Pistol

Chapter Fourteen

Steph slid down the wall of her lounge, and sat in a crumpled heap under the light-switch. Silent tears flowed at the idiot she'd made of herself. The entire lunch hour she had spoken with Cass, and convinced her somehow that Pete was worth a chance.

"I don't know," Cass had sighed. "He seems a little ... careless at times."

Steph had knitted her brow, and folded another napkin into an origami crane. "I don't know how to put it into words, but there's something there. I feel safe with him."

Cass had leaned back in her chair, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I guess you've got to go with your gut, babe. But for heaven's sake, if he so much as makes you feel uncomfortable, you damn well tell me. Okay?"

If only she knew that 'uncomfortable' was the very thing Steph craved about his company. Steph had nodded, relaxed slightly by the thought her bestie had her back. But now, as she whimpered into her knees, she wasn't so sure. Shame didn't begin to cover how she'd feel telling Cass she was right. You did this to yourself. Yeah, wasn't that the truth?

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, and the tears ran dry, she trained her gaze on the front door. It's dark, ominous presence felt like a blatant reminder of her foolishness. Steph grabbed the hem of the t-shirt, and ripped it off over her head. She tossed it into the bedroom, more at ease with being naked than sitting in the cottony embrace of the silly way she'd put herself out there—only to have her heart trampled.

What was going through her mind? Had she honestly expected him to jump her? Be so consumed with lust that he couldn't help himself?

She was more of an idiot than she first thought.

Her legs slumped to the floor as she contemplated going to bed. The night was over, her pride shattered, and her ego in a coma. She made a move to get up, but a slight change in the darkness around the entrance-way drew her eye. Steph relaxed into her position once more, and squinted hard. The shadow of two shoes cut through the slip of light that seeped under the door.

He was still there?

Her heart ratcheted up a notch, her breaths short and unsatisfying.

Can he see me? What does he want?

Her questions were doomed to remain unanswered as the shadows moved away to let the unbroken glow filter in over the carpet once more. The corners of her mouth twitched downwards, and she swiped the unbidden tears back. He may as well have stung her with his words all over again for how she felt. Empty, unwanted, and undesirable. Her hope wanted to run after him, tell him to stay, but her heart poured cement into her limbs and made movement seem like an impossibility. A black hole of misery slowly sucked any will she had left from her weary body. She sat in her pit of despair until the sadness bloomed to rage, and then back to pity for her failed attempt.

Steph dragged herself to stand, and headed through to the bathroom to do her pre-bed rituals: face, teeth, toilet. Her eyes remained devoid of emotion throughout; her mind worked on zombie auto-pilot as she moved through the familiar motions.

She tucked herself below the sheets, and let out a deep sigh. Her eyes drew closed to the nightmare of her current life. Her mother despised her, her brother and friends thought she should be more 'normal'. Perhaps her appearance—tattoos, and vintage clothes—were the very reason someone as thoughtful as Ivan had never found her attractive? If she couldn't draw the attention of a boy she spent the better part of her childhood with, then who?

Perhaps it was time after all to become more 'normal', more socially acceptable. Dye her hair a flat shade of brown, and wear more mainstream fashion. A corner of her mind screamed that it was suicide for her identity if she went through with it. But reason argued. What good was being different, relishing what was unique about her, if no-one else cared about it? Because at the end of the work-week, all she wanted was to come home to somebody who loved her, tattoos or none, victory curls or not. Steph longed to be held—just held. To have a warm arm lay heavy over her side as she slept. Someone to bring her coffee in the morning. Another toothbrush in the bathroom.