Tasting, Finding, Keeping: The Story of Never (3 page)

“Just shut the fuck up,” says guy number one behind the register. He has big brown eyes that probably once made girls say things like,
Ohmygod he's cute!,
but that now look misplaced in his sunken, sallow face. He's got a good jaw, strong and square, but even though I can tell he's young, the skin hangs from his bones like a wrinkled T-shirt. This guy, whoever he is, looks both sad and angry with the world. “You've already fucked this up enough, so shut your fucking mouth. Mel, search the others, take whatever they've got.”

Guy number two, the only one of the three whose hair doesn't look straw, licks his lips and gives me a once over. I know I look good in my red dress and heels, and that scares me, really scares me. Seriously though, they can't be thinking of raping me or anyone else here? We're in the middle of a convenience store. Surely there are cameras? An alarm system? What about passersby?

“Hey there, baby,” he says to me with a leer that makes me want to break his face. “What's your name?” I don't respond. I keep my face neutral, bare of even a frown. If I don't give him a reason to keep looking at me, maybe he won't? Guy Two laughs as he pauses in front of one of the aisles and finally pulls the gun from inside his jacket. It's black and wicked looking, a crafting of plastic and metal capable of changing the world. He bends down and disappears from sight for a moment.

“I think I hear sirens,” says the girl as her hands start to shake. The gun looks unstable, clutched in inexperienced hands, and it's still pointed directly at me. If Gun Girl goes rogue, I might not walk out of here alive. I swallow and try not to let fear overtake me. It's a useless emotion, more capable of getting me killed than saving me. Nobody pays her any attention, but Lacey does groan in her sleep, causing Gun Girl to switch her aim to my comatose roommate.

Guy Two stands back up with a wallet in one hand and a new gold watch wrapped around his wrist. Presumably he's robbed one of Ty's friends, but I can't see a thing from my position near the front door. Guy Two is looking at me again, and it's scary as hell.

“Come on,” he says to me as he stuffs the stolen wallet in the front pocket of his green coat. “I bet you'd like to play, wouldn't you, little bunny?” No reaction from me. It pisses Guy Two off, I can tell. He storms across the room, boots squeaking on the white linoleum floor, and slams the back of his hand into my face. Pain slithers through my jaw, makes every single one of my teeth ache, and knocks me flat on my back.

“Don't,” says the girl with the gun, but she doesn't sound very authoritative. Obviously, she isn't the boss of this trio. “Just leave her alone and let's get out of here.”

“You said take whatever they've got, am I right?” Guy Two asks as he looks down at me and licks his lips again. He rubs the stubble on his face and smiles.

“We don't have time for that, asshole,” says Guy One as he empties the money into a backpack and then starts in after the cigarettes. “There's plenty of good ass in Memphis. Just grab some stuff, and let's get the fuck out of here.”

“Let's take her with us,” Guy Two says as I sit up and wipe the blood from my lip. My heart is galloping along at a hundred miles an hour, but I don't let it show. I haven't gotten this far in life to fail now. I tell myself everyday that I don't care, but sitting here on the floor of a convenience store, I know that the indifference, the disdain, it's all a front. Wish I could admit that to myself outside of a crisis. Guy Two points his gun at my face. “Stand up.”

“You're pathetic,” I say, but I follow his instructions, at least for the moment. Standing can only help my situation. It's hard to feel powerful when you're on your knees.

“Take off your coat,” he instructs as he waves the gun around like it's a toy and not a deadly weapon. I shrug my jacket down my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. Guy Two gives me a rictus smile and then brushes his fingers down my arm. I smack his hand away and he snarls, thrusting the barrel of the gun into my forehead.

“You must feel pretty fucking powerful,” I bait as I catch a glimpse of movement reflected in one of the glass doors to the coolers. The image is blurry, but I think I see someone moving down the back aisle towards Gun Girl. “So in control of your life. Does hurting people make you feel good? Do you get off on it?”

Guy Two stares at me for a long moment, but he doesn't react to my words. Instead, he pulls back and steps away, turning his attention to Lacey who's groaning and rolling around on the floor. Shit.

“Mm, mm, mm,” he says as he steps over to her. He keeps the gun locked on my face, but he kicks my roommate over with his boot. “What a hot, little piece of ass. Do you think she'd wake up if I started fucking her?” My hands curl into fists, and the pulse of blood inside my head switches to deafening.

“Mel,” Guy One snaps as he hops the counter again and attacks a cooler full of beer. “We don't have all goddamn day. Get their wallets and let's go.” Guy Two sneers and reaches down for the brown belt around his waist. Obviously, he doesn't give a shit about what Guy One says.

“Come on,
Mel,
” I tease, hoping to draw his attention away from Lacey and back to me. “The master calls.” Guy Two ignores me, proving that he's the worst kind of monster there is: an apathetic one. There's a moment there where I wonder what the hell happened to make him that way. His hair is still shiny and well kempt, like he hasn't been at this as long as his friends have. His clothes are newer, nicer than even my own. On the outside, he looks like any of the thousand frat boys that I go to school with. On the inside, he's been damaged beyond repair.

“It'll only take me a minute,” he says as he lets his belt hang open and starts to unbutton his pants. Poor Lacey is just waking up, just realizing that she's still in hell.

“Don't hurt me,” she whimpers as her eyes take in the man towering above her, staring down at her like she's something to be crushed, to be dominated. Lacey, who doesn't like men, who's blonde and petite and dressed in a yellow sweater and a white skirt, who's not the kind of girl that gets into trouble. “I'll give you whatever you want, just please … don't.”

“They're coming for us,” shouts the girl with the gun. She's shaking worse than Lacey now and she can't keep her eyes still. Her massive pupils are moving too fast for me to keep track. “I don't want to go to jail. Let's just get out of here.”

Nobody is paying attention to me at the moment, at least not overtly. I step out of my heels, careful to keep my movements slow and innocent because I think if the girl sees me move, she's going to pull the trigger whether I'm a threat or not. I watch the tenseness of her shoulders beneath her leather jacket and the twitches in her face.
Careful, Never,
I think as I switch my attention to Guy Two.
Wait till he drops to his knees.
If I'm going to do this, I'm going to have to be quick.

I look up, trying to catch that bit of movement in the cooler doors again. If Ty or one his friends is back there, maybe they can help me. If they can get Gun Girl, I can get Guy Two, and maybe, just maybe we'll all get out of here alive and intact.

“Roll over,” Guy Two commands Lacey as he switches his gaze to my eyes and smiles, slow and wicked, blooming across his face like a disease. Lacey obeys with a sob, turning over and letting herself pool into a shaking mess of nerves and self-pity. He bends down, nice and slow, deliberate, and points his gun at the back of her head. When he reaches out to touch her with his other hand, something inside of me just friggin' snaps.

I launch myself forward without a sound, wound up with adrenaline and anger and fear and I hit Guy Two right in the chest, knocking him to his back on the floor. The gun goes off and fires a single shot towards the front of the store, missing my face by a fraction of an inch. The massive window comes down in a sheet of shards and seconds later, an alarm rings out, sharp and piercing. My ears are already ringing and this new sound is enough to paralyze me for just a moment, just long enough that Guy Two can pull his arm back and use the butt of his gun to hit me in the face. I fall back with a shout, hit the ground with my shoulder and roll away, terrified that at any moment, one of the other two thugs is going to shoot me in the back.

“Goddamn bitch,” Guy Two says as he struggles to his feet, and I look up just in time to see that his gun is pointed straight at my face. Another shot goes off behind me, whizzes past Guy Two and breaks down a second window. When I glance over my shoulder, I see Gun Girl slumped on the floor near Ty's feet. He's got her gun in his hand and has it pointed at Guy Two. Guy One is nowhere to be seen, and I can only guess that he's already fled. I suppose that whole
Honor among thieves
thing doesn't always hold true.

Ty is breathing pretty hard, and there's blood on his chest, whether from Gun Girl or someone else, I don't know, but it scares me. However much I might dislike the guy for what he said to me, he didn't flee the building like I'd thought. Instead, he chose to stay and fight. Anyone that's willing to do something like that is someone that the world can't afford to lose.

I panic when I see Guy Two turn towards him and kick out hard, hitting the man in the shin. He stumbles and fires off another shot. I don't have time to see where it goes because the gun is now swinging towards me. People are screaming and there's movement all around me. I think I see a flash of color as Lacey flees the building, but I'm not sure. All I know in that moment is that I have to survive. I don't know why, and I don't have time to analyze it, all I can do is stand and throw my body at Guy Two. I hit him in the stomach, but he doesn't go down, not this time. We struggle for control of the gun, and I pull out every trick I've ever learned to deal with rowdy college guys. I knee him in the balls and pull at his hair with the hand that isn't wrapped around his wrist, fighting to keep the gun pointed at the ceiling and away from Ty, his friends, and me.

It seems this goes on forever, but I'm guessing it's merely seconds. Just as I think I'm about to lose control, Ty appears from out of nowhere and smashes the butt of Gun Girl's weapon into Guy Two's skull. He falters for just a second, long enough for me to knock his gun to the floor where it skids across the tiles and comes to a stop near a display of sunflower seeds. Guy Two uses the last of his strength to push me back; I stumble into the broken glass and feel my feet slide out from beneath me, sending me to my back in the shards with a hiss of pain.

Ty spins Guy Two around and pulls back his fist, hitting him in the face with knuckles loaded with rings.
I hope it hurts like hell,
I think as I watch Guy Two stumble. Ty doesn't stop. He grabs Guy Two by the shirt and hits him again. And again. And again. Finally, Guy Two drops to the floor like a sack of garbage, and Ty shakes out his hand like it hurts. I stare at the wet spot on his chest, afraid that he's been shot and struggle to sit up. Broken glass cuts into my hands and feet, and I gasp, drawing his attention to me. Other than Gun Girl and Guy Two (who are both passed out), we're the only ones left in the building.

“Are you alright?” he asks as he crunches over the glass towards me. I hold out my hand, hoping that he'll help me up, but instead, he reaches under my knees and puts an arm around my waist. With a grunt, Ty lifts me from the floor and pulls me against his chest. The beat of my heart sounds in my ears as I stare at the bit of blood on his face and wonder what the hell he's doing.

“Thanks,” I say because I don't know what else there is to say. Ty smiles and looks around like he isn't sure where to put me. The counter isn't an option, not with the clerk's corpse lying so close to it, and I can tell he isn't going to just stand me up somewhere, not with glass embedded in my feet.
You're not worth it.
I swallow hard as I remember his words. If he really believed that though, why is he bothering to help me? Why not just stand me up and leave it at that?

Ty turns towards the entrance and wades through the glass and out the front doors. Now there really are sirens in the distance and already, I can see the flash of blue and red lights. While he's glancing in that direction, I take a moment to pick at his shirt and check for injuries. When I don't find any, I give a sigh of relief. Whoever this man is, I owe him one, and I'd rather not see him hurt. Just when I think his strength is going to give out, he sets me down on the hood of a car and steps back, putting his hands on his hips.

“Thanks,” I say again and he smiles, flashing me dimples.

“No,” he says. “Thank you. If you hadn't attacked that guy, I wouldn't have been able to get the girl.” I shrug because I don't know what else to do with the praise.

“If you hadn't stuck around, I'd have been dead. You could've left through the back door, you know.”

“Never even crossed my mind,” he says, and I look at him, trying to decide if he's just full of himself or if he's being honest. I decide that it doesn't matter; either way, he stayed to help and that's what counts. Ty nibbles his lip ring and runs a hand through his hair while I struggle to find something to say back to him. I can't come up with anything and start to pull bits of glass from my skin. When Ty reaches out and takes my hand, I nearly fall off the hood. “Need some help?” he asks, and I stare at him like he's crazy. When his fingers reach down and start to pull shards out, his touch is gentle enough that I don't argue.

What is going on?
I wonder, but I don't have an answer for that. No answer at all.

I let the EMTs take a look at my cuts, but refuse a trip to the hospital. Instead, I go down to the station, sitting quietly in the back of a cop car with Ty McCabe. They want us to make a statement which is fine with me. I want the fuckers to fry, but I know I'm hoping for too much. More than likely, they'll get twenty years tops, ten with good behavior. I try to make myself feel better by imagining how much it would hurt to get punched by a guy with big biceps and knuckles glittering with a dozen rings.

When we get to the station, I see that Ty's friends are already there, sitting beside Lacey in the waiting area. She and I hug briefly and share a look that tells me how grateful she really is. She doesn't thank me which is fine because I didn't do it for her. I did it for me. I get so tired of seeing injustice and pain where there doesn't have to be any. It just bothers me.

I give my statement while the cops try to placate me, offering a trip to the hospital or a ride home, and practically force me to eat some stale cookies from their break room. They aren't suspicious about anything which is nice because I don't feel like explaining my anger to anyone, especially not about Guy Two. It's just there, boiling hot and angry. Fortunately, this time, the cops do their job of playing the good guys and release us after a few hours.

After we finish performing our civic duties, Lacey catches a ride home with her girlfriend who has the audacity to show up with Rick in the front seat of her car. Lacey's face shows this sort of desperate sorrow that I don't understand at all because I've never been in love with anyone before. She pushes it away as quick as it came and throws herself into the girl's arms with a sob. I don't judge her for any of it. I'm in no place to judge anyone.

I don't much feel like going home, so I sit down on the cement steps and put my head in my hands. I'm tired and sore and pissed off, but I'm grateful to be alive, and I don't know why. I had thought I didn't care. Guess that's easy to say when your life isn't hanging tenuously in the air, ready to snap as easily as a thread. Now that I've actually been threatened with losing it, I kind of want to keep it. I wish it was in better shape.

“Hi,” someone says, and I look up to see Ty standing next to me with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. He's got dimples again and despite the simple fact that I hate him, my stomach flutters in response. “My name is Ty McCabe.” He holds out his hand, and I see butterflies all over the back of it, tattooed in a swarm of color from his fingertips up his arm where they disappear under the sleeve of his black T-shirt. “It's nice to meet you,” he says, and I can see that he wants to start over with me. I figure we got off to a rocky start, so I give him another chance.
You're not worth it.
I swallow hard and try to remember that I was the one that called him a whore. All he really did was ask me to go dancing.

“Nice to meet you,” I say, reaching up and taking his hand in mine. “My name is Never Ross. Printed just like it sounds right across the top of my birth certificate.” The silver bangles on my arm clink against the gold ones on his.

“I like it,” Ty says, retracting his hand and fetching a cigarette from the front pocket of his jeans. He hands it to me, and I take it, pleased to see that it's a Marlboro Red, the same kind that I smoke. “Sounds exotic,” he tells me as he puts the cigarette between his pretty lips and lights it with a black lighter that he retrieves from a different pocket. His brown eyes are watching me with unmasked curiosity. “You were pretty fucking awesome back there,” he tells me as he hands over the lighter. I light my cigarette and unconsciously pocket it. Ty notices but doesn't say anything.

“Right back at you,” I say as I notice a sign prohibiting smoking within twenty feet of the entrance. I nod my chin at it and Ty and I move down the steps together. We pause on the sidewalk and stand in silence for several moments, watching one another smoke. The two cherries are the only source of light in this quiet spot, just two, little orange glows in the dark of night. No cars drive by and the only sounds we hear are from inside the police station. But at least I'm not alone. If I have to go home and be alone again, I might just break. “I don't much feel like being by myself,” I admit to Ty as I study the hard lines of his face. He's beautiful to look at, but he's also broken, bruised, and betrayed. No wonder I was so attracted to him. He's exactly the kind of guy I always go for. I wonder what he thinks of me. Obviously he was attracted to me, too, or he wouldn't have come across the bar to talk to me. I think about having sex with him and dismiss the idea. If he even wants to, then I'll feel twice as alone when he's gone. I admit this, too, not caring what he thinks of me for saying it. I kind of just want to be honest right now. My past has enough lies in it to drown me three times over. “And I don't want to have sex, I just want to be with someone.”

“Same here,” Ty says as he crushes his cigarette into the ashtray on top of a nearby garbage can. “Want to go to the beach?” I nod and copy his motion, putting out my cigarette before following him down the sidewalk. “I don't have a car, so we'll have to walk. Unless you have one?” he asks. I shake my head and pause to remove my heels. My feet hurt either way, so I might as well not even bother to wear them. The EMTs put bandages on me anyway, so I figure I won't be completely unprotected against the grimy streets.

“Nope,” I say as I examine my mangled shoes. The heel on one is broken and the other has a bit of blood on it. I feel sick. “I'm in the mood for walking anyway,” I say as I turn back and jog over to the garbage can. I shove the shoes inside, next to an empty bottle of liquor and a half eaten sandwich. Ty doesn't say anything, but he does smile.

“So,” he continues as I catch back up to him and fall into an easy stride. Neither of us seems to be in any hurry to get where we're going. It's all about the journey. “Tell me about yourself. Where do you come from? What do you do? What is it that made you want to fight back like that?” The pavement is cold against my bare toes, but in a good way, a way that makes me feel more awake. I like it. I stare down at them for a moment before answering. The red nail polish still looks good and isn't too chipped, despite my scuffle at the convenience store.

“What made
you
want to fight back?” I counter, unsure of how to answer his questions. Despite what he may think, they're all difficult ones for me, and I don't have any real answers to them. I look up at Ty's face, at the piercings in his nose and lip and eyebrows. The streetlights above them catch on the metal and make them shimmer like diamonds. He looks down at me, and I can see that he doesn't know either.

“I'm sorry for what I said to you,” he tells me, and I feel tears sting my eyes. I don't know why, but suddenly, they're just there. I look away and pretend that the cold is getting to me by tucking my hands under my armpits. “I'm the last person that should be judging anyone else.”

“Second to last,” I say, and dash my tears away before throwing a smile back at him. “And I'm sorry for calling you a whore.” He grimaces and the smile falls from his face for a moment. Ty bites his lip and spins the ring back and forth with his tongue.

“That's okay,” he says, and before I can argue, he explains himself. “Because I am one. Or I was.” I shake my head as we pause at the street corner and wait for the light to change. There are no cars, but we wait anyway.

“I sleep around a lot, too,” I admit, and have no idea why I'm spilling my guts to this guy. Maybe it's because he reminds me so much of myself. I reach into my coat and find the lighter and the box of cigarettes. I light up again and pass one to Ty. He takes it in his fingers but doesn't put it to his mouth.

“No, not like that,” he says as I tuck the lighter away, and we start across the street. “I worked as a whore.” Ty puts the cigarette between his lips but doesn't take a drag. It hangs limply from his frown, and I can see in his eyes that he's tortured by whatever it is that he's done. He looks as sick as I feel. “And not a very good one,” he tells me as we pass by brick apartment buildings that were once historic treasures but now just appear rundown. Very few windows glow with light. “For a couple hundred bucks, I would've given you what you wanted.” Ty inhales and holds the smoke in his lungs for a long time before he exhales in a cloud of white. “Or I would've. I don't do that anymore.”

I don't say anything to that. I don't know what to say. On one hand, I'm disgusted with him. I think things like,
How could he sell his body like that?
and
Doesn't he have any shame or dignity?,
but then I realize that we're just the same, me and him. I may not have ever taken money for sex, but I abuse it just the same.

“I have six sisters which is just as shitty as it sounds,” I say randomly, and Ty finally smiles again. He has a really nice smile. It lights up the dark almost as well as the streetlamps above us. “My mother is, like Lacey said, a belly dancer. She does shows during the farmers' market and teaches classes.”

“That's cool,” Ty says, but I cut him off.

“No, it's not. She could've made more money working at Mc-fucking-Donalds. I don't know how someone could be that selfish and still pretend they care, you know?” Ty laughs, and it sounds bitter and dry.

“I know what you mean,” he says as we pause outside a 24-hour coffee shop. “Want something?” he asks me, and I nod as this strange feeling takes over me. I'm hanging out with a guy with butterfly tattoos who worked as a hooker and blew me off at our first meeting. The same guy who tackled a person with a gun just to save me and has a smile with dimples. I'm making a friend. I smile.

“Coffee, black,” I say and Ty grins.

“Funny,” he says. “That's just the way I like mine.”