“Luke,” she asks, finishing the wine and setting the glass on the countertop with a gentle fondness that makes me want to cook for her – with her. Robbie seems to appreciate my small slice of heaven as much as I do. It's an unexpected twist that I should've seen coming. My little neighbor friend has showered me with food since the day I moved in. I assumed it was the mother doing most of the work, but now I know better. The casseroles, the pies, the cookies, the corned beef and cabbage on St. Patrick's Day. My mouth twitches a little. “Fuck me again?”
“What?” I snap, the word harsher than I meant it to be. How dare I sound so aghast at the idea when I've already done it, already broken the taboo. The sweet little neighbor girl whose innocence I admired … I told myself I was different from other monsters, more in control of myself. Hah. Ridiculous. The second I found out she was of legal age, a safe choice, an easy target, I went for it. I should be drawn and quartered. “I couldn't,” I tell her, trying to be as truthful as possible. “Even if I wanted to.”
“Why the hell not?” she demands softly, moving into the living room with a gentle grace that'll only get stronger with age. Robbie comes up to stand inches from me, the soft scent of the wine enticing in the air between us. I can smell the vanilla on her heated breath. “You already did. Feeling guilty about it only hurts me. This was my experience, my first time. I want to do it again.”
“It'll still hurt,” I tell her, reaching out with my right hand and brushing a strand of wet hair from her forehead. It would feel so good to give into this weakness, to get lost in a fantasyland of Robbie and Luke, but I can't do it. I drop my hand to the stem of the wine glass and slip it from her pale fingers. Stepping back, I open the door and pause next to it. Just like I did for Audra.
Robbie looks at it, at me, at the door again, and then wraps her arms around my neck and hugs me, pressing a kiss to my cheek that rips my soul in two and sends the beast into a violent rage. As he rails against his cage, Robbie leans back and I wipe away a tear on her cheek with my thumb.
Later that evening, I find myself on my back patio sipping Irish whiskey. The fingers on my left hand seem to be tapping an incessant rhythm on the side of my chair. The sound is annoying me, but I can't find the strength to stop. I feel as if I've been drained to within an inch of my life. It took everything inside of me to send Robbie away. And now I get to sit here and listen to her laughing with her little sister on their trampoline. Their motherfucking, cock sucking, piece of shit, Goddamn trampoline. I throw my whiskey glass hard, hitting the side of my shed. Shards explode like shrapnel, glittering in the dying light of evening. The giggling from next door pauses and then starts back up. I hear Robbie shouting for her sister to jump, jump, jump!
I can't take it anymore.
I stand up and move back inside, pulling up my voicemail and listening carefully to the message Margarite Simmons left me a few days prior.
“Lucas.” A pause, heavy breathing. “I'm sorry I missed your call. I'm desperate for another session. Come see me whenever you'd like. I'll be in town for two weeks before I head back to Florence.”
Wonderful.
I grab my jacket and head out the front door, moving quickly towards my car in the off-chance that Robbie sees me. I can't look her in the eyes right now, not if I want to stay righteous inside my own head. I scowl as I hit the front porch. And that's before I see the red Mercedes parked across the street again. This time when I walk across the street, Clarice gets out to greet me. Big mistake.
“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” I snarl, using my body to get her to back up. I don't even have to touch the woman. The gesture of moving forward is enough. If I wasn't standing in the middle of my delightfully normal little suburban street, I would wrap my hands around her throat.
“I just wanted to see you is all,” she squeaks, and my vision goes violet with rage. And only part of that anger is actually aimed at her. This is my fault for not cutting her off correctly. Or for not seeing the well of blackness she still carried around … I have to do an evaluation here and now, determine what kind of threat Clarice is. My instincts tell me I should be careful, but my brain refuses to believe I've misjudged the woman by that much.
“See me? What do you mean see me? I told you, Clarice, we are done. Done. Finished. Our sessions are over.”
“But you know my secret … ” she says, trailing off as her eyes flicker over my shoulder in the direction of Robbie's house. Please don't let her see this, I pray to no god in particular. I don't believe in gods. None of them have ever been particularly good to me.