Target 84 (5 page)

Chapter Seven

Greta Billings

“I'm comfortable feeling miserable and I never want to change. Forgive me for I know not what I've done or what I'll do. Forgive us all cause we have all begun to do as we choose.” LIFE OF AGONY – “DESIRE”

My morning workout with Pepper was grueling today, physically
and
emotionally. Pepper’s the closest thing to an authentic human connection that I have and she pushes my boundaries without even knowing it. Like this family-dinner business.

Allie, Pepper’s soon-to-be stepdaughter, came up with this ridiculous plan to have a non-family family night regularly. This consists of Pepper and her man, Sawyer, hosting, Allie and her mom, Clara, and stepdad Dominic, and lately, Hoot. We’re a highly non-traditional family, yet I find the dinners exasperating and comforting, like an emotional cocktail outside my norm.

I like watching them interact. Each one has their own messed-up story to tell. Each has overcome trials and tribulations. Except me. I haven’t told them who I am. I can’t. People naturally judge others. My story, unlike theirs, sounds like more of a choice I’ve made rather than something I was unfortunately thrown into. I go because the food is always delicious and the drinks that Pepper makes are to die for. Coupled with the nagging I endure from Pepper if I skip the event, it’s easier just to attend. The exasperating part is the casual conversation. I have tried to assimilate as best I can. I have a lot to work on still.

I’m not good at loosening up or being carefree. I can’t share with them my actual profession and to keep all the lies I’m forced to tell straight I shoot for as little detail as possible. I know it makes me seem cold, aloof even, but it’s a necessary evil. Allie, Pepper, Sawyer, Hoot, Clara, and Dominic. Six human beings who know me as best anyone ever will.

Six.

It’s a small number but it’s more than I had five years ago or hell, even ten years ago. Yet still no one actually
sees
me. They see what I allow them. They see what I’ve presented to them.

I’ve lived my life quietly alone, in a deafening silence that sucks the soul from you like a vacuum-sealed bag. Sure, I say “hi” to the checkout clerk at the grocery store, or the gas station attendant, or even the guys at whatever gym I’m at. That’s not the same as having
people
. I would sell my soul for something as pure and true as that.

I wonder sometimes if any of my classmates are near me. Sometimes I think if I could locate one, we could have a relationship. We know what the other has been through,
endured
. It wouldn’t need to be explained. Then I realize that wouldn’t work. We wouldn’t share anything with each other. We’d just be roommates. We’re not trained to share feelings. We’re not trained to have a consciousness. We’re not trained for relationships.

“Little bird, are you there?” he asks through the door.

“Yeah.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” I answer flatly. Today was brutal. My hope is gone, not even a flicker remains from the girl I was a year ago. I am exactly what they want. Small bursts of sanity come in the form of a boy at my door a few nights a week. I don’t know his number. I don’t know what he looks like. I only know his voice.

“I made you something. Can you keep it safe?” he asks. My heart feels like it’s smiling at the contemplation of getting something.

“I can,” I answer. I don’t need to explain to him that getting caught with something not approved would be volunteering for public punishment. Something slides under the door, hitting my wrist. I pull it in further. Paper. I unfold it while walking to the window. The lights don’t work after lockdown. I’m lucky it’s close to a full moon tonight so I can see. The drawing causes my face to break out in a huge grin. It’s me. He drew
me
. Frustration follows the high. I wouldn’t be able to pick him out in a crowd but he knows me. So unfair.

My hair is long and soft-looking the way he drew it. I’m wearing a fancy dress and smiling. For a moment I stare sedulously, maybe it’s not me. A little bird is drawn sitting on my shoulder, like Cinderella would have. I go back to the door.

“Thank you. You’re a really good drawer.”

“It’s not that good, but it was the best I could do,” he says through the thick oak.

“Well, I love it. I promise I will keep it forever.” I smile in the dark.

“Next week, little bird. I’m flying away. I found a way.”

“Take me with you,” I beg.

“I don’t know how to get you out of your room. I don’t have keys.”

“You can’t leave me here!” I whisper yell. “Tell me how to escape like you and I’ll come after.”

“You won’t even be eligible for night guard until you turn twelve.” His voice is resigned. Sad.

“Please. Please, don’t leave.”

“I promise I’ll come back for you someday. I will find you,” he states firmly.

“Not if you get caught,” I say angrily.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he starts humming. I move away from the door and curl up on my bed. I can still hear him, though.
DON’T LEAVE ME,
my head screams as I thrust my fist into the bed. His humming soothes me eventually into a deep sleep.

I worshipped that picture. I remember coveting it, secretly stealing glances at it whenever I could, until the night I ripped it in half and screamed until my voice gave out. He’d been all I had and he’d left. I strap on my sandals and grab my purse, letting the memory fade away. That was the last birthday I’d celebrated. After that, it seemed pointless to even mark the date on a calendar.

I’ll hit the grocery store on my way to Sawyer and Pepper’s house to bring a dessert. Pepper loves dessert. I love sweets too but I have to be careful not to overindulge. Physical fitness is something I am required to maintain if I want to be successful at my job. I scan the apartment before shutting the door. Kitchen, check, living room, check. Everything in order. I lock all three deadbolts and head down to my car.

*

“Cheesecake, nice choice,” a deep baritone rumbles. I force my lips into a smile.

“Hello, Hoot,” I answer, turning around. His brown eyes bore into mine with intensity. So many questions are brewing behind those dark chocolate orbs, none of which I want to answer.

“Greta!” Allie squeals, running at me, her long, brown hair flying out behind her. “Can I show you my kick? I’ve been practicing!”

I chuckle genuinely and nod at her. She does a half-assed roundhouse kick and then waits expectantly. This is where I run into problems. Social graces dictate that no matter what I’m to praise her. It’s not something that naturally comes to me. I’m critical by nature and don’t harbor the ability to
not
complete a task to perfection.

“Keep your weight on that planted foot. It’s getting good,” I say. It’s the best I can offer. “Here, let me show you.” I plant my palms on her hips and lean her the proper way, showing her where her balance should be and what it should feel like mid-kick. Her preteen face rumples in concentration. It’s endearing. She tries again.

Ninety percent perfect. I smile at her and those coffee-colored eyes light up as she fist pumps the air.

“Much better,” I tell her.

“Stop teaching her to be able to kick my ass,” Sawyer says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. I still at his affection. Also out of my league are personal-space infractions other than sex. I tilt my head up to meet his eyes. He has perfect crows’ feet at the corners, making him seem wiser and gentler than he probably is.

“Worried?” I ask lightly.

“It’s a catch twenty-two, really. I want her to be able to kick any boy’s ass and you and Pepper are
definitely
the ones to be able to train her in that but I don’t want her so good she can take me down in a fit of hormonal, teenage-girl rage someday.” I snort and half smile at his response.

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too, Sawyer. One or the other,” I retort.

“Right then,” he says, tapping his chin in mock thought. “The ability to kick ass is more important. There is a world full of penises out there to fend off.” Sawyer’s offhand remark makes me gasp before bursting out in a true, aching belly laugh. It’s so foreign a feeling that it makes me feel a little sick. Like my body is revolting from something.

“What’s so funny?” Pepper chimes in from the entryway of the kitchen.

“Your
man
here, he is... is...” I can’t stop the laugh that comes on again at the thought of Sawyer’s comment.

“The most amazing man,
ever
,” Sawyer says, completing my sentence. I roll my eyes as my giggles die down.

“Yeah,
that’s
it,” I snort, following Pepper into the kitchen.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but it’s kinda strange to hear you laugh,” Pepper says.

“Is it?” I ask, already knowing that yes, it is.

“Not in a bad way,” she adds.

“Okay,” I answer. Pepper sighs and turns to the fridge to pull out tonight’s dinner.

“So, did you hear?” she asks while setting various cheese-and-cracker plates on the counter.

“Hear what?” I ask, shoving a carrot stick in my mouth.

“About the disappearance and probable murder of Senator Hollingsworth,” she says. Anxiety ripples through me. How the hell could she know him?

“Who?” I squeak out. Trying to hide the truth chips away at your spirit and my spirit is already depleted too far. Keeping up lies is becoming harder and harder.

“Allie’s
dad
. Jesus, how have I not told you this, or Clara?” she questions.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, becoming irritated at the lack of information I have.

“Come here, quick, I don’t want Clara to overhear,” she says quietly, dragging me into the bathroom with her.

“So Clara used to be called ‘Jade’ or something like that a million years ago,” Pepper says. Her hands wave theatrically around between us. “She was engaged to Senator Hollingsworth’s son, Daniel. That asshole beat her, but worse yet, that asshole’s dad,
the
missing senator, raped Clara, which resulted in Allie. Blah blah, Clara escaped and has everything you see now. So Sawyer is not her actual dad, and neither is Dom.” I must look confused to her but it’s not actual confusion I’m feeling. I’m feeling justified. I
knew
that man was a sick, twisted soul. I could feel it in my bones. I want to do a little happy dance that I’ve eradicated him from the Earth but the timing is all wrong. “You following me?” Pepper asks.

“I’m with you. That is all, very...” I can’t seem to find a word that makes sense.

“C.R.A.Z.Y. I know. But his disappearance is
all
over the news so I’m sure that someone might say something about it tonight. Oh! But not a word to Allie. She has no idea. Actually, even Sawyer thought the senator’s son was Allie’s real dad up until a couple years ago. So, make sure you don’t say something in front of her,” Pepper finishes sternly.

“I like Allie. I’d never do anything to harm her.”

“Sometimes truths are more harmful than anything else.” Pepper’s words strike me at my core. Would my friendship with her be harmed if
she
knew the truth? Would anyone here look at me differently if they knew my truths? If they knew that
I
was the one responsible for this senator’s disappearance? If I told them that he isn’t missing, but dead? A bullet hole right through him? Some truths are better kept as secrets.

“Amen to that,” I answer.

Hoot’s hand grazes my thigh under the table as Dominic, Clara, and Sawyer chatter on about expanding Bloodlines tattoo parlor. I’m not in the mood so I push his hand from my leg and stand up to refill my drink.

“Want anything?” I ask Pepper, noticing her glass is empty. She’s staring at Allie, who is sitting on Sawyer’s lap with a smile on her face. She does that all the time now, smile. It wasn’t always like that. We used to train in silence at the gym, share a drink afterward, and sometimes share pointless details of our lives. Like, “oh hey, I read this book, you’d like it.” Little bits and pieces that add up to a whole lot of nothing. We of course know each other’s names, addresses, and small truths about employment or how hard life can be. Until Sawyer happened. He brought Pepper to her knees with truths.

Then she started opening up. Luckily I’m a good listener.

“Sure. I'll have one more bourbon,” she replies, meeting my eyes. I make my way to the outdoor bar top and start fixing my vodka tonic and Pepper’s bourbon. Hoot’s arms snake around my waist and I sigh. Turning in his arms to face him, I give him what I hope is my best “I’m not in the mood” expression.

“What’s up? You’ve been cold as ice for the last week,” he says and sighs at me.

“I think you feel like we are something.”

“And that’s a problem?” he asks, his irritation growing.

“For me, yes. Hoot, you know what I want. Now’s not the time to get into this.” I gesture towards the table.

“Fine,” he grinds out, dropping his arms from my waist and stomping back to the table. I turn and finish pouring the drinks I started.