CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

 

Trixie floated at the threshold between her bathroom and bedroom, brushing her freshly washed hair, still damp like a dishtowel. Her face was made up just enough to accent her feminine features. Christopher sat at the edge of her bed, digging his teeth into his cuticles.

She studied the white wall across from her bed, barren aside from a tacked-up, shoplifted poster of The Smiths—a shot of the boys in their prime, lounging in front of the Salford Lads Club—and a naked Wishnik troll strung up by its purple hair, showing off all of its anatomically aberrant glory.

“So Trix…who’s Thomas?”

Trixie dropped her brush. It made a soft thud on the bedroom floor.

Did Christopher really just ask what she thought he had? Was that a knowing wink in his voice? Maybe all of the subtle clues were finally starting to form into a Sherlock moment for him, a seed in his brain blossoming into a possible flower. Trixie knew it was only a matter of time until The Truth became a billboard plastered across her forehead. She just wished she possessed the power to postpone the inevitable ruin of her relationship, or the strength to be honest with him and hope for the least amount of agony. Even though their relationship—if it could be called that—was still in its infancy, after just a few short weeks she felt she owed Christopher at least that much. There had been a few close calls at being brave enough to spill the beans, but her chicken feathers always started flapping whenever an opportune moment presented itself.

She sat next to Christopher, leaned down and played with her toes as a way of avoiding direct eye contact. She looked up toward the wall and saw that Federico had somehow managed to curl himself up on a lone shelf that had no convenient cat access.

“What are you talking about, Chris? Thomas who?” Her voice cracked uncontrollably. She coughed and cleared her throat, buying her at least a few more seconds to think.

Things needed to stay the same. They just couldn’t change. It would murder all of the positive points she had built up since the night of their first kiss. She couldn’t lose Christopher now. He had become her oxygen, her reason to get up in the morning and feel worthy. How could something so wonderful shift into something so stressful in a matter of seconds?

“I was, uh, looking in your dresser when you were showering.”

“What? Why would you do that?” she asked, upset. Snooping was way off limits in this apartment. Who knows what he could have seen? What the hell was he thinking?

 “Sorry. Just wanted to see if you had any gum or whatever. But I saw a picture of some kid in there. It was sitting on top of a notebook. ‘Thomas’ was written on the back, so by some difficult deduction I figured that had to be his name. Weird that it was crossed out, though.”

Her stare burned through him.

“Geez, Trix, I really am sorry.”

Trixie turned away. She didn’t want to cause a big stink. It was far too early in the game for them to be fighting about something so stupid. But was it really stupid, or was she going to let him off the hook because she felt even the smallest confrontation could chink away at the shale of their relationship? Trixie wondered what kind of person goes fingering through someone’s drawers for gum, but she needed to remain calm.

Deep, meditative breaths.

It was nothing. Only a stupid mistake. Christopher was a guy, and guys never understood the magnitude of their actions, especially when it came to girls and their private matters. Yelling at him about it wasn’t going to help the situation.

Trixie allowed herself a sideways glance. Christopher’s apologetic guilt stretched his face into a crescent moon. She felt slight, temporary relief. Maybe he knew nothing at all. Maybe his intentions were pure and real. This was just an innocent question, and he didn’t seem like the type to be a good liar.

But then one word from his apology suddenly appeared in front of her in block letters.

Notebook.

Notebook meant diary, and diary meant the spilling of all of her scrawled secrets onto the floor in front of her. She could have sworn she had locked the diary away in her safety box. The situation had now escalated to Code Purple: Worse Than She Ever Could Have Possibly Imagined.

Trixie knew exactly what picture he was talking about, of course. Taken when she was still that lost and confused little boy who begrudgingly went by the name of Thomas. Nine years old. A perfectly posed soccer picture during a stint with the YMCA. The Sweetville Red Deer. A shiny burgundy jersey and black shorts. Shin guards with Velcro that barely stayed stuck together. Scuffed and muddy cleats that had left uncountable puncture holes in the field. A rice-bowl haircut and an adorably goofy smile. The seeds of a young man who would never exist.

She cursed herself for keeping that ridiculous picture, the only physical remnant of her former life. She should have burned it long ago, completely rid herself of all ties to the past. She made a mental note to install a lock on her dresser in case Christopher might have another hankering for gum in the future. She hoped that she would still have the option.

“You didn’t open the notebook, did you?” Trixie asked, still trying to structure a passable poker face before turning around. She got up from the bed and approached her Smiths poster, praying to the visage of Morrissey for poetic advice. His handsome face could only offer her a lyric about all men having secrets. Trixie supposed that sentiment applied to all women as well. It sure as hell did to her. Here was her secret, and she should let it be known.

“No. No. Of course not. I know better than to stick my nose into a lady’s business. I’d never invade your privacy. Well, not any more than I already did.” Christopher laughed.

She felt the comfort of a crisis averted. Her chest relaxed and she turned around to face him. His eyes were freshly polished marbles.

“I didn’t know you were into writing, though,” he said. “You ever work on anything else besides the diary?”

“No, not really. I tried a little more when I was younger, but to be honest I haven’t had a lot of time to write much recently. Even in the diary.”

Not true. She had been writing about him, more than could be considered healthy. It would have been terrible enough if he happened to read any of the recent mortifying moments where she had been gushing about how amazing she thought he was. It would have at least been a blessing if he hadn’t managed to venture beyond that. If he had seen any info about the big T, this would not be such a tranquil conversation.

Another scare surged through her body. She worried that Christopher might have continued his search for gum in her jewelry box. Kast’s letter was still folded up inside. She had read the letter only once, the same night he had mysteriously appeared in her house with the Withering Wyldes, and filed it away. The temptation of his offer, however, had never left her mind. She couldn’t remember if she had locked the jewelry box either. It was frustrating beyond belief that she required so many keys and combinations in her life.

“You know how it is,” she said. “Gotta pay the bills. It was mostly some pretty bad poems and attempts at stupid little stories that never really seemed to work out.”

Christopher hopped off the bed and closed the distance between the two of them, sliding his arms around her waist.

“Aw, I bet they weren’t as bad as you think. We’re always our own worst critics, right? I’ve been dying to make a short film or something, but I have no idea where to even start on a script. Doesn’t help that I’m terrible at writing. Or that I can’t afford the camera equipment. You ever try writing a screenplay or anything like that?”

She shook her head. “I guess I’m just better at writing out my inner demons privately and truthfully. Maybe I’ve had enough crazy things happen in my life that I don’t need to fictionalize them.”

“Fair enough.” He nodded, and a brief moment of awkward silence passed. His lips were in the perfect position to press against her forehead, so he let the magnetism take control. “Anyway, sorry again about getting into your stuff. I can’t apologize enough. I owe you some flowers or something.”

“Add some chocolates to that and consider yourself forgiven.” Trixie pouted, then smiled.

“Done. But yeah, I was just curious who that kid was. He kinda looks like you. You got a little brother you haven’t told me about?”

“Um…no.” She paused, begging her mind for a brilliant excuse. This was something she had become an expert at. When a woman could fill volumes with her secrets, fabrications were a genuine requirement. “Thomas was my, uh, cousin. He passed away a few years ago. I don’t really like to talk about that. It’s just too—”

“Shit. I’m so sorry, babe. I had no idea.” Christopher placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging them with a marching cadence. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool. Just know I’m always here if you ever want to talk. About anything.”

His mini-speech was so simple and comforting that any outside listener would argue it had to have been scripted. But no, Trixie had learned over the last few weeks that this was just Christopher’s way of showing he was a genuine, caring person. Simple and effective, whether intended or not. A questionable superhero, this one. Flowing capes, heroic tendencies, muscles bursting from gaudy spandex, these did not apply to Mr. Christopher Faith. However, he most certainly did rescue her from the villainous clutches of the single life. His romantic appeal was gut-tingling enough to allow him to cross over into Ultimate Boyfriend territory. She hoped it was not just because the relationship was new. She also thought Christopher should be careful for what he wished for. Trixie felt she had more baggage than the average girl, more than Christopher deserved to deal with.

She felt horrible about withholding The Truth from him. Again. And this time she had outright lied. How many lies were enough to keep her skeletons safe? How many versions of her past had to die before they came back as ghouls prepared to rip off her flesh and expose her raw innards?

Christopher kissed the side of her neck, just below her jaw. Guilt-ridden goose pimples made the translucent hairs on her arm stand at attention. Strands of her damp hair clung to her cheek. More than ever, she was relieved she had not been born with a prominent Adam’s apple. A tracheal shave would never have been an affordable option. Unless, maybe, that was something included in Kast’s surgical plans?

Trixie released herself from his embrace, flattened her body onto her bed and sprawled her limbs out. She stared at the ceiling, trying to summon some deeply repressed psychic power that would cause a spiraling helicopter to crash though it. Something, anything to get her out of this mess.

“Chris?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“You really mean what you said?”

“I don’t just throw promises around. At least not on purpose.” He cracked a smile and joined her on the bed, straddling his yardstick body around her waist, hovering over her like a protective shield.

“Okay.” She fiddled with his belt loops, fitting her thumbs through them and tugging them tightly.

“Why?”

A few moments of silence. Christopher was a patient boy.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

* * *

Of course, as usual, Trixie’s attempt at honesty failed miserably. After more prolonged reticence that was wearing out its welcome, she opted for a distraction instead, caressing Christopher’s crotch without much warning, pawing at it like a professional until he grew to full size. This was a quick process. One booming success of a blowjob later, she was sure he would have forgotten all about her need to blurt out The Truth. A narrow escape.

She snuggled up to him, slid her fingers up his shirt, scratched at him like a playful kitten, and twirled his light, almost invisible chest hairs.

“So, yeah, that was pretty awesome,” he said after recovering from his stellar orgasm, a smirk stretching across his face. His half-flaccid penis was now tucked back into his underwear. “No complaints here, as usual. Far be it from me to refuse such a generous gift. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, though, what exactly was it you were about to tell me beforehand?”

Trixie’s brain melted into nacho cheese.

“Oh, nothing.”

“Seriously, I wasn’t kidding around earlier. I want you to feel comfortable telling me whatever. In fact, I’ve gotta be honest. I wish you’d open up a little more. Not that being a mystery’s a bad thing, but, well, you know. Gotta dish out a few clues every now and then.”

Trixie turned her gaze back up to her popcorn ceiling, white and empty save for an adventurous daddy longlegs. Federico perked up at the edge of the bed and froze into a comical statue. The cat watched the arachnid creep and crawl, likely trying to work out a way to chase and catch it.

“It takes a while to get to know me.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” he said. “And it’s been worth every excruciating moment.” Trixie socked him in the shoulder. He winced in pretend pain.

“It’s just…” Again, she had to think on her tippy-toes, search into the safety deposit box of her mind where she had stored away more than a few fibs over the years. “Well, you know how I haven’t been comfortable enough to let you see me fully naked yet?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I wasn’t totally straight with you when I said I was still a virgin.”

“Oh. That’s all? I kind of figured you weren’t.”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” She geared up to give him another light beating. Christopher held up his palms in surrender.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Hey, I’m no angel either. It’s just that a special, beautiful girl like you has probably had to beat the guys off with a big stick. I’d be really surprised if you hadn’t reciprocated with at least a select few.”

“Hmm.” Trixie tried to hide her grimace. She surrendered her silly fists and ran her fingers through his hair, pulled it closer to her face, relishing in its mandarin scent. “Nice save.”

“I’m not going to lie. I really, really want to take things further with you. I think about it all the time. Just want to be clear about that. But I’m cool with waiting until the time’s right for you. I totally respect your comfort zone. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Trixie was in awe of these words. She wondered if he was wearing a wire, if someone was feeding him these flawless lines. She couldn’t believe she was graced with such a sweetheart, a guy who didn’t fall prey to male cliché. Hell, she was just pleased to have someone who put up with her.

“It’s more than just that, though,” she said. “I was…I was kind of abused when I was younger. I’m not ready to get into the details yet. Maybe someday. But that’s why I’m so freaked about totally sharing my body. It…it wasn’t a willing virginity loss.”

Trixie believed this to be the worst lie she had concocted thus far. Though it was technically not a lie, just slightly tampered truth. At the very least, it bought her more time until she could come clean for real.

Christopher’s face turned white. His eyes reddened and dampened. He remained mute, took her in his arms, clutched her hand. “Trix…I’m…I’m really…I didn’t…” There were no words that could have prepared him for this revelation, nothing that could come even close to comforting her, and it was obvious that he quit trying to search for a solution. He cradled her, a force field made of flesh, the two of them against the world.

“It’s okay. You couldn’t have known. I can’t expect you to read my mind. Just keep holding me for a while. Don’t let go. Please.”

Trixie adhered herself tightly to his torso. He squeezed back, and she wished she could tell him The Truth. But her mouth couldn’t form the words.

She studied his breaths. After a few moments his pattern became calm and steady. The CD changer made shifting and clicking sounds before “It Makes No Difference” by The Darling Buds began to shimmer in the background. Trixie changed the subject and asked, “What are you doing tomorrow?” The mundane, the banal was all that could save the day now.

“Gotta pick up a couple of extra shifts at Mad Mario’s. One of the drivers quit yesterday.”

“Bummer.”

“Yeah. Way too many flakes at that place. I’m free Wednesday, though. Maybe I can stop by Video Drones and bring over some questionable cinema.”

Trixie allowed a tiny burst of fierce laughter to escape. “No good. I’m working graveyard at Audrey’s again. What about Friday? Can we go out and see a movie or something?”

“Shit. I need to go visit my cousin on Friday.”

“That weird cousin who seems to call every time I come over to your place?”

“The one and only.”

Trixie’s eyes were morphing into those of a jilted puppy dog.

“But,” Christopher continued, “that’s during the day. Do you want to come meet him? I think you’d like him, actually. We can go catch something after. I think The Crying Game is on second run at the Livingston. Nominated for a shit-ton of awards I guess, but I don’t really care about that stuff. My brother said there’s some crazy twist in it, but he didn’t want to spoil it for me.”

Trixie felt like a swarm of centipedes was scurrying down her spine. “Nah. Stacey at work said that one was no good. Let’s skip it. I think there’s a Twilight Zone marathon on that night, though.”

“Hey, works for me. Hopefully they’ll show ‘The Lonely.’ That one’s my favorite.”

Relief. Sweet, soothing relief after far too many hours of a tiring juggler’s performance. Trixie knew her circus act was only becoming more difficult with every new flying knife she dodged. But Christopher was worth every tiny ulcer she earned from her deception.