Who was I?
I didn’t know, but I was beginning to like her a bit.
It was a shame she came and went.
21.
Elise
I woke up to nothing. No smell of pancakes wafting into the room. No footsteps outside my bedroom door, or hushed conversations about the kind of day I would be having.
I just turned eighteen and nobody noticed. I didn’t dwell. I was used to being invisible, and I wasn’t going to even begin to hope that something like my birthday would miraculously have Mom and Aston caring for me all of a sudden.
I got out of bed, had a shower, let my hair air dry as I changed into warm snowflake leggings, a black sweater and a plaid winter coat. I fed Tuck and he meowed me out the room. I didn’t give him the normal pats, mostly because I was gloomy and he sensed it. “Sorry, little guy,” I apologized. “Just not feeling too good today.”
I grabbed my brown messenger bag, went downstairs and ate my cereal. Then I got up, set the bowl in the dishwasher and left the house. I looked over my shoulder when I did and found Tuck’s face in the window, watching me leave. He pawed at the screen, and I winced as it tore beneath his claws. Yet another one to replace.
I walked to the bus stop in the freezing winter cold, sat down on the cold bench and waited. The light drizzle slowly picked up, and the wind whipped past my face, stinging my cheeks until they were numb. That improved Elise washed away into the drain. Today was going to be tough, and I felt myself cracking. Those negative emotions from before wrapped its poisonous fingers around my throat, trying to pull me under.
I watched cars pass by, and all I could think about was my father and what he would have done for me this morning. What kind of surprises would he have had in store? I saw his face, his blue eyes, his wide smile and crooked canine teeth.
In under a second, I fell apart.
I looked down on the ground and sobbed on the fucking bench in the rain. I hadn’t sobbed like this in a long time, but I’d seen this one coming, and there was no use fighting it. It was that kind of ugly cry that smears your mascara and has your nose running like a tap. My shoulders shook as I let it out, closing my eyes as the rain continued to pelt, drops growing bigger, soaking me to the bone. It was very fitting, very needed for my body to feel as miserable as I was on the inside.
And then the rain suddenly stopped, and I thought that was strange because I could still hear it all around me. My eyes opened to a pair of black boots. I blinked rapidly, and my eyes slowly trailed up the body of a tall man in denim jeans. A brown leather coat greeted me next, followed by a broad body and a face that smiled sympathetically down at me.
I blinked. He had a beautiful face, and very deep brown eyes.
Doctor Crowe.
He stood with an umbrella over us, and then he offered me the handle. “Here,” he said. “You can have my umbrella.”
I just stared at him for a moment. Did he recognize me? Surely not. It’d been months since he’d stitched up my hand, and he would have had a thousand more patients since then.
I shook my head. “No point, I’m already soaked, but thanks for the offer.”
I looked back down at the concrete sidewalk, waiting for him to go. To my surprise, he sat down on the bench next to me, keeping my head shielded from the rain. I stiffened as he got comfortable, sitting close enough that his side pressed against mine. I knew he was doing it so we were both out of the rain but still…What the fuck?
I felt a little annoyed. I wanted to cry alone in peace, and now that plan was botched to shit because this man was too much of a fucking gentleman.
I should have just taken the ugly umbrella.
We didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I kept my eyes averted to the sidewalk, though I was itching for a reason to look at him. I settled for the free hand that rested casually on his thigh. He had long fingers and dark tiny hairs on his knuckles; those fingers had worked like a magician when he’d patched me up. He was twirling a set of keys, and I frowned when I spotted a car key.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, and I hated that my voice came out rude. I didn’t mean it. I just really needed to ugly cry and he was stopping me.
“Am I offending you by keeping you dry?” he replied, smirking at my confused face.
“You don’t have to keep me dry. I see your car key. You can go wherever it is you’re going. The bus is coming in a few minutes and I’ll be fine.”
His eyes searched my face, and then he said, “I have a long list of shit that will ensure I have a first class ticket to hell. I don’t want one of those things to include walking past a pretty girl crying at a bus stop in the pouring rain.”
I just stared at him. Was this guy for real? And why did I feel good that he called me pretty? I hadn’t been called pretty in a very long time. I hadn’t been the centre of anyone’s attention (in a good way) in a very long time either. Not since… Aston, and I hated him at the moment.