Page 25 of Drowning in the Deep
“How many people do you think die while talking on their phone every day?” I asked Sara, who resumed her seat in the chair next to me after she finished our refills.
“You mean, like, by walking out in front of a bus or something?” she asked, staring at me intently.
A laugh bubbled up inside me, making me hiccup as it launched out of my mouth. “No, no. No. Not that. I mean, when they’re in a car. Driving a car.”
“Oh. I don’t know. Probably none.” She shrugged and took another long swallow of her drink.
“What? Of course, a lot of ‘em have to because it’s so fucking stupid to drive and talk on the phone at the same time,” I argued.
“Nah, that’s not how the universe works,” she said, twirling her glass slightly as if to stir it up. “It’s never the asshole talking on the cell phone that dies. It’s always some innocent person, like a little kid playing on the sidewalk or some old granny crossing the street with her poodle.”
I opened my mouth to argue but figured she had a point. It did seem like it was always the innocent people getting shit on. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”
“Why do you ask?” She took another gulp of her drink, causing my eyes to go to the pitcher. We were gonna be out soon, and I didn’t think we had enough ingredients for more. I’d be sad if she drank it all. “Elisa?”
“Huh? Oh.” I needed to pay better attention. My mind was foggy already. How many drinks had I had? Four? Five? “Uh, so the guy that I’m kind of seeing answered the phone while he was driving, so that made me think about it. That’s all.”
“If he has hands-free, who gives a fuck?” she asked. “It’s about the same as talking to someone next to you.”
“True. I just got the impression it wasn’t, that’s all.” Now, she had me wondering if there was someone next to him in the vehicle. What if there was? What if it was another woman? That asshole!
“Hey, are you okay?” She leaned toward me, rocked a bit, and then leaned back. “Is this that same asshat I had to threaten to call the cops on the other day because he was tearing up your room and yelling at you? I don’t like that guy. He’s hot as fuck, but he’s mean to you. That doesn’t fly for me, girlfriend.” She gave me a stern look that let me know she meant every word of what she was saying.
I thought back to the morning she’d told Daemon to leave or else she was going to call the police. “Nope,” I lied. “Different guy.”
“Cool. I don’t like that Derrick or David or whatever the fuck his name is,” she said again, taking another drink. Her glass was almost empty.
I took a long sip of mine, trying to catch up with her. “Yeah, he’s a complicated guy,” I offered, not really wanting to get into Daemon’s life with her. It was remarkable that I’d lived with Sara for as long as I had, and she’d never caught on to what it was my father did for a living. It was better that way, of course. She didn’t need to know my father was the biggest mafia crime lord in all of Boston and that he was trying to infiltrate the Chicago syndicate. Nor did she need to know that the guy whose name she couldn’t remember and had threatened to call the cops on could’ve broken her in half and would have had to make zero effort to hide her body.
“Complicated or not, nobody should treat you the way he did, Elisa. You’re too amazing to be walked all over. You deserve so much more than some ass shouting at you and threatening to hurt you.” This time, she managed to reach all the way over and squeeze my arm. Since her glass was practically empty, nothing spilled.
Tears filled my eyes. “You’re so sweet, Sara. You’re my best friend. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.” We had a sappy exchange of droopy-lipped frowns that quickly changed to smiles as we reflected on how lucky we each were to have one another.
Sara started talking about some dude she’d met in a bar the other night, and I began to tune out, my thoughts returning to Daemon. Was he going to call me later? I sure hoped so. Even though it was true Sara’s concerns were valid, I knew that Daemon’s past had a lot to do with the way that he sometimes treated me. Like me, he had trouble trusting people, probably because both of us had asshole fathers. My scars were mostly on the inside, although I had a couple of marks on me that hadn’t quite healed from the last time Alexander La Rosa had manhandled me.
But I’d seen the scars on Daemon’s arm, and he’d told me about how his father had inflicted each of them upon him in an effort to make him learn some greater life lessons, something I could never comprehend. If I were ever in a position to have children, I’d never, ever hurt them in any way. Not physically, emotionally, or psychologically. Likewise, I’d never stand by and watch someone hurt my kids. I’d kill them first. Lillian hadn’t done anything to help her son—why not?
I knew my mother had tried with my father, to keep him from harming me. And for the most part, she’d kept him from physically hurting me. But he liked to operate in the shadows where even my mother couldn’t see him. It was how he could get away with the psychological torture and still sleep with her next to him at night.
“Anyway, he’s pretty hot, but I don’t know. I can’t quite decide whether I like Jerry or not,” she admitted with a shrug.
“Jerry Jacks?” I clarified, and she nodded. Not that I knew of any other Jerry she might be talking about. “He’s a nice guy. A little tame for you, though, isn’t he?”
She finished her drink and got up to grab the pitcher off the coffee table. I watched her, disappointment welling up inside of me as each drop of daiquiri fell into her glass. It was almost gone, and I wanted more.
Sara leaned over and topped me off, leaving only a tiny bit left in the bottom of the pitcher. I couldn’t decide if I should swallow this down quickly to get that last little bit or let it go and savor what I had. I took a long pull on my glass, still contemplating, as she resettled in her chair.
“He isn’t like the other guys I’ve dated, but sometimes that’s a good thing, right? I mean, he’s financially stable and has great opportunities to grow at the firm. The two of us could make a lot of money, since we’ll both be lawyers, which would provide a nice living for us and any kids we might have one day. I know he’s a little safe, but I do like him. But then there’s this other guy—”
“The one you met at the club,” I interjected, just to prove to both of us that I had been listening, even though I really hadn’t.
“Exactly,” she said with a nod. “He’s not safe at all. He’s got tattoos and piercings. Working at a motorcycle repair place doesn’t provide the same kind of income as being a lawyer, you know?”
“I bet it pays okay, though,” I offered, glad she’d said what his job was again because I hadn’t caught that the first time.
“Yeah, I’m sure it does. At least he has a job. That last guy I went out with—Mike—he didn’t even have one.” She shook her head. “Fuck. Why did you even let me date him?”
