a hold of her collar, and started to pull.

“Ah,” she whined.

The lining of her coat was wet with blood and leeched to her back.

“Shit, Max. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

Her voice was small and uneven when she answered, “I didn’t think it was that bad.”

It may not have been, but the blood had started to congeal, and taking off the coat was going to make her start bleeding again. She shifted, and even that small movement made her groan. I kept one hand on the collar of the coat and placed the other on her shoulder. “See if you can slip your arms out.”

I tried to keep the garment still, but she winced a few times as she maneuvered her arms free. I guided her to lie down on her stomach on the futon.

She took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

“Just rip it off, Cade.”

I knelt beside her and pushed a lock of hair out of her face. She didn’t look nearly as brave as she sounded.

“As much as I like the idea of ripping off your clothes, I think I’d better not.”

Her cheek was pressed flat against the futon, and she was only at half sass as she said, “Your loss.”

I had no doubt about that.

“Hang on a second.”

Her kitchen was as minuscule as the living room. I started opening cabinets, looking for a bowl. Max said, “You know you could just ask and I’ll tell you where to look.”

“It’s more fun this way. Who knows what I’ll find.”

I found a large plastic bowl, and pulled it down. I turned on the tap and waited for it to get warm. I heard her laugh, and then groan on the other side of the couch.

“I hate to break it to you, but you won’t find any dirty little secrets in there. Expired milk, maybe, but that’s about it.”

I filled up the bowl and found a washcloth in a drawer by the sink. I returned to the living room and asked, “Where might I find some of these dirty little secrets, then?”

She smiled and said, “I’m taking those with me to the grave. Sorry, Golden Boy.”

I folded down the top part of the jacket, and she flinched.

“Sorry.”





12

Max

You were a what?”

I always enjoyed shocking people with that, and it helped to distract a little bit from the pain.

“You heard me, Golden Boy. I was a cheerleader.”

His hands paused in pulling the jacket from my back, and I was thankful for the reprieve.