Page 34 of Someone Like Me
We turn onto St. Joseph, my street, and I eye her, my brows lowered. “Not to sound like a dick,” I begin, making a point to speak gently. “But I know something about disappointing your family. Evie, what you’re talking about? That ain’t it.”
She jerks to a stop as though she’s struck a wall. She spins to face me, her eyes wide. “Oh my God, Drew, I didn’t mean — I must sound — I can’t imagine what you must thi—”
I raise a staying hand. “Calm down, Guppy.”
The nickname has the desired effect. Her look of horror quickly dilutes with startled amusement. “Seriously,” she says, fighting her grin. “I apologize for being so obtuse. For someone who prides herself on being sensitive, I really needed that lesson on reading the room.”
I shake my head at her. “You know, you’re pretty hard on yourself. Is that like a hobby, or do you work that shift full-time?”
She tries to glower at me, but the lift at the corner of her mouth ruins the effort. All she manages to do is look even cuter.
Lord, give me strength.
The night is thick around us. And while the occasional car has passed by, the streets are sleepy and most of the houses dim. There’s no one out here to see us. If I were someone else, I’d seize this moment, so ripe for the picking, and drag her to me. I’d kiss that lush mouth and hold that lithe body against me.
And I wouldn’t stop until she begged for mercy.
Just the thought has my pulse thrumming and insistent, so I tug on Gemini’s leash to get us moving again. “C’mon, boy.”
We’re approaching Grandma Q’s house, and the sight of the garage hits me like a cold shower. I pull my gaze from the garage door and focus on the darkened asphalt instead. If I need a reminder of why I should leave Evie Lalonde alone, I don’t have to look far.
“What’s that about?” she asks, yanking me from my thoughts.
“What?”
“That look you had a second ago. You were wearing it the other day. At the picnic table,” she clarifies.
I take in the alert cast to her eyes and shake my head before glancing back down. “Not going there, Evie.”
From the corner of my eye, I see her nod in profile. “Got it. But I can see you’re thinking about something. Something bad.” She makes a smacking noise with her mouth. “I don’t think it makes you very happy. And since anyone’s suffering is everyone’s suffering, I need to try to change that.”
This girl is too much. My gaze slides to her, and I arch my brow in challenge. “And just how will you manage that?” By the tone of my voice, she should take the hint this will not be an easy — or even manageable — task.
“Well, let’s see…” She swings her arms lightly as she walks, the bangles on her thin wrists making their own music, light and playful. Just like she is. The bottom of that turquoise dress hits her just past her knee, but the thin pleats in her skirt swirl and ripple like water as she walks. The dress is modest, innocent. But the way she moves in it is sensual.
Like a touch.
I have to admit, being with her — thinking of her — puts the pain on hold for a while. She makes me stop thinking of all the ways I’ve ruined everything. All the people I’ve hurt.
The problem is I shouldn’t stop. I don’t deserve to stop.
“Tell me one thing that happened today that you’re grateful for.”
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s not this. One thing I’m grateful for? We walk in silence for a moment, and I break it so she doesn’t get the wrong idea.
“There are a lot of things.” I don’t tell her I’m grateful I had a roof over my head this morning when I woke up. That I had a job to go to. That Grandma Q is always happy to see me. That she’s had breakfast and dinner on the table for me every day. I’m grateful for all of these things, but also feel guilty for enjoying them.
And then the right answer arrives. “I went the the health clinic and got my Sertraline refilled.”
She gives me a blank expression.
“Generic Zoloft.”
“Oh.” Realization, not judgement, washes over her face. We walk for a long moment in silence. When she speaks again, her voice is so soft it’s unsettling. “Does it help?”
The tenderness in her words sends a shiver through me. Like the tickle of a feather. “It…” I begin, trying to recover but keenly aware of the gooseflesh down my arms. “It does.”
I don’t tell her it makes it easier to keep living, but I have a feeling that I could. That she would hear that without freaking out. Without looking at me differently.
