“Are you hungry?” she asks with a hopeful smile.
“Not really.” My smile’s forced, and my stomach clenches at the memory of what happened the last time we ate real food here.
“Oh, c’mon! It was one time!” She exclaims, seeing the look on my face. Oh yeah, that one time all three of us were puking for days following theincident. Right after Alex returned, Freya made dinner for us. I barely made it home before showing my car what mama had for dinner. That was the one time I wished Justin was there to suffer with us. Theonetime. But I guess he was busy fucking his longtime “wandering vagina,” as I call Ashley, his girlfriend (or ex, or fuck-buddy—who knows anymore) and her friends—yes, I judge them, sue me. From then on, Alex and I decided we would avoid Freya's cooking like the plague while trying not to tell her. I don't know how he avoids it, though, living in the same house with her.
“Do you have any of that matcha tea you’ve been talking about for a week left?” I try to stir the conversation away from her cooking, and it works. She brightens up.
“Yes, I do! Want some?” Her wavy brown hair bounces off her back while she jumps in excitement like a little kid. It's incredible how much she's changed since she met Alex; they both had so much healing to do, and they both seem so much happier now.
“Yes, please.” It’s very difficult to mess up a cup of tea, but I know enough to know she can manage it. I keep my fingers crossed. She fusses over the kettle and gorgeous tea set as I look around again. I still can’t believe how sophisticated Alex’s house is. It’s small but extremely cozy and well put together. When Freya got attacked—the first time—it was also the first time I ever stepped foot in his place. If I had to describe it, it’s the love child of West Elm and Pottery Barn. Even his dishes match. All of them. Meanwhile, I’ve never had two plates of the same color or style at my place. But I like it like that.
I try not to pay attention to Justin as he takes a seat on the couch, but the hatred radiating from him makes it impossible. His presence is imposing, and his scalding gaze is set on making sure I know it—he’s a bigger and meaner predator, intent on making sure I remember my place. As if I could ever forget how low on the food chain I am.
“Where is Alex?” I decide to ask Freya just to take my mind off certain unsafe topics.
“He’s in town. He got a new shipment for this Pontiac he’s working on.” Alex fixes vintage cars. Sometimes he buys, fixes, and sells them himself; sometimes, customers pay him to work on their vehicles. As far as I can tell, he makes good money. “He should be back soon.” She glares in Justin’s direction, and I can feel the holes he’s burning into my back with his heated stare. “I have a babysitter today, as you can see. Every time Alex leaves town, he sends someone. Every damn time.” She shakes her head and points at Justin. Ah, now his presence makes more sense. Alex is being an overprotective bear. Since his return, he’s barely let her out of his sight. He clearly trusts Justin a lot if he asked him to look after Freya. Alex worships the ground she walks on. “Justin, do you want some tea?” Freya calls over her shoulder, making me jump.
“Not in this company,” comes his rough reply.
“Justin!” Freya’s voice is like that of a mother scolding a rude child. I know she tries hard, and I do miss her, but I refuse to willingly put myself through this misery, especially after the shitty day I’ve had.
“Sorry, Frey, I just remembered that I have an—an appointment I need to go to.” I abruptly stand, grab my purse, and head to leave. My whole body feels overheated and tingly in the worst way.
“Kayla—” Freya’s voice drops; she’s clearly upset over my abrupt departure.
“It’s fine. I really don’t want to be late. Save my tea for another time, please—I like it cold, too.” I smile at her and run out, avoiding looking at the asshole whose ass is currently parked on the back of the couch. His face doesn’t look all that happy—I guess he was eager for the long evening of torture ahead.
My mind drifts off to the first time Justin was ever mean to me—the day things changed.
He used to smile at me when passing by as he did with every other woman he saw, and those rare smiles filled my teenage years with happiness. I don’t need to tell you that I tried to grab every single one of those and bottle them up so I could relive them later. Being a silly young girl, I didn’t realize it wasn’t real flirting—just his way of communicating with the world.
But one day, he’d changed.
One day, he was home on leave during his contract with the navy and got sent to jail for something that could have been easily avoided. Since then, his military career was over- I had heard that his initial contract ended before the arrest, but he was planning on reenlisting- That’s pretty much the moment I became public enemy number one, and the last time he looked at me like a person. That night. Mark was there, too; that was the last time I saw Justin before he went to jail. His trial was dealt with at lightspeed, and no amount of his wealthy family’s money was able to save him.
On that early morning when he reappeared in Little Hope, our fates were woven together into a pattern of hate. He’d just returned from jail, and I stupidly missed his handsome face. He was walking down Main Street, and I saw him from the windows of the diner. When he passed by, I rushed outside to say: “Hey, Justin! Welcome back home!” like the naïve fool I was.
He looked at me as if I were an insect on the ground and snarled: “The fuck do you need, trailer trash? Run the fuck along.”
I was crushed by the sudden hatred that poured from him. I didn’t know what to think or how to respond, so I just bit back tears and retreated inside. That was the beginning of the end.
Another time, he was walking down the street with a steaming cup of liquid, returning from one of his nightly escapades, I assumed, and I was on my way to start my shift at the diner. Passing me, he bumped into me on purpose, I could tell, spilling the scorching hot coffee all over my front. He didn’t even apologize, and I’d had enough. There, I decided to confront him for the first time and ask what his problem was. He gave me that look… I still remember it. Like I was… nothing and nobody, and all he wanted was to squash me under his boot. He snarled at me to get the fuck out of his way again. And I did. I got out of his way and have been ever since.
Not anymore, though. I’m Freya’s friend, and he has to learn to tolerate my presence. Besides that, I might be “trailer trash” by birth, but I’m trying to change how people see me, and I’m not planning on taking it from him any longer. He’s just going to have to suck it up, because I'm not going anywhere (at least, not yet), and I'm sticking around for Freya's sake. She doesn’t have many friends here, just like me. I’m tired of being an outcast. I honestly and truly am lonely. I know I’m not ugly. In fact, some have said I’m pretty. But the majority of guys around here seem to like girls who want to become a Stepford wife eventually—I could never. Of course, I get propositioned to be a hookup by the same guys. They like to get dirty like every other man—sometimes with the assumption they need to pay to play, if you get my meaning, as if I’d ever do what I watched my mother do for my entire childhood—but they don’t get that from me, either.
Plus, my mind just can’t seem to accept that Justin isn’t interested, so I can’t even consider anyone else seriously. Talk about needing a shrink. I might check myself into that rehab that Freya’s opening soon.
Thank God my car starts on the first try. To think of it, for the past month since it was towed, it always starts on the first try. And it doesn’t make that weird screeching noise anymore. How haven’t I noticed that before?Interesting.
I drive to my trailer but don’t get out of the car right away. I just want to be still for a moment. To get lost in the magic of the forest with unicorns and rainbows where shitty everyday problems and hate don’t exist. I’m secretly hoping that Frank will show up because I certainly could use a friendly face, but even he’s decided to check out tonight. Figures.
Understanding that fate isn’t on my side today—just like every other day—I rest my forehead on my steering wheel and think about what I’m still doing here and why in hell I’m paying for the sins of others. A sob escapes me. Then another. Soon, the levee breaks, and I’m sobbing full force, hugging my old, worn-out wheel.
When the sobs quiet, I wipe my face and walk into my home. My safe space where I don’t have to try to be liked by anyone—where I can just be me, and that’s enough.
ChapterNine
JUSTIN
