Beautiful Addictions (11 page)

Tristan slid his tray onto the lunchroom table and took a seat. He poked at the brown
glob of chili with his spoon.

“Where’s Mac?” he asked.

“She checked out in second hour,” Kohen answered.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. April told Ryan who told me. April’s in that class with her.”

Tristan abandoned his food and searched the rows of tables for April Landry. This
girl was the mouth of the South, and if anyone knew details, she surely would. Spotting
her three tables over, he approached the group.

“Why did Mac leave?” he blurted out, interrupting a conversation already in progress.

“Who?” she said.

“McKenzi!”

“Oh, her,” April said, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know. One minute she was there,
the next she was gone.”

The afternoon was torture. Tristan’s mind went over every possible scenario, each
one more terrible than the one before. By the time the last bell rang, he’d convinced
himself that McKenzi had suffered some sort of life-threatening injury and was lying
helpless in Charity Hospital.

When the last bell rang, he ran the entire way to her house, tripping up the steps
and collapsing onto the front porch. He beat on the front door, yelling for Earl to
answer it and tell him that Mac was okay.

Finally, the door was thrown open and McKenzi stood staring at her exhausted boyfriend.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“Are you okay? Let me look at you,” he almost shouted. Tristan entered her house,
his hands checking the functionality of each limb, his eyes searching for signs of
injury. He spun her in place, completing his thorough examination. “How’s your pulse?
Are you feeling faint? Seeing spots? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Are you done?” McKenzi asked, one eyebrow quirked at his crazed behavior.

“Why did you leave school?” Tristan asked, his voice accusatory.

“None of your business.”

“Tell me, Mac!”

“I don’t want to.”

“Fine! Just have your little secret,” he yelled.

“I can’t, Tristan.”

“You sure the hell can. I’ll go up there and rip every *NSYNC poster from your wall!”

“Fine, you hardheaded pig! I got my period, okay? I bled all over my favorite blue
jean skirt and had to come home! Are you satisfied, you nosy ass?”

Tristan scrambled backward off her porch and, without another word, took off toward
his house. When he finally made it home, he begged his mother to help him make it
right. He couldn’t stand the idea of Mac being angry with him.

Two hours later, McKenzi answered the door to find a blue gift bag topped with a yellow
bow. She looked around but found no sign of its owner. Tristan smiled from his hiding
place, watching her carry the package inside. Having a doctor for a father, Tristan’s
thorough sex talk had involved all aspects of reproduction and the female cycle. McKenzi
sat at her kitchen table and unpacked her gift, item by item, unaware of being observed
through the large bay window. There was a bottle of ibuprofen, a package of chocolates,
a brand-new blue jean skirt with a tiny note written in Tristan’s obsessively neat
cursive. McKenzi smiled, barely stifling her laughter as she read it: “I’m sorry.
You’ll feel better in five to seven days. Tristan.”

Josie was so tickled by the story she smothered his face with kisses and insisted
that he had to be the sweetest twelve-year-old in the history of the world. Tristan
returned her kisses and whispered how he wished she could remember that day to tell
him her own version of it.

Their relationship was a curious one—giving and taking in small doses. Josie still
seemed shielded, as if she were awaiting rejection. Tristan knew no matter what he
verbally promised, she’d never believe that he was here to stay. So he vowed to show
her, to prove to her that he wasn’t just a fleeting reminder of her past. He felt
as if his roots had taken hold and wrapped themselves around Josie. He was immovable
and he’d remain that way for as long as she’d allow it.

The woman who sat before him was molded from years of acts so damaging Tristan couldn’t
bring himself to imagine them. The fact that the people who were entrusted with her
well-being had brought harm to her made him boil with anger. He didn’t understand
how anyone could look into those eyes and bring hurt to this girl.

Tristan had always been protective. His father taught him to love and cherish women
and to keep them safe at any cost. Dr. Daniel Fallbrook was just that kind of man.
He still believed in chivalry and courtship and reverence for your elders. Tristan
learned early on in life that his father’s word was final, his mother was never to
be disrespected, and he was to put forth his very best effort on all tasks.

When Tristan lost McKenzi, he’d been devastated. He’d felt abandoned and completely
cheated by her death. Everyone looked at him with sympathetic but dismissive eyes.
They thought he would soon get over it. He was just a child. No one understood what
Mac meant to him; they never would. Tristan had mourned her with every piece of his
mind, body, and soul.

It had been one thing when she’d moved across the country. Both of them had been heartbroken.
But they’d made promises to find each other again. There was solace in the fact that
McKenzi still existed, however unreachable she may have been. When news of her death
surfaced, Tristan hadn’t believed it. He’d thought that it had been a joke of the
cruelest nature and raged out at anyone who would listen.

Looking back, he recognized now that he had gone through every Kübler-Ross stage of
grief. After denial, Tristan’s anger had tried to purge McKenzi from his system, and
when she wouldn’t go, he had begun to bargain. He’d begged and pleaded for just one
more chance to see her, for just one more moment to tell her how much he needed her.

To a fourteen-year-old-boy, depression was not a familiar state. Though he knew the
definition of the word and all its symptoms, Tristan was not able to recognize it
in himself. Even though his grades suffered and he didn’t have the will to eat, Tristan
thought he had finally accepted the loss of his best friend. His mother had watched
him with a worried eye and his father had grown tired of the moping.

The summer after his sixteenth birthday marked two years since McKenzi had been gone.
He’d finally become social again, hanging out with friends and spending more time
outside his bedroom than in it.

This particular day, a group of boys had gone down to the lake for a party. There
had been loud music and kids dancing around an overgrown bonfire. Couples huddled
in dark shadows, kissing and pawing at each other. Girls, wearing next to nothing
in the heat, danced together, taunting the boys. Tristan was immune to all of it.
The waves lapped at the shore as he sat motionless, eyeing the beer growing warm in
his hand.

She’d first appeared as part of a group, though Tristan would say that Fiona stood
out like a goddess among mortals. Her cheerless blue eyes had reflected his own feelings
and he’d felt drawn to her sadness. That was the instant that his life shifted, the
circumstance that set into motion the destruction of every dream he had ever built.

Fiona, the bottle blond with an acidic smile, had changed who he was destined to be.
The girl had redirected his life, and he’d been all too willing to let her. Tristan
had left behind his family and embraced her as the only thing tethering him to happiness.

“Where were you?” Josie’s voice startled Tristan, and he looked down to see her eyes
fixed upon his. “Up here,” she clarified, tapping at his temple. “Where were you?”

“In Wonderland,” he answered absently.

“How’s the Queen?”

“Which one?”

“Huh?” Josie asked. “The mean one.”

“Well, there’s the Queen of Hearts in
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland
and then there’s the Red Queen in the sequel,
Through the Looking Glass,
” Tristan answered.

“Whichever one said ‘Off with their heads!’ I liked her.”

Tristan smiled.

“That’s Disney’s version. She’s more of a combination of the Queen of Hearts, the
Duchess, and the Red Queen. Pretty much a sadist who is easily annoyed.”

“So she just goes around beheading anyone who irks her. I can get behind that,” Josie
said.

“If we lived in a world like that, we’d have a much smaller population. Get cut off
in traffic? Bang. Cashier doesn’t take your coupon? Bang. Chaos and no laws to hold
people accountable for their actions.”

“Can you imagine the thrill, though? Never knowing when you were going to die? Maybe
you piss someone off and that’s it. You’re gone. I think it would force people to
live the best life possible all the time. No working at jobs they hate or staying
in bad relationships.”

“And also people would go around fulfilling all of their selfish desires, however
heinous they might be. How would you separate the general population from the guy
who wants to chain women up in his basement and torture them? You couldn’t. Anarchism
is a philosophy that holds the government to be immoral because of its use of violence,
authority, and force. Seems ironic that, with lawlessness, the citizens would be just
as immoral.”

“Depends on your definition of morality, I guess,” Josie said.

“Conformity to the rules of right conduct. But then, what is right?”

“Exactly,” she said. “Getting high and tagging pristine walls feels right.”

“Psychopaths and deviants believe what they do is right. Or they just don’t care.”

“Kind of like me,” Josie teased.

“I don’t believe you don’t care about your self-destructive behavior. I’d say you
were more masochistic as a result of neglect and dysfunctional feelings about yourself.”

Josie popped up and stomped to the kitchen. She pulled a beer from her otherwise empty
fridge and twisted off the cap. As she brought the bottle to her lips and let the
coolness soothe her scorching insides, she squeezed the cap tight into her fist. The
metal edges cut into her palm until she released it to the floor.

She kept her back to Tristan as she finished the beer. When she slammed the empty
bottle down, Josie realized her fingers were trembling.

Tristan’s shadow cloaked her in darkness as he approached. Josie closed her eyes and
titled her head toward the ceiling. She exhaled slowly and deliberately before speaking.

“Not you too,” she said. Tristan remained silent, but he wrapped his arms around her.
His embrace was comforting and the answer to all her problems. “Don’t head-shrink
me. I’ve had enough of that. Not from you, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Josie spun in his arms and gave her most convincing smile.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked.

“Yeah, where to?”

She just pulled him toward the door.

“Do you have your car?” He nodded. “Good.”

No questions asked, Tristan drove her to Trader Joe’s and followed her around as she
shopped. He loved how domestic and utterly normal it felt to do this with her. As
they loaded the bags into his car, curiosity finally got the best of him.

“Are you cooking?” he asked.

Josie laughed, throwing her head back and placing her hand over her stomach. Tristan
just watched and waited for an answer.

“Uh, no. This isn’t for us.”

She instructed him toward Balboa, and when they were parked, she wordlessly grabbed
half the bags and started walking. Tristan carried the rest of the food and followed
her through the grass.

“Stems!” Gavin shouted. She sat on their usual bench smoking a cigarette.

“Hey, Gavin. What’s up?”

Tristan made it to the bench and set his paper bags down next to the others. He looked
between the two women and waited for an explanation.

“Holy hell, Stems. Who’s this?”

“Tristan,” he answered, holding his hand out. Gavin placed her hand in his and smiled
sweetly.

“Well, it’s certainly nice to meet you,” she said.

Josie laughed at the exchange while Tristan looked on.

“Stems?” he asked.

“It’s just Gavin’s nickname for me.”

“Yeah, it’s those legs,” Gavin answered.

“Oh. Well, I can second that appreciation. Gavin’s an interesting name,” Tristan said.
“Some people think it originated with Sir Gawain who was a knight of King Arthur’s
round table.”

“And smart too? Don’t you two make a pair. Damn,” Gavin said. Her eyes roamed up and
down Tristan while she licked her lips.

“Gavin!” Josie almost shouted. “I thought you liked girls.”

“I did, until about two and a half minutes ago.”

The girls laughed while Tristan rubbed at the back of his neck and shifted from foot
to foot.

“Anyway, make sure those get to the kids?”

“Of course, dear. She just loves to crack that whip,” Gavin said, giving Tristan a
wink.

“You have no idea,” Tristan answered, returning the wink.

Josie stood and took Tristan’s hand in hers.

“I’ll see you around, Gavin.”

“You’re not staying for—”

“Nope. Don’t need to,” Josie cut her off.

Gavin smiled up at the couple as they walked away.

The ride back to Josie’s was quiet but not uncomfortable.

“Did we just deliver food to homeless kids?” Tristan asked when they parked in front
of her building.

“Yes,” Josie said, looking out at the street.

Tristan sighed and looked at her. Every time he thought he had her figured out, something
surprised him. He wondered if he’d ever truly learn all the secrets that made up Josie
Banks.

“‘An outlaw that dwelled apart from other men, yet beloved by the country people round
about, for no one ever came to ask for help in time of need and went away again without.’”

“What is that from?” Josie asked.

“
The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood.
”

“I don’t steal from the rich, though that’s an interesting idea,” she said.