Objective (Bloodlines #2)(13)
Chapter 5
“In this world, not everything will be won by justice. If you want to win, you have to learn how to cheat.”-Ai Yazawa
I have no idea how long I laid there on the dusty ground, but at some point after the sun had gone down I steeled myself from the swirling emotions inside myself and tucked them all away in a box in my mind. No more. I jumped in the car in search of the closest mall. Doing normal everyday things seemed to help distract me, if only momentarily. Every time I wondered what we would be doing right now if things were different, I pinched myself, hard. Every time I felt tears pricking my eyes at my grief, I dug my nails into my skin, hard. Every time I felt the disgust of Ezra touching me, the shamefulness, I grabbed a few hairs and pulled them out with a painful tug. I spent more than I thought I would, but there while shopping around I saw a couch at Crate and Barrel that I fell in love with. It seemed stupid to feel something over a couch but when I saw it I could envision myself on it feeling content. I immediately bought it. It’s going to be delivered Friday and I can’t wait. I got the essential housewares that I was lacking. A bed, linens, kitchenware and a few other things to make the place look like a place I might actually want to be in. I got a little outdoor end table and some AstroTurf stuff to give the illusion of a lawn for my little patio area. I also picked up some really awful, tacky lawn ornaments for the outside of my trailer, and lights for the cheap awning. I don’t want to stand out, at least not from the outside. The electronics shop was playing national news stories on the plethora of TVs while I was looking for one. Ezra’s face flashed across the screen. The news ticker at the bottom scrolled his quote: “If the police won't find the person who shot my nephew, I will.” In a rush I purchased a TV and hauled ass out of the store. My grief...my grief has started to transform. It’s become something more...volatile. Ezra is coming for me. I need a security system. I’ve been stupid to think that he wouldn't come looking for me. I’ve been stupid to think that maybe he already hasn't been looking for me. Adapt or die. Cane had said that to me once and now it seems like the best advice I’d ever received. I turn the radio on low while unloading all my purchases into the trailer and unpacking, so to speak. When I’m finished I plop down on the floor with my new blankets. I stare at the bottle of Bourbon on my counter. A little won't hurt. Things will just be better. I get up, grab a glass and clutch the bottle in my free hand. I can’t pour it though. I unscrew the top and turn it upside down in the sink, watching the liquid swirl and gurgle down the drain. When the last drop is gone I feel angry. I shouldn’t need it. I shouldn’t want it. I never was a drinker really. But so much has changed. Everything is different. In a fit of rage I crush the bottle into the sink and watch as it shatters. Little crystal-like pieces of glass explode into the sink and my hand. Not caring about the mess, I stalk to the couch and lay down. I’m so emotionally exhausted that it doesn't take long to find sleep.
“So, how do you feel about motorcycles, baby girl?” he whispered in my ear as we exited school for the day.
“I don’t,” I breathed, waiting for him to nip my earlobe like he always did.
“You don't?” he asked and pulled away.
“I’ve never been on one, no one I know has one... I don't feel anything about them I guess,” I explained as he wound his fingers through mine.
“Let’s change that today.” He smirked. He had a lone dimple that popped out when his smile reached his eyes.
“Um, okay?” I said hesitantly.
“Perfect,” he said and nipped my earlobe. “I can’t wait to have you wrapped around me.” His gruff voice in my ear instantly made me blush. “So sweet,” he laughed, tugging me through the parking lot.
“Bike’s at home. I’ll drop you at your house then pick you up,” he said as his beat up truck bounced over every pothole in the road.
“That’s silly, let’s just drop your truck at your house and leave from there,” I offered. He still hadn't let me come over to his house. I still hadn't met his uncle. I knew that his parents were gone and that his dad’s youngest brother had been raising him even though he wasn’t that much older than we were.
“No, baby girl.”
“Cane. It’s where you live. Someday you’re going to have to let me see all of you,” I pushed. He huffed and shot me a look. He didn't like being told how to feel or what to do but he closed so much of himself off to the world that I found myself coaxing him often to just let someone, hopefully me, in. He took a left at the next stop sign instead of a right. Two turns later we pulled into a dirt driveway next to a dilapidated house. My heart squeezed with hurt. He came around the truck and opened my door. “Okay. We’re here,” he said, not meeting my eyes.
“Well, can I see your room while we’re here?” I nudged his shoulder. He glanced to the house and back to me.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Let’s just head out on the bike,” he said, snaking his arms around my waist making me giggle. The sound of a screen door slapping made me look over his shoulder. A man who looked almost exactly like Cane stood on the porch blowing smoke out his nose. He had a scar that ran from his left eye down his cheek. The only real difference between them was the scar and his uncle’s eyes. They were cold and vacant looking. They made me nervous.