Progress (Progress #1) (8 page)

“Aaaand you just said that out loud. Find your filter, Jess.”

He smirked. “You’re being too sensitive again. I am who I am. Take it or leave it.”

I shook my head playfully, far too amused by the casualness of the conversation.

“When did you lose yours?” I asked.
Hell, might as well. He’ll either answer me or he won’t.

“My first time was a disaster.” He grinned, scratching his chin and looking out at the pond. “I was sixteen and she was a year or two older than me. I wanted her so bad. She was a tiny little thing with a perfectly round ass. But I couldn’t have lasted much more than a few seconds. A minute, tops. She told all of her friends the next day how horrible I was in bed. And for the next two years I was known as the ‘Six-Second-Screw.’” He shuddered at the memory. “I couldn’t wait to get out of high school.”

I covered my mouth. “That’s horrible! What a bitch,” I snickered.

“Nah. She didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about women over the years, they
all
talk. Never assume they’ll keep their mouths shut. A lesson learned the hard way, I admit.”

I had no idea what to take offense to anymore with him. On one hand, I could have been pissed by his statement, but instead I brushed it off the way he intended.

“See, you don’t want to lose your virginity like the rest of us,” he added. “Don’t just give it away to anybody. Be smarter than us.”

“It’s not like I have a huge selection at the moment. Hell, I don’t even own a cell phone. ‘Here, Mr. Right, take my number. But can you try not to call past nine-thirty? Yeah, my parents are usually in bed by then. Thanks.’”

He raised his eyebrow. “All it takes is one. The right time. The right place. The right lighting. He’ll come around, and when he does, you’ll know. When it’s said and done, giving him your number is optional,” he added with a wink.

I looked out to the pond, unable to truly comprehend having as many people available to sleep with as he did. I couldn’t fathom the idea of giving so many people a part of me that no one else had ever had. Had ever seen. I hadn’t even looked at myself in a full-length mirror for years. Surely not naked. What a nightmare.

“Here, come here,” he said, scooting closer to me. “I’ll take your virginity from you. Right now. No strings attached.” He smiled. “Promise.”

My heartbeat slapped against my chest and I inched away from him, keeping my sudden fear from reaching my eyes. “Fuck off. If you were even remotely serious, you wouldn’t have waited this long. You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who is gifted in the art of small talk. No offense, but you’re more like the kind of guy who has a crumpled-up pile of phone numbers—smothered with little scribbled hearts—stashed in the ashtray of his car.” I swept my hand through my hair and took a breath, trying to keep the conversation as playful as possible, no matter how much my insides churned. “Besides, if it’s only going to take six seconds, I think I’ll pass.”

Tugging on his lip to disguise his lopsided smile, he looked over at me. “You are incredibly sexy, though. That feistiness is sweeter than a schoolgirl in uniform.”

“Well, I’ll definitely be sure to alert the Neighborhood Watch of the Level 3 sexual predator on your block after that comment.” He laughed and I put my hands up. “Just sayin’. There are after school specials devoted to guys like you.” I shrugged. “The more you know…”

His smile faded, and his eyes focused in on my lips. My breathing went ragged and my hands began to shake.

I panicked.

Searching for my smokes, I dipped my chin down and looked away from the intensity of his stare. “Well, whoever it ends up being is sure in for an overwhelming treat. I’ll have years of built-up sexual tension waiting to unleash on him,” I babbled like an idiot. My fingers trembled trying to remove a cigarette from the pack, but they felt like sausages trying to grasp at toothpicks. When I finally removed one, I struck the lighter four times before Jesse flicked his Zippo, illuminating the tattoo on his forearm.

Three black wavy lines. No letters, no numbers, and no shapes. The lines weren’t like waves of the ocean, though; they were scattered and uneven. I had a feeling I should’ve known what it was, but at that moment I couldn’t place it.

His eyes flickered to his tattoo and the light from his Zippo vanished, leaving us in the darkness. It was better there; it made the situation easier for me. I took a deep breath and tried to relax.

Jesse edged back over to his side of the blanket and sprawled his legs out in front of him.

“You have any tattoos?” he asked.

I nodded, but realized he couldn’t see me, so I spoke. “Yeah. Just one.”

“Let me guess. A flower.”

“Nope.” I smiled at how calming his voice was, and at the comparison of my still hands from just seconds earlier.

“A heart. A pink fucking heart with a little arrow shooting through it.”

I laughed so hard I snorted. “No. Not even close.”

“What is it then?” It was so quiet that it was almost a whisper.

“A dragonfly.”

The reflection of the moon on the pond danced over his eyes with a contemplative stare over my shoulder. “Oh yeah? Why?”

His leg began to bounce again, and his movements were stilted. His mood had suddenly shifted, and a shiver ran across my skin. His pupils were huge in the dark; it only added to the eeriness. How something I’d said could’ve triggered it, I had no idea.

“When I was a kid, my parents always took us to a cabin up north,” I said softly. “The lake isn’t too far from Mille Lacs. Dad and I would wake up at four o’clock every morning to go fishing, while my mom and sister slept in.” I smiled. “And every morning, two or three small blue dragonflies would land on the tip of my fishing rod. When I’d look up, hundreds of them swarmed overhead.”

He looked away then, back out into the pond. “And that’s a happy memory? Enough to carry it with you forever?”

“Yeah,” I whispered.

He scratched the back of his head and sat quietly. I didn’t dare speak; I could already tell something was brewing.

“So the dragonfly saves the frog,” he whispered. Staring into the darkness, he added, “You know, Charlie, some might call that an abomination. When the frog eats you alive, what will you do, little bug?”

I swallowed, watching him closely. My cigarette had burned down to the filter and I hadn’t taken a single drag. The chirping had silenced, and there wasn’t an echo of a single living thing around us.

“Fly away, I suppose,” I finally said.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “But you’re trapped already. You probably can’t see it, but
something
will drag you backward while you dig your claws in, screaming for your life.”

My eyebrows pinched together. “Maybe when the day comes, that frog will surprise you.”

His eyes shot open and he turned his head toward me. “Oh that’s right,” he snapped. “Because you gave it a second chance. It should be grateful, shouldn’t it?”

On its own accord, my chin quivered and my eyes glossed over. “What are we talking about? What did I miss?”

“Nothing.” He jumped to his feet and cracked his neck. “Nothing at all. See you later.”

With my mouth agape, I let the words slip. “What the fuck just happened, Jess? If you need to talk about something, I’m here.”

He stopped and balled his fists, but I stood and walked to him anyway.

“You want to talk about what happened just now? Or what made you like this?” I added.

When he turned to look at me he wore a scowl, and his chest and arms puffed out like I’d just asked him to fight me.

But when my face softened and I covered my arms with another shiver, his stance returned to normal. “My past is too gruesome for your delicate sensibilities. No one wants to hear that shit, and I certainly don’t want to talk about it.”

“But—”

“But what? But if there’s anything you can do to help, you will? But if I just lie down on your couch over there and talk it out, everything will be okay? People are pieces of shit, Charlie. The sooner you learn it, the better off you’ll be. And no one in their right mind would want inside this head,” he snarled, tapping his temple. “This is as fucked up as it gets right here. So let me be. Just let it go.”

I grabbed at my chest with sympathetic eyes. “No—”

“Don’t fucking look at me like that, Charlie. I don’t need your pity. I don’t need you at all. Just leave me the fuck alone.” He stormed past the parking lot, kicking an empty can along the way.

Holy shit.
That was not where I saw that conversation going.

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared up at the night sky, and when my thoughts brought my stare back to his silhouette, I couldn’t get the next words out of my head.

Time to do some research.

Chapter Nine

Charlie

It had been almost three weeks since I’d spoken to Jesse. I’d seen him at work a few times, but no words were exchanged between us, and only brief moments of eye contact.

Summer was in full swing, and it had been the hottest Minnesotan season I’d ever seen. I still hadn’t been eating much; the weight of Jesse’s words hung heavily in my stomach and raced through my mind. I, of course, had thought the worst. Every possible horrible scenario crossed through my head: from childhood abuse to Jesse being involved in some kind of murder or heinous crime. The soft side of him had me hopeful it wasn’t something
he’d
done, but the blow of thinking he’d gone through something traumatic didn’t make it any easier for me to stomach.

I was down thirty-two pounds and two dress sizes. Not that I owned any dresses. That was Angie’s department, and I’d already returned the black one to her weeks earlier. A clinical definition still had me in the obese category, and I wasn’t ready to run out and buy a bikini, but I felt better than I had before. It was amazing how quickly the weight came off with food taken out of the equation.

It was finally a payday that wasn’t devoted to my car payment. After making a stop to purchase a cell phone and stopping by the drug store to pick up some skin-tightening lotion, I went to the library. I finally had a day off, and I wanted to make the most of it, so I chose a computer kiosk in the back corner of the children’s section. I got comfortable and quickly called home to give Mom my new cell number.

“Hey Mom! You got a pen?”

“Hang on…yep, got it.”

“I just got a new phone. The number is 954-544-6590. Did you get that?”

“Sure did. Oh, by the way, Jesse called earlier when I wasn’t home. You can call our voicemail to listen to the message. I’ll let it ring.”

I gasped. “Jesse called? How did he get my phone number?”

“I’m pretty sure he said his name was Jesse. I’m not sure how he got our number.”

My eyes searched the room and panic set in.

“I’m making pot roast tonight for dinner,” Mom added in her sweet voice. “So I’ll see you tonight?”

Another night would come where I’d move the food around my plate, pretending like I’d eaten something. Mom and Dad weren’t exactly ready to force feed me, but we’d had the same discussion every night I’d been home for dinner for the past month. And another conversation would occur on why I hadn’t been eating.

Each time I merely soothed their idea that I was purposely starving myself, and that they couldn’t argue that I had more weight to lose. I
hadn’t
been purposely starving myself. I didn’t know what I was doing. Pot roast was definitely on the list of foods that made me even more queasy at the thought of putting in my mouth.

“Not sure I’ll make it. You can leave some leftovers in the fridge if you want.”

“Will do, honey.”

I quickly hung up and dialed the number again, waiting for the voicemail to pick up.

“Um hey, it’s me. Jess. Jesse from work.” He paused. “I’m ah, I’m…not. Well, I guess it’ll just have to…sorry. I’ll just talk to you tomorrow. Or, you could call me tonight. If you want. Um, bye. Oh! My number…” He left his phone number and hung up.

I tugged at my lip and listened again. I couldn’t stop a smile from breaking through.

He called. Do I call him back? What could he have wanted at nine o’clock in the morning?

I chose to wait. I had far too much I wanted to get done that day, and if it was an emergency he would’ve told me.

I was just happy it seemed he wasn’t still upset with me from the last time I’d seen him.

Perusing the self-help aisle, I pulled books from the shelves about ADHD, depression, bipolar disorder, multiple personality disorder, and mental and physical abuse as a child. After twenty minutes, I finally sat down to a stack of books on the desk and brought up Google on the computer.

First, I typed in a search of his name. Nothing came up except a few old social media accounts that had been inactive for years. And since Jesse was adopted by his foster family and I didn’t have his real last name, that was a dead end.

So I dove into the clinical definitions of various mental disorders, starting with the least likely: depression. Just to rule it out.

There was so much information at my fingertips. It was such an unfamiliar thing to have access to a computer. I hadn’t been on one since college, years earlier. Mom cleaned homes for cash, and Dad was a delivery driver, so there was never a need for one in the house. The computers at The Crimson were more like glorified cash registers and only displayed the serving program to ring in orders for the kitchen. I’d forgotten how easily time could slip away.

I came across a website that defined each diagnosis conveniently in a few sentences. After narrowing it down to either multiple personality disorder, a sociopath, or bipolar, I remembered the book on Jesse’s shelf.

I took a book from the stack, titled
Living with Bipolar Disorder
, and cracked open the musty pages.

Bipolar disorder is a condition in which people go back and forth between periods of a very good or irritable mood and depression. The mood swings between mania and depression can be very quick.

The exact causes of bipolar disorder are unknown as it affects both men and women equally. Symptoms usually manifest between the ages of 15-25 and the disorder is likely to occur more often in relatives of people with bipolar disorder.

Episodes may be triggered by life changes such as childbirth, steroids or antidepressants, periods of sleeplessness, and recreational drug use.

The manic phase may last from a days to months. It can include symptoms such as: easily distracted, little need for sleep, poor judgment, poor temper control, reckless behavior, elevated mood, excess activity and racing thoughts.

Hours passed as I wrapped myself up in Jesse’s world. The more I read, the more unease settled in. What had his life been like up until now? What kind of future did he have? Was he medicated? And how bad had it gotten that he was entered into the foster system?

Did I even have the correct diagnosis?

The research uncovered more questions to which I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answers. A mind like Jesse’s was something completely foreign to me. I could barely grasp my own sanity, let alone try to understand his. And yet anytime Jesse walked into a room or entered The Crimson, I sensed him; every nerve ending ignited and my eyes sought him out. Not much else seemed to matter than the guy who’d gotten inside my head.

It wasn’t until after five o’clock that my stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten all day. I packed up a few books, and with my mind swirling, I drove to The Crimson.

There wasn’t much of a dinner rush, and I found a seat in the bar easily.

Angie smiled from across the room and walked to my table. “Hey there! What are you having?”

“Can I just get a glass of water and the Chicken Stir-Fry Salad? Dressing on the side.”

She smirked, looking down at me. “You gonna tell me who he is yet?”

“Huh?” I acted like I didn’t know what she was talking about by narrowing my eyes. But the hair on my arms stood on end, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I saw him.

He was there somewhere.

I sat up straight and my eyes shifted toward the front door, but I saw nothing.

She leaned in, hovering over the table. “The guy you got dressed up for at the patio party. And the guy you’ve lost a ton of weight for.” She quirked an eyebrow. “I would imagine he’s the same one that inspired you to order a fucking
salad
with the
dressing on the side
.”

“It’s no one, Ang, honestly. I haven’t had much of an appetite lately.” At least the last part wasn’t a lie.

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “I know weight loss, Charlie. You don’t lose that much that fast unless you’re exercising twice a day and starving yourself.”

“It hasn’t been that bad. I think some of my anxiety is coming back. I honestly just haven’t felt hungry. And I’ve been getting the shakes easily again.”

Sadness covered her face, and she looked down at the table. “Maybe you need to go back to the doctor. You could go back on your medication,” she said softly.

“I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’m wasting away. I’m still about seventy pounds away from my goal.”

She nodded and turned toward the bar, not knowing what more to say on the subject.

“Oh! What are you doing this weekend?” I asked. “You up for a Sunday matinee?”

“Sure. I can’t remember if I work that night, though.”

“Cool. Let me know—”

“Hey, foxy.” Jess slid into the seat next to me, and I jumped at the intrusion.

I should’ve known by then that everything he did put me on edge. Hell, my knee started bouncing right around the time he probably walked in the building. I don’t know why I didn’t pick up on it.

Angie glared at Jesse until her eyes sparked with her own assumption. I knew what she was thinking, and by the look on her face, she wanted to scold me. I heard her words in my head:
‘No, Charlie. Not Jesse Anders.’

I shook my head at her in denial, but she already knew. With a roll of her eyes, she walked away.

“I don’t think she likes me very much,” Jesse slurred.

I scratched my head. “And something tells me you couldn’t care less if she does.”

A wide smile stretched across his face. “It’s like you
know
me,” he said sarcastically. His eyes were glossy, and his knee bounced double-time.

“Not working tonight, I see. How did you get here? And how much have you had to drink?” I asked.

“Wrong question.” He laughed.

“Okay. How much have you had to smoke?”

“Ding ding ding ding ding! We have a winner! I’ve smoked more weed tonight than you’ve probably seen in your whole life. Which is what makes you a loser.”

I shook my head as he inched closer to me in the booth.

I cranked my neck away from him, feeling dizzy. Fighting off the sudden spins, I concentrated on my breathing.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

“I don’t know if I like you very much when you’re fucked up,” I whispered.

“But you don’t know whether or not you like me when I’m sober either. So it’s a no-win.” He closed the distance between us, grazing my ear with his nose. No other part of him touched me—not a hand on my thigh or a brush of my arm—but his intentions of making me uncomfortable were evident. “I have a very serious question to ask you, Red. And I want you to be honest with me.”

I opened my eyes and swallowed, turning my head to look at him quickly, and back again to the wall. “What?” I snapped.

His warm breath heavy, he took my earlobe into his mouth and bit gently. I brought my hands under the table so that no one could see how badly they shook, and closed my eyes again. My neck and face burned with anticipation of his next words, but I hated every second of it.

“I love the way you blush,” he whispered.

“Ask the fucking question.”

With the rejection, he pulled away from me and his eyes widened. My shoulders slouched with instant relief of our proximity, and my breathing steadied.

He pulled a menu off the table and panned the options before closing it again. “Do you think Christy would fuck me?”

I let out a breath and a small laugh. “That was your question?”

“Nope. But it’s obvious you aren’t ready for my questions. So I changed the subject.”

I didn’t ask for clarification; I didn’t want to know. I was just happy he was behaving himself.

“I’m sure Christy would be willing to accommodate you once she turns eighteen.” I swallowed. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, nudging his leg to let me out of the booth and rising from my seat.

I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t just be comfortable with him. The sting of his touch hurt worse than the sting of his words, and I wasn’t sure why or what I could do about it. Instinctively, I should’ve listened to what my body told me: Jesse Anders was toxic.

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a matter of convenience for him. And maybe that should’ve bothered me. But it didn’t.

Because maybe that’s what he was for me, too.

As I splashed my face with cool water in the restrooms, I still felt a pull toward him. What was so damn special about him that made me feel the need to stay? No amount of intrigue should’ve compelled me. Everything about the two of us was wrong, and while all I wanted to do was run away, there was a small voice inside my head telling me to face my fear.

The contradiction between feeling a sense of relief when I saw him still sitting there and my hope that he’d be gone by the time I returned baffled me. There was no making sense of it.

He scared me. And I adored him. I’d just have to be happy with that explanation.

I sat back down in the booth across from him, and he stared at his frosty mug of beer.