Even at Your Darkest Read online

  She turns then and slides down the length of the door until she’s sitting on the floor. She doesn’t look up at any point, so she still hasn’t noticed me standing here and I still haven’t seen her face. Wow. She must be smashed if she can’t see me. It’s not like I’m small.

  I watch in mild curiosity as she pulls off her boots, one by one. On the second one, she hisses as she maneuvers it off. I can’t stop myself from looking at the swelling around her ankle. No... it’s that girl? I clear my throat, letting my presence be known.

  She whips her gaze up to meet mine and everything freezes. It is her. The girl from this morning who fell over one of my boxes. She’s my new neighbor. Her gaze is wide as her eyes dart around the space, anywhere but at me. But she doesn’t look drunk or anything, just tired—exhausted actually. It’s there behind her eyes, absolute resignation. The same sense of submission I got from her earlier is present here now. But not submission in a sexual way, although that would be something. This is more like submission to life. Though she looks different than she did this morning, with bright red lips and over-exaggerated eyelashes. It’s a mask though, I can feel it. I know better than anyone about wearing a mask and hiding the truth.

  She blinks in rapid succession before grabbing at the purse she dropped when she sat and pulling herself into a standing position. Again, I don’t offer to help. I tell myself I’m doing her a favor by standing idly by. Everyone should learn not to depend on other people. You can’t rely on anyone but yourself. It’s a harsh view to have, but it’s one that keeps me going. It doesn’t stop the pit of guilt hitting me again when I hear the small yelp come from her as she leans on her foot.

  “I’m sorry if I woke you up,” she says, before turning to face her own door again.

  She twists at her key again and attempts to push the door. Three more bangs on it and it finally flies open, taking her with it. She stumbles but doesn't fall this time.

  “Holy crap,” she curses, hopping onto her good foot.

  “You should probably go to the emergency room with that ankle,” I say, then turn to head back inside.

  “You should probably stop leaving your shit in places people can fall over it,” she mutters quietly, but loud enough for me to hear.

  I turn back, my eyebrow arching. “What was that?”

  She pales, stepping back a little and gripping the door. I step out into the corridor, then take another step toward her. She takes one back.

  “It was nothing,” she rushes out.

  I smirk. “It was definitely something, sweetheart,” I take another step so I’m practically in the threshold of her apartment now. “Don’t be shy.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, practically standing behind her door now.

  I step inside, stopping so I’m directly in front of her. Her head is low, eyes level with my chest but directly facing the floor.

  “What for?” I ask.

  She doesn’t really have anything to apologize for. I did leave my box in a stupid place, and then I was an asshole when she actually hurt herself on it. But she never chewed me out like any normal person would. I’d watched her fall, waiting for the anger, but it dissolved almost instantly. The same is happening here. It makes me curious, and honestly, it pisses me off.

  She shakes her head and moves back, not answering my question. We’re both in her apartment now so I breeze by her and into the kitchen. Hers is the same layout as mine, only she has attempted to make it homelier with curtains and cushions and shit. I open the door of her freezer and find ice cubes in the bottom tray. I listen as she limps in behind me.

  “What are you doing?” She asks, though it’s not said with malice or anger. It’s just confusion. Again, this pisses me off. She should be furious that an asshole like me is just strolling through her apartment. She should at least be a little concerned. I could be here to hurt her for all she knows.

  “Well, if you’re not going to go to the ER, then you need to at least attempt to make it better,” I grab a small towel from the kitchen counter and wrap the ice in it. “Now sit.”

  She does as she’s told, slumping down on the pale-green couch. I perch myself on the coffee table in front of her and lift her leg. She winces as I press the ice against the swollen skin. She leans back, knocking her purse off the seat next to her.

  “Oh, for fuc—” She cuts herself off and reaches forward, but I still her with my hand still on her leg.

  “I’ll get it,” I grunt, then reach down and pick up what she dropped.

  Some of her clothes have spilled out, so I grab them all and throw them onto the couch beside her. I look at them, noticing they’re the clothes she had on earlier.

  Has she been out all this time?

  None of my business. I stand, placing her foot onto the coffee table where I’ve just been sitting. “Keep that ice on and keep it elevated.”

  I leave then, not bothering to look back when I hear her thank me. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking. I should have just left her alone, but the guilt was too much, and I had to do something. She obviously doesn’t have looking after herself as a priority otherwise she would have gone to see a doctor about it instead of making it worse and going out all night instead.

  I have difficulty shutting her door, but I finally make it back to my own apartment. I strip off and drop myself in bed. Nolan is meeting me at the shop early, so I need to try to get some more sleep in.

  Layton

  You have got to be kidding me.

  This is not happening.

  I might lose it. I might finally snap and hurl myself from this building. Any minute now. I mean, who would actually care? Vinny probably, because then who could he get to cover all the shifts that McKenna bails on? Maybe Karl, too. No-one of any real importance, then.

  I groan loudly, then unplug the coffee maker. It has officially given me my last cup of semi-okay coffee. I empty the water, then pull the stupid thing off the counter. The garbage chute is broken again, so I slip on my flip flops and head out of the apartment. I spare a nervous glance at the apartment opposite, then quickly rush away down the stairs and out to the dumpsters. I haven’t spoken to him since he pushed his way in a couple of weeks ago, but that’s because I’ve been actively avoiding/ignoring him. It helps that I work extremely unsociable hours. On the occasion we have been leaving at the same time, or arriving home at the same time, I’ve been lucky enough to largely be able to duck out of sight or have waited until he’s out of sight. The times where I’m stuck with him, like two days ago on the stairs, I've just ignored his entire existence. It’s pathetic, I know, but he’s so intense. The way he looks right through me, unapologetically, and all knowing. I can’t deal with that. I don’t even know the guy.

  I half expected to see him the next day, but I was asked to work a little longer by Karl, meaning I had to go straight from the store to the club again. By the time I got home, there were zero signs of life and the sun was starting to come up. I finally have a day off now though, and I plan to spend it making something beautiful. I have a big collection of things I’ve made over the years, all of them folded perfectly into boxes I’ve stored under my bed. I don’t know why I keep adding to them, when I’ll never do anything with them. It’s a habit I can’t kick, but I’m excited to add to it again today; just as soon as I’ve given the coffee maker the burial it deserves. I toss the machine into the nearest dumpster and head back toward the building with only the slightest sigh of grief. I barely have a foot through the door when I hear them. Goddamnit.

  “Hey, Ruby!”

  The problem with being a stripper in a crappy little town is every small-time sleazebag knows you, well your 'persona' anyway. Because of this, they think it’s okay to shout you in public. I could ignore him, claim complete ignorance, but if that got back to Liquid then I’d have problems. Vinny doesn’t like getting complaints about his girls, so we’re supposed to act all nice if we see customers outside. In return, they make sure the customers know they ca
n’t touch us upon fear of death. Which I think is actual death, but I choose not to think about that too much. The less I know about what goes on behind doors in that place, the better. I’m not naïve enough to think everything there is above board, but I’m absolutely under the impression that if I stay quiet and make no ripples, then I’ll float by just fine. It’s not like I’m planning to work there forever, just until I can afford not to. I’ve already been there a whole lot longer than I should have been. I knew on my first day at the club that I should actively seek other employment, but living in this corrupt little town makes finding a decent job difficult. You just don’t know who’s on the criminal payroll.

  I turn back and offer a small wave to a couple of guys who are across the street. “Hi, boys,” I call, hating myself as I give them the sexiest smile I can muster.

  I recognize them both as regulars to the club. I duck into my building before they can start up a conversation. Luckily, they don’t follow me. I take the stairs back up to my apartment then grab a soda from the fridge when I’m in. I press it against my forehead to try to cool myself down. The AC packed up again yesterday, and John can’t get out to me until Friday which right now might as well be forever away. I try to ignore the humidity and head over to the living room window. Four attempts later I give up on opening it and go to my front door. I fight it open, then prop it wide with an empty plant pot from the hallway outside, something my last neighbor left behind. I’m almost certain he used it to hide his cannabis, but who am I to judge? The action doesn’t help with the heat much, but it’s something. I take the five or six steps into my bedroom and strip off the jeans I was stupid enough to put on this morning. I change into jean shorts and a tank, wrapping my hair up into something resembling a small creature on top of my head.

  After some quick cleaning and a grilled cheese sandwich, I set myself up with my sewing machine and begin to work.

  I last almost three hours before the heat becomes too much. Needing to escape the sweaty confines of this apartment, I grab yet another soda from the fridge and stroll through my open front door, leaning back against the cool metal of the railing. I let my head fall back and close my eyes, reveling in the tiniest hint of a breeze coming from the open window in the hallway. Movement to the left of me distracts me, but I don’t look. I know exactly who it is, I can practically feel his superior presence. Despite his gargantuan size, my scary neighbor moves like a damn ninja. He just appears, with no warning or announcement. One second, I’m walking into the building without a care in the world, and the next he’s right behind me, consuming me with his all man worship-me-now scent. It’s unnerving, and a sick little part of me kinda gets off on it. Still, I don’t open my eyes or move an inch.

  I hear him drop something heavy on the floor, then the sound of his keys.

  “I need to get into your apartment,” he says, suddenly.

  His voice is like gravel, rough as it travels over me and settles on my skin. I flick my eyes open and lower the hand holding the soda against my head. He’s looking at me, his chocolatey eyes dark and hard. Despite the heat I’ve been fighting all day, a shiver runs through me. I hold his stare, unable to break it even if I wanted to.

  “Why?” I manage to croak out.

  He takes a step toward me. I naturally want to take one back, but I’m trapped by the railing.

  “Our ACs are linked. Mine is fucked and it’s because of a problem with your unit.”

  I sigh. Of course, it is. “Mine has been broken since yesterday,” I gesture inside. “I have a guy coming out to fix it on Friday.”

  He frowns. “Today is Tuesday.”

  I clear my throat and finally find the ability to move, taking a discreet step toward my apartment. “I’m aware,” I rush out, then add, “It’s the earliest John can come out. Sorry.”

  “You know this guy personally? He’s a friend?”

  “No,” I shake my head. “Well, yes, sort of. I mean it’s not like he’s on my Christmas card list or anything, but I call them a lot because my AC breaks a lot. He’s always the guy who comes out. We’re on first-name terms.”

  A flush creeps up my neck. I can feel it, so I can only imagine how ridiculous I must look. I’m babbling like a damn idiot. And by the smirk now on his face, he knows the exact effect he’s having on me. God, I hate this guy. I hate the way he makes me all jittery and stupid like a teenager on her first date. I take my clothes off for a damn living, I should be more prepared for this crap.

  He steps closer, then leans against my doorjamb. At this point, he’s closer to my apartment than I am. My hand goes to the back of my neck, the other wrapping around my stomach nervously. My soda can is pressing against me. The shock of the cold bite of it is enough to have me flinching.

  It’s not exactly fear I’m feeling from being around this guy, it's more humility. He’s a stranger, and yet I already know he’s too big for me, too strong. I’m not scared of him, I’m just scared to be myself around him. Or be around him, period. He has the most demanding presence I’ve ever known, almost predatory. It’s not even the way he looks; it’s like his whole being should be feared and respected. I can’t imagine anyone has ever said a wrong word to him.

  “Huh,” he grunts. “Well, I can’t wait until Friday. I’ll be over in ten to have a look at it.”

  He pushes himself off the door and walks by me, brushing against my arm as he does. I ignore the shock of electricity that goes through me from the contact. Clearly, I'm just losing my mind, probably from the damn heat. I hurry inside my apartment, but don’t bother to shut the door. It will only make more work for me when I have to let His Highness in. Jesus, he’s going to be in my apartment. Again. I look around, suddenly worrying about the state of the place. It is absolutely not company worthy. Everything in it is half-assed, including the decor. When I first moved in, I wanted to make it special and my own. I made curtains and cushions and all kinds of crap. But after a short while I convinced myself it wasn’t worth it, telling myself over and over again that I wouldn’t be here more than a few weeks. It’s quite possibly the biggest lump of bullshit I’ve ever told myself.

  I’m trying to force open the window when I feel him behind me. Fucking ninja mammoth. I stumble from the suddenness of him, hitting my forehead on the window. I leave it pressed against the glass for a second, cursing myself internally.

  “You have a habit of hurting yourself,” he murmurs, so close to my back that I can feel his breath.

  I stiffen, biting back a retort about only getting hurt when he’s around. Instead I mumble, “You have no idea,” and lift my head back up.

  He snorts, at least I think he does. It actually sounded more like a grunt, but then every sound that comes out of his mouth sounds the same. Angry. He reaches his arms around me and attempts the window himself, knocking me back a little. I study the way his biceps bulge as he fights with the handle of my window. My eyes follow along the intricate lines of his sleeve tattoo, almost hypnotized by the way the ink weaves together and around the main piece—a grim reaper. It’s dark, scary even, but I can’t take my eyes off it. Something about it calls me on a deeper level, poking at my soul. Everything about him: his size, his tattoos, the frightening way he looks through me—screams danger. I should run, really fucking fast, in the opposite direction. But somehow, I know he won’t hurt me. I can’t explain it, and it seems ridiculous, but he doesn’t make me question my safety. Yet, logically, realistically, I know he should.

  I drag my eyes from him and move over to the kitchen. “Do you want a soda or anything?”

  He tries the window a couple more times and then looks at me. “It’s the hinges. They need replacing,” he says. “You got water?”

  I nod, grabbing him a bottle from the fridge and handing it over. He unscrews the top and brings it to his mouth. I watch, unable to force my gaze away, as he swallows. Some of the water escapes his mouth and drips down his chin, dropping onto his chest and disappearing under the shirt that’s stretched
across his body. It almost causes me to choke on my own drink, but I cover it up the best I can with a pretend cough and move back to my sewing machine. I really need to get a grip.

  He looks at me now, doing that intense eye-fuckery thing he likes to torture me with. I swallow hard, then focus all my attention on the fabrics on the table in front of me so I can finish the dress I’m making for my little sister’s birthday. She’s sixteen next week and so I really need to get a move on and get it mailed. When I spoke to her earlier, she told me that she has a school dance a couple of weeks after her birthday and Mom won’t let her buy a new dress. Hopefully, she’ll like this one enough to wear it.

  “The unit is just through there,” I say, motioning to the cupboard by the bathroom. “Do what you need to do.”

  He nods once then moves through to the cupboard.

  Finally, I breathe.

  Kane

  Despite me barely being able to fit into the small cupboard, it’s still more comfortable than being in the same room as her. Her. I should really find out her name. My curiosity has spiked enough for me to attempt to try to find out more about her, but she’s a hard girl to lock down. I see her leaving early in the morning, only for her to return at dawn. I don’t know where she works, but it’s obviously long hours. Either that or she really is a hardcore party girl.

  Why the fuck do I care?

  At least she isn’t limping anymore. I’m not sure how long I could have taken that extra guilt on top of the shit I already have to swallow down on a daily basis. I just don’t have the room for it. Just like I don’t have the room in my head to let her in at all, no matter what her big, hollow eyes do to me. I clearly need to put my dick in someone soon, as I’ve caught myself checking her out from afar on the regular. She’s an absolute no-go though. I’m not stupid enough to fuck on my own doorstep. Been there. Done that. Didn’t enjoy it. No, I need to go sink myself into someone who won’t cause me any problems when I never see them again. In a town like this, there’s plenty of willing pussy. But isn’t that the problem? There is nothing worse than a desperate bitch jonesing for dick. Any dick available.