Trust Me(22)

Today, I realized for the first time, with a start. The cake and the dinner with her father and the gift box. Today was Kayla’s birthday. Jesus, I was a fucking asshole, for so many reasons.

“If it wasn't for Mickey, I'd have hung myself inside a month at that house. I know you think he's like some bad guy from a movie. A villain tying up women onto train tracks twirling his mustache, but you only know part of him. I owe him my life, Matty. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I was afraid you’d hate me. And I would’ve had to tell you it all, and…well, I just couldn’t.” She shifted and sucked in a shuddering breath. “That’s me.” She pointed to a tall apartment building half a block away. “You can pull up front and let me out there.”

I could. And then I could drive away and call Mickey. Tell him I’d do whatever it took to get out of the deal and away from him and his girl before they really did ruin my life. Offer to give up the deed on the gym and move far away. Get a fresh start.

But suddenly that wasn’t an option anymore. I felt like I owed it to Kayla to tell her some truths of my own. To let her know there was no shame in what she’d lived through, and that I understood. And if she’d let me comfort her, I would.





Kayla



"You don’t have to park,” I said again. Maybe I’d been talking so quiet, he hadn’t heard me the first time. God knew I’d said far more than I wanted to already. Now that it was all out and I’d said my piece, I just wanted him to go so I could crawl into bed and fade away for a while.

"You've been drinking. It’s been an emotional night, and I want to get you in your place and settled before I leave."

"I had a few glasses of wine.” Probably more like a bottle before I’d gotten up the nerve to go to his gym to find him, but that was none of his business. I’d hit close to rock bottom and, after a screaming fight with Mickey, I’d shed a few tears, but I knew the mother lode was coming and I wanted to be alone when it did. “It's not a big deal. I can take care of myself."

"If I didn’t walk you up and something happened to you, how do you think that would make me feel?”

“What’s going to happen to me in my own apartment?”

“Who knows?” He put the car in park and turned off the ignition. “Maybe you’ll get woozy and fall down the stairs and break your neck. Or maybe you drank more than you think and you’ll get sick and wish you weren’t alone.”

“Is that why you don't drink? You’re afraid of something happening to you?" I asked, not willing to give in yet, but not wanting to argue because I was tired of fighting with him.

"No. I did have a friend who was killed by a drunk driver when I was in high school but that's not why I don't drink."

I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned my head against the warm glass of the window, wondering if he would continue. I'd almost given up on him answering when he finally spoke.

"My family life was pretty fucked up, too. My dad was a junkie, but we never knew it growing up. Mostly because we were too busy tap-dancing around my mom to really worry about what was going on with him much."

"Was your mom an alcoholic or…?" That would make a lot of sense, given his apparent distaste for booze.

"She’s a lot of things —sadistic, cruel, cunning, strong, and evil as fuck— but no, she isn't a drunk. Or, at least, she wasn’t then. A drink or two actually made her a little more pleasant. Plus, when she was buzzed she tended to get lazy. So, say I forgot to take the trash out. She’d slap me in the face when I walked by if she was drinking, where, on a normal day, she'd burn me with a curling iron.

"Why?” I whispered, unable to contain my horror. “Why would she do that?"

"Why do cruel people do things? I don't know. Maybe it made her feel more powerful. She had a hard life herself and I'm pretty sure her parents wouldn't have won any awards."

"Then don't have kids if you don't want them. If you're only going to hurt them and continue the cycle."

"I agree with you, which is why I never plan to have any."

"You would never be like her if you had kids, Matty."

"How do you know? We’ve only known each other a few weeks."

"I can tell. You want to be hard and maybe you keep people at a distance, but I don't see you hurting someone for the sake of it. You have too much compassion."

"Is that what you think?"

I licked my lips, knowing he'd tossed a challenge my way, but not sure how to respond. I believed in what I'd said, so I stuck to my guns. "I do. I think that you're a good person." Which was why, as mad as he’d been at me, he’d heard me out, and wouldn’t let me walk upstairs alone.