Come to Me Quietly(17)

Last night, I’d lain awake for hours, fighting it, berating myself that I’d even for a second allowed my brain to trip into those types of thoughts. She was Christopher’s little sister, for God’s sake. And she’d been like a little sister to me. I’d dug out my journal, intent on hashing out my disgust on its pages, but ended up writing some f*cking cheesy shit about a Siren’s call.

When dawn had finally crept up to the windows early this morning, I had stepped out onto the balcony for a smoke and watched the sun slowly rise. By then, I’d gotten it under control, had chalked it up to my surprise at how the passing years had changed her, at the fact that Aly was no longer a child.

Then that trigger hit me just as hard when I slipped up behind her in the kitchen. Messy waves of black hair flowed down her back, and she wore a pair of tiny sleep shorts that exposed her long legs, and all I could think about was propping her ass up on the edge of the counter, my hands on her knees as I pressed them apart, my palms on her thighs.

A wave of guilt had flooded me just as soon as that fantasy had popped into my head. I’d whispered a regretful “Good morning,” knowing I had to get my shit together because there was not one single thing kosher about the way I was looking at her.

But then she’d looked at me. No. Not looked. Gawked.

Judged.

Stared at me as if I were some kind of freak show.

That was the trigger to a different gun. It provoked the roiling anger that was always smoldering at the ready in every cell of my body. Hate had slipped through my gritted teeth as I unleashed it on the girl, although really, it wasn’t directed at her at all.

The only person I hated was myself.

Still she had no right to look at me like that. I didn’t come here for her pity, for her eyes to wash over me as if she understood. As if she cared. No one cared. People just liked to make themselves feel better with their meager shows of compassion.

And I sure as hell did not care.

My fists clenched at my sides.

Shit.

But I couldn’t elude the nagging that tugged at me somewhere deep inside. I hated seeing her that way, shaking and nearing tears. Hated knowing I’d caused it. I’d scared her.

But it was for the best. I wasn’t lying when I told her she didn’t need my shit. And after the reaction she managed to work up in me, I most definitely did not need hers.

I hunched over the desk, filling out what felt like the hundredth application I’d worked on today. Most of my day had been eaten up racing from one construction company to another, chasing jobs that didn’t exist in this suck-ass economy. Next to no one was hiring, and I’d spent half the day questioning my sanity. Who the f*ck just left their home and a decent job without any plans? Dumb-asses like me, that’s who.

I finished the application and stood.

“You done?” The owner, Kenny Harrison, sat behind a large desk on the other end of the room, rocking back in a grungy fabric office chair.

“Yes, sir,” I answered as I crossed the room, passing the application to him. Of course I hoped for a position similar to the one I’d left in New Jersey, but I would take just about anything.

He scanned my information, suddenly turning his face up to me. “You originally from around here?”



I just nodded, couldn’t speak.

“Hmm,” he continued, “your application looks good. We don’t have a lot going on right now, but I could maybe fit you in somewhere. You’re not going to be close to making what you were at your last job, though.”



Disappointment hit me, but I shook it off. “That’s fine.”