My Kind Of Crazy (10 page)

“No, he wasn’t my father. Look, you’re upset, so I’m not
going to take offense to that right now. Let’s just get out of this house and
go find a motel room or something, okay? It’s obviously not safe here.” I’m not
sure if she’s heard what I said because she’s currently staring at the knife in
the carpeting with this odd look on her face.

“I can’t believe I just egged on a crazy guy.” My eyes narrow
as I lift up one lip in an angry, silent snarl. My fingers curl into fists, and
I take a step towards her, enjoying the fear that clouds her face. Tom has been
forgotten if he’s even standing there anymore. It’s nothing but Anastasia’s
face drawing my attention now as I advance on her.

“What did you call me?” She can say that her father didn’t
love me as much as he loved her in so few words, and she can say that I could
not have loved him just as much or more than her, but to call me crazy?
Mentally unstable, okay, but crazy is a term that I’ve heard too many times
over the years uttered from ignorant mouths. It’s the way that she muttered it
as if she meant it in a negative way.

“I’m s-sorry.” She definitely sounds sorry, but I’m not
going to let her get away with that.

“You didn’t answer me.” I whisper while I push my nose up
against her. It’s an awkward position for me because I have to lean down to do
it. So I reach down and pluck her off the floor with my hands on her waist and
push her up against the wall so that we’re at eye level with one another.

“C-crazy!” She turns her head to the side so that she
doesn’t have to look me in the eyes, which makes me growl. This woman is more
frustrating than a Chinese finger trap.

My knee comes up to rest against the warmth of her crotch so
that I can support her while I pull one hand away from her waist. I gently grip
her jaw with my fingers and twist her head so that she’s looking at me again.
“Don’t ever fucking forget it.” I tell her in a deadly calm whisper, and then I
do something that neither one of us expected.

My lips are crushing hers before she has time to move her
face away, and God, they are the sweetest kind of taste! I let my hand fall
away from her face and rest it on her waist again as I kiss her deeper with
each passing second. She makes this guttural noise that sends shivers down my
spine and awakens a part of me that hasn’t seen the light of day for a long
time. I’m not talking about my manhood, but the part of me that has forgotten
how to
love
a woman.

The medication must be working because Tom hasn’t made an
entrance thus far, and I’m Hell bent on passing out before I have to pull my
lips away from hers. We both try to breathe through the kiss until I finally
start to grow dizzy, and I have to move back for just half a second. It’s long
enough for the both of us to realize what we’re doing, and I immediately let
her slide down the wall and take a step back.

Jesus, that was wrong.
My subconscious scolds me, and
I put a nervous hand to the back of my neck as I look for an excuse for my
behavior.
Duh, the
I’m crazy
routine?

“I, that was, I was just upset and-” Anastasia stumbles for
something viable to say that will make it all less awkward, but she’s failing
miserably.

“It was the adrenaline rush. We’re both upset about the past
week and a half, and we needed an outlet. I’m not stressed anymore, so let’s
just go get a hotel room.” Her face pales and I roll my eyes as I look at the
ceiling, trying to draw on a well of patience that has suddenly popped up. “Not
like
that
. To sleep.”

“Right, to sleep.” I try to ignore the fact that she sounds
disappointed by the fact that I pointed out sleeping and not sex.

There’s this awkward moment where she straightens her shirt,
and I stare at the carpet while she does so. I
still
haven’t had a
chance to grab a shower since being arrested, and I’m beginning to smell pretty
raunchy. Just as I’m about to tell her I’m going to at least rinse off quick in
the shower, there’s a knock on the front door. Anastasia gives me a once over
and straightens her hair with one hand while she slinks down the hall for the
stairs. I follow after her slowly, and stand halfway up the stairs where the
person at the front door cannot see me. The knife feels heavy in my hand, but
I’ll be light on my feet when I strike.

“Yes?” Anastasia’s voice.

“I was just swinging by to make sure that everything is
alright. Someone will be by every two hours to make sure that you’re okay.” I
recognize that man’s voice and the hair on the back of my neck rises. It’s the
officer who interrogated me, but I can’t hold that against him. He was just
doing his job after all while Anastasia was being drug through the woods like a
rag doll.

“Everything is fine. Jonah and I aren’t going to be staying
here tonight, so you don’t have to do that.” They both exchange a pleasant
‘good evening’ while I remain on the stairs, waiting for the officer to leave.
When she appears at the bottom of the stairs with a quirked eyebrow, I know
that the man is gone.

“So you’re going to hide from every police officer that
comes by?” She has one hand on her hip, and I see a glint in her eyes. Part of
me wonders if she’s thinking about calling me crazy again, but I pass that off
as the part of me that is most like Tom.

“No, I just wanted to be ready if it wasn’t a friendly. I’m
going to go pack, and then we’re going to a hotel room so I can shower in
peace.” Before she can say anything about not going, I descend the rest of the
stairs and swing into the kitchen to get to my room. Anastasia tromps up the
steps to her own room, and I feel Tom nagging at the back of my mind. I need to
keep taking my medication at the right time to suppress him as much as
possible, or life is going to be miserable.

“I’m ready if you are!” Anastasia calls from the front of
the house. I hear the front door open and close with a little bit of force, and
grit my teeth as I pack a duffle bag full of clothes, bathroom necessities, and
a book.

In two weeks, both our lives have been turned upside down. I
can attribute the mistake upstairs to that, can’t I?
Shut up, get in the
car, and drive to the hotel room so that you can just get this over with. Once
you sleep with her, you won’t ever think about it again because she’s just like
every other woman out there. She’ll look at you with pity afterwards.

“You ready?” My entire body goes rigid at the voice, and I
have to inhale twice very slowly to get my heart rate to decrease.

“I didn’t hear you come back in. Yeah, I’m ready.” She’s
leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed as if
she knows something was happening in that moment. I wonder if she knows I have
an inner dialogue with myself when Tom isn’t even around.

Neither one of us mention what happened in the D’Salvatore
farmhouse upstairs as we’re on our way to the hotel in the middle of town. I’ve
always liked this town because of the old style stone, brick, and even log
homes scattered throughout the center. They show the progression of history
since the first settlers arrived in the Americas, and they’re not afraid to let
it shine.

Anastasia books a room at the only modern hotel on the
outskirts of the town while I wait, leaning against the hood of her rental car.
Part of me wonders if she misses where she lived before, but I tell myself it
doesn’t matter to me whether she stays or she goes back home. I just hope that
she doesn’t try to push me into selling the farmhouse because I want to stay.
Even if this entire town is afraid of me, I still feel like it’s my only home
right now.

“I got us a suite. Mrs. Evans says we can stay as long as we
like.” The scowl on my face must be pretty amusing to Anastasia because I can
see that same twinkle in her eyes. Her lips don’t have to move for her to smile.
It’s all in the eyes.

“Mrs. Evans is a busybody that will have the entire town
talking about the fact that we’re staying together in a hotel room.” It’s not
that I care about my own reputation, but I’m sure that Anastasia cares about
hers. She told me so the first day she met me.

“Worried about your status in town, Jonah?” The glint in her
eyes has gone and been replaced with suspicion.

“Are you
serious
? The entire town thinks I’m insane,
hell, I
am
insane! It’s not me who has to worry.” I shrug one shoulder
as if it means nothing to me and retrieve my bag and hers from the trunk.
“Which room?” The glint from her eyes has disappeared by the time I get back
around to the front of the car, and it’s been replaced with something I have
never seen in a woman’s eyes. Is that anticipation? Before I can call her out
on it, the glint is gone, and we’re walking up a flight of stairs to the second
level decking.

Even though this is the most modern hotel in town, it still
uses actual keys instead of the swipe kind. The door is painted an ugly pale
orange, and the exterior of the building is coated in stucco. However, on the
inside is a totally different story.

“Mrs. Evans has some taste!” I say in shock, dropping the
bags on top of a dresser and taking in the scenery around me. Frilly, white bed
sheets and a bright, tiled hardwood floor along with red curtains draped over
the windows assault my senses. Anastasia idly fingers one of the satin pillows
on the leather couch in the living area of the suite, and I inspect the granite
countertops of the kitchenette. It’s no house, but if I were to stay here on
vacation I wouldn’t have any qualms about the hotel suite.

“I’m going to shower. Do you want to order pizza or
something? My treat.” I’m pulling clothes out of my bag as I ask.

“Yeah, sure. Pick a room then. I think there are two
bathrooms.” She sidles up next to me and starts rummaging around in her own bag
and then realizes what she’s doing. Our arms are almost touching, and the hairs
on my own have risen. I can see the way her breathing catches in her throat
when my elbow brushes against hers.

Before I can get into any more trouble with Anastasia, I
grab my bag and try not to look suspicious as I duck into a room, any room will
do. My shower is long and cold, but it does nothing to help my brain slow down
or any other parts of me calm. While I’m brushing my teeth, I try to think
about anything but how good it felt to slam her against the wall and take what
I wanted. That side of me is someone I have pushed down for too many years to
let him surface again.

I’m pulling on my pants when I hear the doorbell ring, and
then it rings a second time. She must still be in the bathroom, so I grab some
of the cash I found in the cabin with my other belongings and head for the
door. Sure enough, it’s the pizza delivery guy with one large box in hand and
several smaller bags.
Did she order the entire appetizer menu?
I wonder
to myself as I fork over the cash and tell the guy to keep the tip.

He’s a young man, most likely still in high school, and he
has not been blessed with good genetics. I see the beat up Oldsmobile that he
slides into and shake my head. The poor guy has not been blessed with wealth
either. Well, at least he’s working towards something better. I gently close
the door and set dinner on the countertop. It’s another fifteen minutes before
Anastasia comes out of her room.

She catches me red handed, a slice of pizza in one hand and
a mozzarella stick in the other. I graciously put down the mozzarella stick and
my slice of pizza as she slides onto a barstool at the breakfast counter next
to me. I find it more than a bit odd that she’s wearing a pair of shorts, but a
zip up sweatshirt over a tank top.

“Is it cold in here?” I ask, fumbling around for another
onion ring. Her cheeks turn a delicate shade of pink as she reaches for a slice
of pizza. The right sleeve of her sweat shirt rides up as she reaches and I see
the hint of a very thin, white line on her upper arm. Resisting the urge to
grab her wrist and shove up the sleeve to see more, I try to focus on eating my
pizza.

“No, it’s not cold in here. You don’t have to turn down the
thermostat.” I’m sliding off the stool to do just that while she protests.

“But you’re wearing a sweatshirt, so you must be cold.” I point
out to her in a reasonable tone. Anastasia is beside me in a heartbeat when I
put my hand up to the digital display to dial down the air conditioning. It’s
already set at sixty eight.

“I said you don’t have to turn it down!” I can see
irritation written all over her, but I’m not going to relent until she tells me
the truth as to why she’s wearing a sweat shirt in the middle of summer.

“Then why are you wearing the sweat shirt?” Something alien
passes over her face, an emotion that I’ve only seen in the mirror. It’s the
knowledge that I’m not normal that brings on that look, and Anastasia is
wearing it as she’s wearing her heart on her sleeve.

“I just don’t like my arms, they’re ugly. So let’s just sit
down and eat dinner, alright?” It must be the shock that has me relenting
because I don’t turn down the thermostat, but I don’t sit down and eat  any
more.

“That’s not it.” I say calmly while she tries to swallow a
bite of pizza. It must be stuck in her throat because she’s upset about my
frankness.

“Enough, Jonah. I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” She
sounds deflated, defeated almost. I don’t usually bring it upon myself to feel
sorry for someone because I don’t like it when people feel pity for me, but
something about her draws out that emotion and much more.

You’ll talk about it someday.
I silently answer her
in my head as I dig into my cold slice of pizza. The rest of the evening we
munch here and there while we watch television. All the while, I keep wondering
about the thin, white line on her arm and where it must have come from. I’ve
seen those kinds of marks when I was in the mental institution for a few
months, but D’Salvatore never talked about his daughter having to visit one. So
did she get help for her problem or did she just pick another spot to mutilate
herself?