She's avoiding me, I can tell.
Her bare feet dance over the kitchen tiles as she puts a few slices of bread into the toaster. She quickly rushes over to the refrigerator to look for some orange juice, which she haphazardly pours into a cup, before gulping it down. She presses the button to make the toast come up early and scrapes a layer of butter on each, before hurriedly munching it as she throws her knife into the sink.
She does all of this without making eye contact once.
“In a rush?” I ask, folding up my newspaper and placing it on the table.
She nods and looks at her feet. “I have to get to work in ten minutes.”
I stand up from my seat and walk over to her. “Are you okay?”
She finishes her toast and heads over to the opposite side of the room to pick up her purse. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”
I’m less than convinced. “I mean after last night, are you okay?”
She stops rummaging through her bag long enough to blush. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I don’t usually let my emotions get the best of me like that.”
I follow her to the counter where she’s standing, determined to get some eye contact. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
She shrugs and continues to search her bag. “Well, thanks, for um…being there, I guess. But it won’t happen again.”
I frown. “You don’t like crying, do you?”
“Who does?” she mutters, taking out some make up stuff.
“It’s good for you, you know. Crying always makes people feel better.” She shrugs. “I can see you don’t do it much.”
She shakes her head vigorously and applies some lipstick. “Never, if possible.”
I should have expected that response. To me, last night was actually a good thing. No, no, I’m not some heartless bastard who rejoices in the misery of crying women, I just think it was a good opportunity for me to see a different, more vulnerable side to Cat. After all, all she ever represents to the world is tough-girl Cat, who’s wonderful, but it’s nice to know she's got strong emotions and problems, just like the rest of us. And I know it sounds kind of psychotic, but I feel kind of privileged to have comforted her; kinda like it's brought us close together. I doubt she’s let many people see that side of her. It either shows she really needed someone to talk to, or she trusts me. For my ego, I’ll go for the latter.
“Perhaps you should. Then you wouldn’t keep so many things bottled up all the time.”
She quickly brushes on some powder that hides her freckles in a cloud of dust. “Thanks, Dr Freud. Next time I want a psychiatric analysis I’ll know who to call.”
“Cat,” I groan. She’s making this difficult. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
She snaps her mirror shut. “I am, so please worry about someone worthwhile.”
“You are worthwhile, Cat,” I murmur softly. I hate it when she gets so tough on herself. Girls are always like that but usually I just kiss them or something to make them feel better, but it’s not like I can do that with Cat. “You make it real hard for someone to be nice to you, you know that?”
She nods and returns the things to her bag. “I’m not a nice person and I don’t expect the people around me to be either.”
I grin. “You are nice, you just don’t want to admit it.”
She snorts. “I think everyone in this house would benefit from being a lot less nice.”
I smile. This girl is crazy, yet amusing. “So, what you’re saying is you’d like it better if I was horrible to you?”
For the first time that morning, she looks me square in the eye. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
I frown and open my mouth to question what she means. Before I can utter a word, she slips on her shoes, tosses a ‘Bye’, over her shoulder and her heels hastily clatter out of the house. I have the distinct feeling the last part of our conversation was not as light-hearted as I thought it was. What does she mean she wishes I wasn’t so nice to her? It as though she wants to hate me. Why on earth would she want that?
Trace shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He sits down at the seat opposite me. “Hey.”
I pour myself some cereal before sliding the box towards him. “Hey.”
“Was that Cat I heard leaving?”
I take a spoonful and nod. “She had work.”
“Damn,” he mutters. “I wanted to catch her before she left, because I didn’t get a chance to last night.”
“Chance to what?”
“Talk to her.”
I frown. “About what?”
Guilty eyes meet mine. “Oh, nothing, just, um…how she’s finding her room.”
Oh, a real pressing issue. That‘s probably not it, but I remind myself not to put myself in other peoples business and don‘t ask more. “Well, she was in a hurry.”
Trace nods and begins to eat. I scoop my bowl’s contents into the trash and head towards the phone. “Who you calling?” he asks.
I glance at him over my shoulder. “Oh, Natasha. I haven’t seen her for a few days, what with moving Cat and all.”
Trace looks up from his cereal at the mention of Natasha. “Are you spending the day with her?”
I shrug and begin to dial the numbers. “I’ll probably invite her round to stay for a few days.”
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Trace murmurs, staring deep into his bowl of soggy cereal.
I hang up the phone. “What do you mean?” I ask, my brows furrowing.
He glances up from his food. “I just think it’s a little…” he trails off. I hate it when people do that, it’s so infuriating.
Which is why I roll my eyes. “Spit it out, Trace.”
He shrugs. “Just a bit…inconsiderate, I guess.”
Inconsiderate? “To who?”
He suddenly looks guilty, as though he’s said something he shouldn't have. “To, um…me.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You?”
He nods. “Yeah, I mean…you see Natasha all the time.”
I shake a finger at him. “Technically, I see you all the time and don’t see Natasha as much as I should.” I laugh, but it quickly turns to a frown. “Trace, if you don’t like Natasha why don’t you just say it?”
“I do like her, I just…”
There he goes trailing off again. “Trace, I don’t know what your problem is with Natasha, but I really hope you get over it. You’re going to be seeing her around for a while.” My voice lightens. “After all, who else could I date, right?”
Trace suddenly slams his fist onto the table, sending me jumping a mile. “Jesus Justin! You’re so fucking blind!”
And with that, he storms out of the room and I can hear the harsh slam of his bedroom door a few seconds later. What in hell has gotten into my two new roomies this morning? One wishes I hated her, the other is accusing me of…actually, I don’t even know what I’ve done to put Trace in a pissy mood. Maybe he thinks I’m spending too much time with Natasha. No, that can’t be it. Trace and I have this unspoken agreement that we’ll never sink to the level of “You’re not paying enough attention to me!”, so why he’d all of a sudden claim that Natasha and I were too close seems ridiculous to me.
I brush it off and redial Natasha. “Hello?”
“Hey, Sexy legs.”
She giggles. “That has to be the worst nickname you’ve ever come up with. Including JT.”
I laugh. “Perhaps. How are you today, beautiful?”
“Fine. You?”
“I’m okay, but I really need to leave this house.”
“Why?”
“Cat’s confusing me, and Trace is just pissing me off,” I mutter, pinching the skin between my eyes.
“Aw, poor baby. Wanna come over?”
I grin. “Please. I need your sexual healing.”
“Justin, if I was there, you’d be getting a big massive slap,” she says, but I can tell she’s smiling.
“I’ll see you in a half an hour, okay?”
“Sure. Later, sweetie.”
“Bye.”
I hang up the phone and glance up the stairs. Part of me wants to go and ask Trace what is going on, but I know he’ll still be cooling off, so I decide against it and get ready to go to Natasha’s.
After all the shit that’s gone down in this house in just one morning, I don’t see myself coming back tonight.
---------------------
Okay, this is bad.
No, The Brady Bunch Reunion Show was bad, this is catastrophic. Everyday something else happens between Justin and I that drags me deeper into this unrequited love cycle. But after my little performance last night, I’m emotionally attached, which quite frankly means I’m fucked. I’ve let him see that side of me, the side that cries at the end of Sleepless in Seattle and hopes to one day get married in a fairy tale-esque setting, that is my point of no return. He’s seen my cry. I wasn’t lying when I said I try to never cry. In fact, before I met Justin, I hadn’t cried in about seven months and even then it was just because it was that time of the month and my cookies had burned.
But after meeting him, it’s been like my emotions have been dragged onto some crazy roller coaster that I have no control over. Personally, I liked me better before. I really shocked him when I said I’d rather he wasn’t so nice to me. Well of course I wish I could hate him, then I wouldn’t be in this whirlwind of love. I could just refer to him as, ‘the bastard that I have to live with’, rather than, ‘the man who has turned my world and emotions upside down’.
But, of course, when I tried to tell Justin this, he didn’t understand. I doubt he ever will. The odds are not in my favor. It seems extremely likely it’s going to be the lonely life for me.
With this cheerful thought in my mind, I toss my keys onto my desk and sink down onto my chair, running a hand through my boring hair. I long for the day I wake up and my hair will be gorgeous and not frizzy, like, oh, I don’t know, Natasha’s.
“Cheer up, it may never happen,” a thick southern accent interrupts my thoughts.
I hate that phrase, but with that accent? It’s so forgivable. “Hey Sean,” I mumble, my head still leaning against the back of the seat, my eyes closed.
“Hey Cat. Good weekend?”
I open my eyes to see Sean casually leaning against the wall of our cubicle, a messenger bag strapped over his shoulders and a zip-up hoodie hugging his slightly muscular frame. That’s the beauty of Sean; one day he’ll be wearing a hideously expensive Armani suit, the next he’ll be in jeans and a t-shirt. I assure you, both styles are breathtaking. “Yeah, it was okay.”
He takes a sip of coffee from his Starbucks carton cup. “What did you do?”
I shrug. “Moved house.”
He laughs. “Ah, not much then?”
I smile and shake my head. “What you got behind your back?” I ask, referring to the hand that’s hidden from my sight.
He smiles and puts his hand in front of me. “For you.”
I smile bashfully and accept the cup. “Thank you.”
“And don’t worry, it’s not coffee.”
I blush. “Is it…”
He nods and rolls his eyes. “Yes Cat, I did get you hot chocolate with extra cream.”
I giggle. “Thank you. It’s so sweet of you to remember.” And it really is, otherwise I wouldn’t have resorted to the stupid phrase, ‘it’s so sweet of you…’ Sean learnt in our second week of working together that, although I like coffee just as much as the next person, you can never beat a good cup of hot chocolate. Immature? Unsophisticated? Unhealthy? Yes, but totally enjoyable.
He takes off his bag and shrugs off the hoodie. “So, how are you finding your new place?”
I shrug and take a sip of my drink. “It’s going…okay, so far.”
He raises an eyebrow and hangs his jacket over the back of his chair. “Just okay?”
I pause, wondering whether to divulge such information to him. “I’m living with some male friends of mine, and I’m just finding some aspects of it a little…difficult.”
He nods sympathetically. “Ex-boyfriend?”
Ha. I bite back the, ‘I wish’, which is forming on my tongue. “No, not exactly.”
He sits down and sends me a sly look. “You keep your secrets, Miss Saunders. I know all about you and your numerous, ‘male friends’.”
I laugh. “I can’t keep them a secret, can I?”
He shakes his head as he grins and turns his computer on. “By the way, I got the chemical article finished.”
“Oh,” I lean forward and take the pieces of paper from his hands, our skin touching momentarily. “How did it go?”
He shrugs. “I’m not like you. I can’t spin out a killer article in two seconds. It took me the whole weekend, and I still don’t have a clue what an atom is.”
I laugh and blush slightly at his compliment. “Well, it’s the finished product which matters.” I leaf my way through the pages. “This looks good, though.”
“Thanks,” he says, typing his password into the computer. “You know,” he begins, leaning forward to me. “I was thinking you and me could tackle that feature on abortion that Mr Karter’s been talking about.”
I frown, before memory serves. It’s some big deal in the office because Mr Karter’s chosen such a controversial subject which is bound to cause a stir. Whoever writes it, and depending on how well it’s written, is going to get a lot of attention and perhaps respect. I had considered it, but it seemed like an awful lot to handle after only being a full time worker for two months or so.
“It would be risky, but I think together we’d do a great article.”
We probably could. Sean’s a very talented writer, and I’m…okay, I guess. “I’ll think about it.”
“Great,” he says, spinning back to his screen.
Suddenly, my cell phone starts to ring. I quickly pick it up, wanting to hush the noise and not attract any attention as Sean smirks at me knowingly. “Hello?” I whisper.
“Cat, what the hell are you doing?”
I roll my eyes. “Trace, I’m working!”
“Oh, sorry,” he replies. “I was just wondering if we could meet up for lunch.”
I frown. “Um, why?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“About what?”
There’s a silence on the other end. “I think you know what, Cat,” replies a dark voice.
“Trace, it’s first thing on a Monday morning. I don’t want to play a guessing game.”
I can almost see the roll of his eyes. “Justin, for goodness sake!”
I freeze. “Trace, is he there? What if he hears you?!”
“Don’t worry, he’s…um…out,” his voice fades to a guilty whimper.
“He’s at Natasha’s, isn’t he?” I say quietly.
There’s another silence. “I’m sorry, Cat.”
“It’s okay,” I whisper. I feel as though someone’s ripped my heart out from my chest and is playing basketball with it, but hey, that’s "okay".
Trace sighs. “See, Cat? This is why we have to talk.”
I nod. “Okay, I’ll meet you at that little diner near the store at one.”
“Great, thanks, Cutie.”
I giggle. “No problem, Tempt.”
“See you at one.”
“Later.”
I snap my cell phone shut and throw it onto the desk. I already know what Trace is going to say to me. He’ll go on and on about what a great girl I am and how Justin thinks that too, but it’s just not meant to be, bla, bla. I know he’s right. I should be doing everything in my power to stop thinking about Justin this way, but I seem to have no control over my heart, and that’s something I don’t like. I like being in control. I like being shielded from people. I like being unexposed.
“Hey, Cat.”
My head snaps up to look at Sean, who‘s standing up and presumably on the way to the editor to give him his article. “Yeah?”
“Are you busy Friday?”
My brows furrow. “Um, no, don’t think so. Why?”
He grins cheekily. “No reason, I was just wondering.”
I chuckle at his weirdness before turning back to my computer screen. I’ll overanalyze what Sean said later, right now I have to concentrate what I’m going to say to Trace at lunch.
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