Page 15 of Marked By Feral Monsters
When I left the lower deck, Eli saw my face and just knew things hadn't gone well. He assured me that, while it wasunusual they left so abruptly, he was certain it wasn't me, or something I did. I could see it in his face, though. He assumed I gave a terrible blowjob. There was a bunch of other commotion that had him distracted, so he let me go without making me talk about it.
He was happy to hear I accepted his offer to work permanently behind the bar, though. So at least I have that going for me.
Was this another reason Danny left me? Did he think I was bad at it, too?
I let out a pathetic growl, drag myself off the pile of blankets on the floor, and into the shower in the tiny basement bathroom. Afterwards, I get dressed and tie my wild hair in a bun and trudge up the stairs, emerging into my parent's quiet kitchen. The cheerful yellow walls, a testament to my mother's relentless optimism, feel like a mocking salute to my mood. My life.
The tchotchkes on the shelves all seem to stare at me with the same beady eyes. Little angel figurines and weird collectibles, reminding me of what's driving me to get out of this house. My parents and their silly can-do, perpetually upbeat attitudes. I never felt like I fit in here, not when I was young, and especially not now.
Maybe that's why I rushed things with Danny. I was so ready to prove I was better than my parents and their matching Disney sweatshirts and constant needling; I didn't care that I was settling for a man who didn't love me. On paper, I was soaring. I had my shit together; I was excelling. I was serious. I had a proper job, with my own office. I had an assistant. I shared her with five other people, yes, but I was going places.
All it took was one card to break for the whole house to come crashing down. My solid future was a farce. And here I am, back in my parent's house, forever destined to be their sidekick.
I'll be Braden and Keely's sidekick, too, because I'm not cut out for their life either.
I move around the kitchen, making breakfast, trying to gain some sense of normalcy. The morning light filters in through the windows. I pour coffee and stir the eggs. I eat at the counter, my shoulders finally dropping from my ears with the ease of the morning, then clean everything when I'm done. Just as I'm squeezing the last drop of water from the soapy sponge into the sink, there's a knock on the front door.
I drop the sponge, head to the living room, and without checking through the window to see who it is, I stupidly swing open the door. Big mistake.
He's still cute. I hate that I notice. He gives me that shy smirk. The one that makes you feel chosen. Special. It's always paired with a slight narrowing of his eyes, the fine lines around his lips highlighting the fullness, perfect for kissing. Like he's reserved it just for you.
Then I remember: it isn't.
"What are you doing here?"
He looks down at the ground and shrugs. "You weren't answering your phone."
I let out a long, irritated sigh. "I have nothing to say to you, Danny."
"Can we talk? Just for a minute?" He looks up, hopeful. He doesn't use the smirk. No, he employs something much more dangerous. His big brown eyes grow glassy, and suddenly, his pain becomes my pain. And with all the other pain on my shoulders—
I don't have a chance to really answer, because he's somehow maneuvered me out of the way, into my parent's living room.
"Seriously, Danny, we have nothing to talk about. You should leave," I say, holding the door wide open. But there's noconviction in my voice. Not because I want him here, or because I'm at risk of taking him back.
A part of me needs to hear what he has to say. Because the last time we spoke…"You're so predictable…"
"What do you want?" I ask after closing the door, since he's made himself at home.
"Sit, please." He gestures to the other side of the pink floral couch. It's lumpy and awkward, and when I sit, the middle cushion lifts. He smirks again, looking from the shitty couch to me. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," I tell him. That's partly true.
He nods. "Good. That's good." Then he rubs his hands on his knees and lets out a heavy breath, looking around at my mother's silly knick-knacks. Still smirking. Still not getting to the point.
"Why are you here, Danny? We broke up. Remember?"
"I remember," he says, but still won't look at me. I have an urge to scooch closer, if only to hold his attention.
Which just pisses me off. So I ask, "How's Veronica?"
He stops his wandering eyes and sighs before finally looking at me. His eyes are glassy again. "She's fine. I don't know. I haven't talked to her."
I don't know how I feel about that, so I say nothing. He expects me to fill the void. I usually do. I fix everything. The awkward silence. The bills, the monotonous daily tasks. Dinners. I don't this time, and it makes him fidget in discomfort.
"Why are you here, Danny?"
"I miss you. I just… I wanted to see you. I'm sorry, I just… I needed to see you."
