Ricochet (17 page)

“Are
you sure you’re gonna be okay here all weekend?” Cash asked as he zipped his
overnight bag.

“Yeah,
I’m a fucking adult. Go, have fun,” I laughed.

“I
really, really, don’t even want to. Can’t you just say ‘baby, don’t leave me,
stay in bed with me all weekend?’ You have no idea how much I am dreading
this,” he whined.

“Why?
Why do you keep making plans to go if you don’t enjoy yourself? Grow some balls
and tell your brother that you don’t want to go next time,” I suggested.

“I
tried. It used to be fun, but I don’t know. Not feeling it anymore,” he sighed.
I shrugged my shoulders and nudged him towards the door. As much as I enjoy
Cash’s company, I haven’t had any quality alone time since we officially moved
in together. All of my Farmville crops are probably dead.

“Go.
Try to have fun. Do something to make it clear that it’s the last annual
bro-time hunting trip. But, go,” I insisted.

“Fine.
I’m going. I love you. I’ll miss you,” he said.

“I
love you, too,” I replied.

I
watched from the window as Cash walked across the parking lot to his car and
drove away. I do notice a peculiar sorrow in my chest; a sucking sting, almost
an emptiness. Have I become so entwined with Cash that I feel disillusioned
when he’s not around? Or do I always feel this way and he just serves as a
distraction? I don’t know why I have such an inability to just
be.
I was so looking forward to some me
time, but now that I’m alone with my thoughts, I don’t like them. Why do I
always have to have some kind of concern? I want to just exist. I want to be
content. I don’t want to panic about what it might mean that I miss my fucking
boyfriend. Not every twinge of negative emotion has to represent something
catastrophic. Not everything needs to be a dichotomy, bad doesn’t have to mean
the worst and good doesn’t have to mean the best. I have such a hard time with
grey, the scale is always tipping towards the strongest pole for me. I need to
shake this and learn to be okay with just being okay. I curled up on the couch
and settled in for a long and unfulfilling Netflix binge. Six episodes of
Nurse Jackie
later, I dozed off.

I
was abruptly awoken by a knock at the door. It was after midnight, and no one
shows up here without calling first. I checked my phone. I had a text from Cash
telling me he missed me already, and nothing else. The knocking got louder. I
crept to the door and peered out the peephole. It was a man I did not
recognize. I quietly slid the chain into position and cracked the door.

“Can
I help you?” I croaked.

“Cash
around?” the man asked, smacking chewing gum.

“No.
He’s out of town for the weekend,” I replied cautiously.

“What
about, you seen a skinny little coked out broad around here? About yay high in
heels, blonde?” he asked, holding his hand out to show her height.

“Claire?”
I asked.

“Yeah,
that’s her name. You know her? She been around here?” he asked again.

“No.
Not for a very long time,” I replied.

“Alright.
Thanks for your time. Enjoy the rest of your evening, darlin’,” he said, turning
on his heels and heading back towards the elevator. I shut the door and locked
it. I tried calling Cash and it kept going to voicemail. My texts were unread.
Fuck. I grabbed Cash’s laptop from his desk to search for Hank’s phone number
in his contacts. His contact list was impeccably organized, with separate lists
for family, work friends, friends from high school, subs. Despite the urgency I
felt to reach him to explain the weird encounter, I couldn’t overcome the
curiosity to snoop through his sub list. Each contact had a photo, email
address, physical address, and phone number. I immediately recognized the first
entry. Pixie Cut was actually named Abby. I rolled my eyes, remembering our
awkward conversation. The next entry caught me off guard.

Beth
Bardon.
 
It was Hank’s Beth, Cash’s
sister in law Beth. I thought maybe she was just on the wrong list. I clicked
on her name to open her contact. In the notes section was a list of likes and
dislikes. Likes; manhandling, spanking, humiliation, bondage. Dislikes; anal,
confinement, hair pulling. Nope. She’s on the right fucking list, all right. I
clicked back to the family tab, where Beth was ironically also listed, and
angrily punched in Hank’s number. He answered after two rings.

“Yello?”
he answered.

“Uh,
hi. This is Lilly. I really need to talk to Cash. He isn’t answering his phone,
I didn’t know if he had service out there,” I explained.

“Sorry
babe, he’s uh, he’s in the shower. I’ll have him give you a ring in a few,”
Hank stated.

“Ok.
Thanks,” I replied, ending the call. That is bizarre, considering Cash took a
shower this morning. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Discovering Beth in his
little black book probably just awoke old mistrust. I sat on the couch and
stared at my phone for the better part of an hour. When it finally started to
ring, playing old school Panic! at the Disco at an uncomfortable volume, it
made me jump out of my skin. Cash’s face flashed on my screen. I quickly
answered.

“Hey,”
I said.

“Hey,
sorry, I was outside getting more firewood, my phone was charging. Is
everything okay? You called like 47 times,” he laughed.

“Your
brother said you were in the shower,” I countered.

“Well,
he’s a fucking idiot. Is everything okay?” he asked again.

“No.
Some dude just showed up here looking for you and asking about Claire. I’m
kinda skeeved,” I explained.

“Did
he leave a name or a number or anything?” he asked.

“No.
Just asked if you were home and then asked if I’d seen Claire. What the fuck is
that about?” I probed.

“I
have no idea. It’s probably someone she owes money or something. Boyfriend,
sugar daddy, drug dealer, I don’t fucking know. I haven’t talked to her for
months,” he explained.

“Well,
I’m glad you don’t know, I guess, but I’m still fucking creeped out,” I
complained.

“Don’t
worry about it just keep the door locked. Do you need me to come home?” he
asked.

“No.
Just keep your fucking phone on you please,” I whined.

“Okay.
I’m sorry babe. It’s late, why don’t you try to get some sleep?” he suggested.
I agreed. We exchanged “I love you’s,” and ended the call. I’m still feeling
uneasy. Something doesn’t add up. This guy knew Cash’s name, knew where he lived.
It doesn’t make sense that Cash wouldn’t have any idea who it is. I try to push
that thought out of my mind. I have such a habit of making something out of
nothing that I can’t tell if this is something to be legitimately concerned
about. I try to shrug it off and settle back into my Netflix binge. I try to
call Regan; she doesn’t answer. I haven’t talked to her since her party. I
don’t know if she’s scared that I blame her, or if she’s pissed that we made a
scene. Either way, I’m starting to realize that she’s kind of a shitty friend.

I
went back to Cash’s laptop. I didn’t want to snoop. I didn’t want to be
that
girlfriend. I’d never gone through
his phone, I trusted him, for the most part. But I have a bad feeling. I
started with Facebook. He’d left it logged in. So many notifications, how the
fuck does he sleep at night? I combed through his messages. He has tons of
messages from women, all unread and unresponded. I clicked through them.

Hey, we should catch up!

Man, it’s been forever!

What have you been up to?

U single?

Thirsty
bitches. Thirsty bitches everywhere.
 
I went to his sent messages and there
was nothing of note. Messages to me, a group message with the guys he goes out
for drinks with, random shit. I felt a little better. I checked out his
Internet history. I don’t know what I was expecting to find. An Ashley Madison
account, maybe. There was nothing interesting there, either. Lot’s of
Cracked
articles, Wikipedia pages on
random shit, recipes, websites to order food online, porn. His emails were just
as boring, and now I feel like an asshole for snooping. I snap the laptop shut
and restart the episode I was watching. Something isn’t right, but I guess I
have to wait to find out what.

I
didn’t hear from Cash for the rest of the weekend. He strolled in Sunday
evening unannounced. I didn’t get off the couch.

“Hey,
you. How was your weekend?” he asked, tossing his bags down.

“Fine.
How was yours,” I asked, bitterly. The longer I sat here and thought about it,
the more pissed I got about Beth. I’m fuming.

“It
was barely tolerable. Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Does
your brother know you were fucking his wife?” I barked.

“Jesus
Christ, Lilly. How… how do you even know? What, you go through emails from
almost a fucking year ago? I don’t think you get to be pissed about that. I
think I’m the one that gets to be pissed that you went through my shit, and
it’s pretty fucking pathetic that you were so desperate to find something that
you had to go back that far,” Cash asserted.

“First
of all, don’t fucking talk to me like that. Second of all, no, I didn’t go
through your emails,” I lied, “I had to get into your contacts on your computer
to find your brother’s number. You have her in there, along with which holes
she prefers to have penetrated. And I’m only pissed because you didn’t fucking
tell me.”

“Why
in the fuck would I tell you that, Lilly? In what situation would that have
fucking come up in conversation? It’s not like I was trying to keep it from
you. You always think I’m trying to keep shit from you when that is not the
case. Think logically for a fucking minute,” he argued.

“I
don’t know, on the fucking drive there. Like ‘yo, this chick might be a cunt
because I had to stop fucking her and she’s salty about it,’ would have been a
nice heads up. You said you didn’t have any other secrets, no other dirty
laundry. That would have been a good time too,” I challenged.

“Everybody
has secrets, Lilly,” he sighed.

“That’s
apparent. Just makes me wonder what the fuck else you are keeping from me,” I
accused.

“I’m
sure you’ll find some way to find out. You thrive on the fucking drama,” he
chided.

“Fuck
you,” I scoffed.

“Yeah,
fuck me. That’s all you can say because you know it’s true. If we don’t have a
problem you create one, like the walls are starving for a fucking argument,” he
fumed. He must have had a shitty weekend. This was our first real argument.
Typically, I get angry and he talks me down. I don’t know how to react when he
gets angry right back. Maybe he’s still coming down off the coke. Maybe I’m
just a fucking asshole. He took off towards the bedroom and slammed the door. I
wish I still had my apartment to retreat to. I felt like I was invading his
space. I felt like crying. I took a few minutes to compose myself, and followed
him to the bedroom. I eased the door open and peered inside. He was on the bed,
scrolling on his cell phone. He looked up and rolled his eyes.

“I’m
not in the mood to fucking
argue
with you, Lilly. If
you’re coming in here to keep it going, turn right the fuck back around,” he
charged.

“I’m
not. I want to apologize,” I said meekly. I have a hard time admitting when I’m
wrong. I don’t even know if I’m wrong, but this is one of those situations
where someone has to give. It’s usually him, and I think it’s finally my turn.

“Well,
don’t,” he warned.

“Why?
Why would I not be sorry? I am. I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have attacked you as
soon as you walked through the door. It just…it threw me for a loop and then I
sat here and brooded on it all weekend,” I explained.

“Well,
to ease your mind, Hank’s a piece of shit. He cheats on her all the time,
treats her like shit. I’ve seen it. I’ve facilitated it, hooked him up with
girls that are not her. I was there spending the weekend one time when she
caught him in a lie and she flipped the fuck out. He stormed out, and she asked
me if I thought she was wrong. I was drinking, and I told her no but that if
she was my girl and talked to me like that I would bend her over my knee.
 
She basically said ‘yes, please,’ and it
went from there. I’m not proud of it, but I don’t fucking feel bad, either,” he
defended.

“Wow,
okay. Well. Thanks for your… uh-forthright honesty. Still, I’m sorry, okay? Can
you take it down a couple notches?” I contended.

“Listen,
Lilly. I don’t… I don’t think this is gonna work out,” Cash stated. My breath
caught in my throat.

“What
isn’t going to work out, Cash?” I asked through my teeth.

“Us,”
he replied.

“Are
you fucking kidding me?” I choked, tears welling in my eyes.

“No,
I’m not,” he sighed.

“So,
because I find something out that you didn’t want me to find out and call you
out on it you’re going to break up with me? What kind of fucking bullshit is
that?” I cried.