Thief .(37)

I walked calmly to my car because she was watching. As soon as I pulled out of her development, I gunned it. She’d slept against my chest, clinging to me like a child. I’d stayed awake the whole night, torn between wanting to comfort her and wanting to beat the shit out of him. I carried her to her bed, just as the sun was coming up, and went back to the living room to call some hotels. When she woke up, I told her that he’d checked out the night before and left town. But, that wasn’t the case. The drunken asshole had gone back to his hotel room and was probably sleeping off his hangover.

I found him at the Motel 6. He was still driving the same 1967 Mustang that he had in college. I remembered him from back then. Skinny kid. One of those emotionally androgynous men who wore skinny jeans and eyeliner and liked to talk about their favorite bands. I never understood what Olivia saw in him. She could have had anyone. His Mustang was parked directly outside room 78. I could see my reflection in it as I passed by. I pounded on the door. It only hit me later that it might not have been his room. I heard a muffled voice and the sounds of something being knocked over. Jim swung open the door, looking enraged. He reeked of alcohol. I could smell it from two feet away. When he saw my face, his expression transitioned from surprise to curiosity … then landed soundly on fear.

“What the-”

I shoved him inside and kicked the door closed. The room smelled.

Slipping my watch from my wrist, I tossed it on the bed. Then I hit him.

He fell back, crashing into the dresser and knocking over a lamp. I was on him before he could stand up. I yanked him to his feet by his shirt, his legs flailing beneath him trying to find ground.

I set him on his feet, and then I hit him again.

“Caleb,” he said. He held one hand over his nose, which was bleeding through his fingers, and the other he extended toward me, palm outstretched. “I was drunk, man — I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? I don’t give a fuck if you’re sorry.”

He shook his head.

“Shit,” he said. “Shit.” He bent over at the waist, hands on his knees and started laughing.

I ground my teeth together until I was sure they’d turn to dust.

“You lied to her about the amnesia.” He was laughing so hard he could barely speak. I shoved him.

He staggered back, but he was still laughing. “You’re just as bad as me, man. The two of you pretending not to know each other, it’s like a fucking-”

I grabbed the front of his shirt and flung him sideways. He landed on the bed; laughing so hard he was holding his stomach. Infuriated, I went after him again.

Before he could say anything else, I pulled him up and held him against the wall.

“You don’t know anything about us.”

“Don’t I?” he hissed. “Who do you think was there for her after you cheated on her and left?”

“I didn’t,” I said through my teeth, and then I clenched my jaw. I didn’t need to explain anything to this little shit.

“You speak to her again, I kill you. You look at her again, I kill you. You breathe in her direction-”

“You kill me,” he finished.

He shoved me, but the guy was like one fifty soaking wet. I didn’t move.

“You’ve been killing her since the day you met her,” he spat at me. That hit me hard. I thought about the day I saw her in the record store and how there seemed to be no light left in her eyes. “Why’d you come back? You should have left her alone.”

Blood was smeared across his face and his greasy hair was sticking up. I looked down at him impassively. “You think you could have had her if I hadn’t?”

My words hit him somewhere deep. His eyes rolled to the side and his nostrils flared. So, he was in love with her too? I laughed, which sent him into a rage. He struggled against my hold, his face clammy and red.

“She’s mine,” I said into his face.

“Fuck you,” he said.

I hit him again.





I don’t hear anything from her. How much time goes by? Everything feels so much longer when you’re hurting. I am so consumed by thoughts of her, that when a few people from work invite me to go out for drinks, I agree just for the distraction. Among the group is a girl who works in the accounting department and flirts with me relentlessly. Steve raises his eyebrows when he sees me leaving with them.

“A word of advice,” he says, as I stop in his office to say goodbye. “When you’re in love with a woman, you shouldn’t get involved with other women.”

“Noted,” I say. “Though, I would like to offer that she is probably sleeping with another man as we speak.”