Page 86 of The Drummer

I duck as an arm comes flying at my chest and hold up my hands. “I don’t know! You’re always yelling at me!”

“Ha! I do not!”

“I don’t eat enough vegetables. You don’t like my clothes. I’m too mean to Luke…”

But instead of snapping back, she loops her arm through mine and rests her head on my shoulder. Our hands intertwine and we sit in silence while she traces the tattoos on my fingers.

I don’t know what to make of the vibe, but I like it. Not heavy and draining, but not fluffy and light either. It’s somewhere in between.

Somewhere pretty near perfect.

“You’re thinking about my mom now, aren’t you?” I ask when I see the pensive expression on her face.

“Maybe. What’s she like?”

Well, that’s a complicated question, but I think I’m ready to explore the hard ones with her.

Over the next hour, we plunge into the difficult topics of our lives.

I tell her about my dysfunctional family. A perfect façade on the outside, but rotted on the inside. My father didn’t like a lot of his children’s choices, but he hated mine the most and made sure everyone knew it. Especially me.

Her parents were no better. I learn about her absent mom and opportunistic dad. Her short description makes me want to march to Shelteron and introduce that man to my fist, but even he gets bumped down my hit list when she tells me about her asshole former employer. I’ve never wanted to destroy someone as much as I want to annihilate the sick bastard who hurt her.

She tries to laugh it off, but I see through it. I do the same with my own trauma. Wrap it up with a neat little joke or two until I can share it in a way that makes it more comfortable for others.

“So that’s pretty much it,” she says with a shrug. “I came here, not to make a name for myself in lights, but to disappear. I wasn’t running to anything, just runningfrom, and have basically been trying to figure things out ever since.”

She goes quiet, and I sense there’s more to this. Maybe it’s the key toherstory.

“When I say ‘I’m no one’ it’s not even about self-esteem,” she continues quietly. “I just don’t know who I am, what I am. I don’t know where I’m going or what I want from life. I just knew I didn’t want to be the slut from the grocery store. Or Kyle and Nora’s daughter. I wanted to be no one, so I could start fresh and hopefully be someone else one day.”

Her words hit hard. I think back to what Luke said about Callie being as lost as we are. Needing purpose and direction.He was right on with that analysis, and probably didn’t even know how close he was to the truth.

“What happened to you isn’t right and I’m glad you got some retribution, even though I wish that bastard would have gotten jail time instead,” I say, still working through my thoughts.

“But…”she drags out.

I shoot her a look. “How do you know there’s a but?”

“It’s all over your face.”

Great, so she even understands the things I’mnotsaying.

“No, not so much a ‘but’ as a caution about the ending of your story.”

She lifts a brow. “Oh, you don’t like the ending.”

“No. I don’t. You make it sound like your value is in your identity, and your identity is something that doesn’t exist unless it’s concrete.”

“Concrete?”

“Definable. I don’t like you defining yourself by what you’re not, and therefore concluding you’re no one. What about what you are?”

“What I am?”

It feels like we’re on the precipice of something.

“Your identity shouldn’t be an occupation or a status. Hell, it’s not even dreams and aspirations. Those things will flow out of who you are once you embrace it. You have to stop looking at what’s missing and focus on what’s here.”

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