ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(22)

Nolan raised an eyebrow at me. There was no way he believed me. I didn’t believe me.

Shit.

I quickly moved on, “I came back here to check on you and to talk to you about something.”

“I still don’t understand how a pool made you so pissed off,” Nolan said, unable to follow me to the new conversation I was trying to lead him toward.

I bit my bottom lip and looked down at the grimy floor. This was going to be harder than I thought. But if Smoke wanted me to tell this kid the truth then f*ck it. It would be completely his fault when his stupid plan backfired. What was the worst that could happen? Nolan would get suspicious? Job over? I might get to end this fiasco early. It didn’t sound so bad.

I let out a frustrated growl. “Okay, so here is how it is,” I said, letting my shoulders fall as well as my pretenses. I almost took a deep breath before catching another glimpse of the dust storm in the living room. Instead I opted for several short breaths. I removed the bag from my shoulders and walked over to the open kitchen, flinging it onto the counter, which looked like it had been recently cleaned, or at least wiped down so I used it as my safe place.

Nolan crossed his arms over his expansive and well defined chest, causing the veins over them to move and his biceps to bulge. His forearms were bigger than my legs.

He cleared his throat.

“Oh, right. My name. I go by Rage, but I lie and tell everyone it’s short for Regina, but it’s really just a nickname I was given as a kid because I’ve had… have issues, anger-type issues. That’s of course on top of the small case of OCD, mild to sometimes major germaphobia, and hypochondria. Oh, but that last one’s been totally better since I deleted the Web MD app from my phone. I don’t tell people my real name because frankly, I’d just rather not go there.” I looked over to Nolan to make sure he was still with me. He was, his eyes following my every movement.

This truth thing wasn’t so bad. So far, so good.

Pushing off the counter I ventured out of my safe place and made my way around the small square space. I surveyed the framed pictures on the walls of family, mostly an elderly couple and a younger version of Nolan. There was a massive amount of knick-knacks covering every available surface, which was all covered by a layer of dust turned dirt. The kitchen, dining room, and living space were all crowded together into one tiny area.

“Keep going,” Nolan said, urging me on. “Don’t stop now.”

“I was nearby when I saw you drowning,” I started. “And when you fell in the pool, my first thought wasn’t to save you,” I said, pressing on a few keys of a small out of tune piano in the corner of the room.

“No?” Nolan asked, although he didn’t sound surprised.

I shook my head, my ponytail swishing from side to side, lightly smacking against my shoulders. “Nope. My first thought was of your gross pool. Of what invisible thing could be lurking in there just waiting to make its way inside me and kill me, like a bomb on a timer. Have you heard of brain-eating amoeba? It’s totally a thing. Look it up. Just not on Web MD. One swim in infested water and some one cell son of a bitch is suddenly up your nose and eating away at your brain. Your very own parasite zombie apocalypse which you don’t even know about until your nose bleeds and you keel over dead.”

Nolan remained silent like he was waiting for me to continue. But when I didn’t say anything, he finally spoke. “You were pissed off at me…because of the pool?”

I sighed. “How did you not get that from ‘Clean. Your. Pool’?” I threw air quotes over the last three words I’d spoken to him before hightailing it to urgent care for a round of preventative antibiotics. Followed by a trip to the swim shop where I tossed my bikini into the garbage and walked out wearing a brand new replacement.

Through the back sliding glass doors, the tiny house made up for its size and condition with an undisturbed view of the Gulf. The sun began its decent, falling quickly behind the small waves. “I’m here for the summer,” I said, still staring out the window. A young boy ran by the deck chasing a Frisbee. “I’ve seen you around, noticed your leg.” I readied myself for what I was about to say next. “I need a place to stay for a little while,” I looked around the room and back at Nolan. “And you look like you could use some help around here.”

Nolan didn’t look convinced. “And you’re uncle thought it would be a good idea for you to have some help.”


“You know my uncle?” Nolan asked. There was a small trace of alarm in his voice, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“No, I just know someone who talked to him recently. Said you might be okay with me staying here in exchange for helping you out.”

“What kind of help?” His eyes again traveled down the length my body. “Besides, what makes you think I need help?” he asked defensively.

I looked at the ceiling and then to the floors. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the six inches of dust on your fan, your floors, and every other surface in this place. Maybe the mold growing in the corner, the slime growing in your pool, the girl with the tongue ring at your door in the middle of the afternoon,” I challenged, unsure of why I threw the girl into the list. So I quickly added, “Do you know how dirty a tongue ring can be if not properly—”

“She has a tongue ring now?” Nolan asked, cutting me off.