Chapter 17
Hate
The flight was absolutely miserable. I refused the painkillers the doctor prescribed for my shoulder because I despise the way they make me feel as though I have no control over my mind or my body. The pain in my shoulder was nothing compared to the one in my soul. A heavy ache radiated from my chest up through my limbs and into my mind. Every time I closed my eyes, Ari was there and the hurt started over, and each time the hurt was worse than the time before last.
We had a layover in Chicago and being in the city that had so recently been my home made everything worse. Thoughts of Mia and my mother flooded my mind. Then Margaux dragged me through the airport to the very same coffee shop Ari and I had been to just a few months earlier, and the ache in my heart doubled.
Spending a total of twelve hours with Margaux doing anything would have been torture, but this trip away from Dana Point was inhumane and excruciatingly painful. I got the distinct impression that my grandmother felt the same way. At least she had had the decency to put us in first class so I was not physically uncomfortable. . .and was able to maintain a modicum of distance from her. The flight attendant caught on pretty quickly that Margaux and I were not going to be a pleasure to deal with and ignored us most of the time, which was fine by me.
“Did you know that the Alexanders had been looking for me?”
Margaux sighed with obvious irritation.
“You really want to do this now?”
“Tell me.”
“Yes, I knew.”
“Why didn’t you tell them I was your granddaughter?”
“What would they have done with that information, Ava? You were a child and you were living with your mother, where you belonged. They are great people and you aren’t good for them. You aren’t good for anybody.”
“Who are my mother’s birth parents?”
Margaux choked on her gin and tonic and dabbed her lips with a cheap airplane napkin. “What would possess you to ask that question?”
“She was like me, wasn’t she? She was like me and my father, but you never told her.”
“Fine, Ava, you’re right. Lucy’s birth mother was a very dear friend of mine and, yes, they were like you. Fates. Lucy was of Clotho. Her mother was afraid that she would be hunted down and killed so I promised I would take her in and protect her and I did until she met your father and he ruined her life.”
“Did her mother have any more children?”
Margaux rubbed her temples in annoyance but I could care less how she felt at the moment. I had questions and if I needed to, I would happily beat the answers out of her.
“She did have one more daughter. She couldn’t bear to give up another child so she kept her, and they went in to hiding. I heard her daughter was killed last year, shot by one of the men you killed six days ago.”
“Did her daughter have any children?”
“I wouldn’t know, Ava; my friend quit speaking to me once you were born.”
“Who are you?”
Margaux looked at me with icy black eyes. “Shut up, Ava,” was all she said.
I had the feeling that if I didn’t stop questioning her I might not live long enough to see London. I kept quiet for the rest of that agonizing flight.
We arrived at Heathrow in the middle of the night. Margaux had arranged for a car, two cars actually. She handed me an envelope and said that the keys to the flat were in it along with the address. The driver knew where the flat was and he would make sure that I got there safely. She announced that she would be staying at The Dorchester for a few days to get some work done at her London shop and then would be flying back to L.A. She also told me that my physical therapist would be at the flat at seven in the morning and my tutor would be starting Monday at nine a.m. She then shut the door and tapped on the roof. The driver sped off.
My flat was located in Camden Town, and even though we arrived there in the middle of the night, the streets seemed busy. I saw a lot of leather jackets, tattoos and interesting hairstyles. The driver pulled up to a brick building on a corner. He carried my luggage to the vestibule, put it on the lift, tipped his hat and left. The building appeared to be ancient and abandoned. A few windows were broken and partially boarded over. Graffiti had been spray painted on the elevator doors. Clearly, I was the only tenant. My flat was on the third floor. I cursed the driver for not seeing my luggage all the way in, but I managed the job with just one good arm anyway.
I was relieved when I got inside my actual space. It was much nicer than the building had led me to believe. The flat was open and airy. On the left, the living room had what appeared to be a working stone fireplace in decent condition; next to that was a big oval window that looked down over the street below; a window seat had been built into the bottom sill and a quick sit down proved the cushion fluffy and comfortable. To the right, the living room opened up into a decent size kitchen. Straight ahead, a short hall led to two bedrooms and a bath.
I walked straight back to the far bedroom, wrapped myself in a blanket and for the first time since I had found Lauren in the forest, let go and sobbed uncontrollably. My body shook violently as my tears flowed, causing pain to radiate through my ribs and shoulder. My heart hurt and I was consumed with anger and bitterness. I hated myself for having lied to Ari and for having left Dana Point. I wanted to throw things and break stuff. I wanted to scream, hit, and kick. I was bursting with rage and I was too tired to sleep. I lay there for hours in a strange city, in a strange flat, on a strange bed wrapped in someone else’s blanket, and soaked myself with my own tears. I waited for daylight.
My sobs and cries were interrupted when Nora, the physical therapist, arrived at seven a.m., just as Margaux had said she would. She was dressed in workout clothes and had her hair pulled back in a low ponytail. She had a nice smile and a very pretty face. Her accent was classically British and she was very definitely in a talking mood.
Despite my somewhat surly attitude, Nora remained professional. She kept up a light conversation and didn’t ask about my injuries. She was scheduled to work with me for an hour each day, and left promptly at eight a.m. I hadn’t been friendly, but I was sorry to see her go. Her departure left me with twenty-three more empty hours to fill.
My therapy hurt like hell. I painfully made my way back to the back bedroom. I wrapped myself back up in the blanket and, since I was already in pain, I allowed myself to think of Ari and wallow in self-pity.
At some point, sleep came and I found myself in the hall with my scissors. I did what I had to do. I showed no mercy, as there was no longer any kindness in my heart. I then escaped into a new nightmare that featured the deaths of everyone I loved. I awoke sometime in the late afternoon.
Margaux had had the kitchen stocked before I arrived. I made a kettle of tea and some toast then sat in the window seat, where I stayed until Nora found me the next day. We went through the workout together and when she left, I fell asleep. Once again, I walked the halls playing catch up for all of the weeks that I had missed when I had found solitude with Ari.
Ari. Ari. Ari. I missed him so much.
I was alone all weekend. I spent most of my time either in bed or in my window seat, staring out into the depressing, gray London sky. Hate and anger were constant emotions. My grandfather and mother had been taken from me. Then I had lost Mia. And now, Ari and Rory, Aggie, Lauren, Andy, all of the people I loved, had been ripped from my grasp.
On Monday, my tutor, James, arrived an hour after Nora had gone. I was already miserable from the workout and was in no mood to deal with this ostentatious twit. He was a complete jerk and a total idiot. It became perfectly clear to me that I was much smarter than he would ever be. He began lecturing about a book that I had already read and knew well. I asked him a simple question, testing his knowledge. James fumbled for a moment then made up an answer that I recognized as false. At the end of the hour, I saw him to the door and told him that his services would no longer be needed.
I sent a
text to Margaux: “I have fired James. Send a replacement tomorrow or I am leaving.”
The next day a new jerk, this one named Thomas, showed up at my door. He lasted only twenty minutes. I punched him square in the chin after he ran his fingers through my hair and whispered something creepy in my ear. I sent Margaux another text: “Another loser. I am packing my bags if you have not found someone suitable tomorrow by nine.” These were empty threats of course; I had nowhere else to go.
After grabbing some ice for my knuckles, I went back to bed. I took a fist full of my hair and pulled hard, needing a pain I could control. I shoved my face into my pillow and screamed long after my voice ran out and my throat went raw. I stayed like that for hours as the rage inside me grew and grew. I hated that I was here. I hated that I had killed two people and that they had tried to kill me. I hated the fact that my heart hurt and that the only person who could make me feel better was one I had had to abandon.
When Nora arrived, I could tell that she was growing increasingly uncomfortable around me. Her fight or flight instincts were kicking in and she was a flight type person. We went through my stretches and small shoulder workouts in near silence. I noticed she shivered whenever she had to come close to me, and I saw the goose bumps on her arm.
As she started to pack up for the day, I had the feeling that I may not ever see her again. “Um, Nora,” I said softly, “I know that I may come off as a scary person, but if you give me a little bit of time, I think you will find that I am actually really nice.”
She smiled at me and nodded. “Sure, Ava. Sorry I am little distracted today, that’s all. It looks like your wound needs to be cleaned. . . and that bandage should be changed. Would you like me to help you?”
Nora was ignoring her impulse to run from danger. I will never understand how some people are capable of putting their fears aside – out of kindness I suppose. She was afraid to hurt my feelings or challenge my pride. I let out a breath of relief and graciously accepted her help.
Nora slowly peeled the old wrappings off my shoulder. She sucked in a breath when she saw my wounds, knowing straight away that I had been shot. She never asked for the story or the gory details as most people would, and I respected her for that.
By the time Nora left, I was exhausted; I had not slept in over twenty-four hours. I was perched up in my giant oval window when, at nine o’clock, I heard a knock at my door.
“It’s open,” I replied in a very hoarse voice. I heard the door creak open but didn’t bother to turn around to take a look.
“Uh, Hello?” I heard a guy with a French accent say. “I’m August Jolie, your in-home professor. You must be… Avie?”
I turned around to face him for the first time. He was tall, skinny, but still muscular, with short-cropped blonde hair (aside from one thick, jagged chunk that ran down the middle of his head and flopped down into his eyes. A bright green streak ran through the middle of it.) He had on black skinny jeans, a gray zip-up hooded sweatshirt and black lace-up boots.
“Listen,” I snapped. “My name is Ava, not Avie, not Baby, and not any other stupid pet name you may feel inclined to give me. You are here for academic purposes only. You will not touch me or ask me anything personal. If at any point I feel that you cannot provide the type of education I require, then you will be let go with no explanation. Is that clear?”
“Yeah, sure, Ava, whatever,” he said with a snotty tsk as he brushed his hair from his eye with a pinkie finger.
I motioned for him to come in and he closed the door behind him. Painfully, I made my way to the couch and took a seat. August took a seat in the chair across from me and brushed the green strand of hair once more out of his eyes. He opened up a messenger bag and began to pull out book after book.
“So this is how this is going to work,” August started. “I will meet you here five days a week from nine until two. You will have assigned readings,” he pointed to the stack of books, “and each afternoon we will discuss your findings. Thursdays, I have set aside for offsite class where we will be attending various museums and interesting architectural structures in the city. I expect to have all discussions on Thursdays en Français. You will be tested each Friday. Your exams will also be en Français and I expect your answers to be as well. Is that clear?”
I noted a slight bit of attitude as he framed his expectation that my work be done in French – we were, after all, in England – and an infinitesimal smirk came to my face. I nodded, confirming that I had understood what he expected of me.
“Splendide,” he said as he clapped his hands and rubbed them together. He handed me a book. . .well, he tried to hand me a book but I refused to extend my hand so after a slight hesitation, he ended up placing it next to me on the couch. He then began a lecture about the Thirty Years War.
The lecture went on for an hour and during that time; August never consulted a book or notes. He recited names and dates as if he had been present for the war himself. At one point, he got up and, still talking, put on the tea. When he finished for the day, August assigned my reading – the first four chapters of each book he had brought over – then stood up and, at exactly 2 p.m., opened the front door and left for the day.
I spent my evening reading and was I thankful for the work; it took my mind off the heartache. Eventually, I made my way under my blankets. That night, I dreamed of Ari. We were caught in an embrace and he twirled a strand of my hair around his fingers. When I woke, my cheeks were wet and my eyes were swollen.
Nora came in at her appointed time. We did a quick workout for my shoulder. The exercises still hurt like hell, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep the tears away. My shoulder started to bleed and ooze but Nora assured me that I would start to see improvement in the next couple of weeks. I tried to swallow my angst and put on a nice face.
“Ava, I don’t want to offend you, but the workouts would be easier if you took your medication,” Nora said with concern in her voice.
The doctors had given me a script for painkillers and anti-anxiety medicine before I left the hospital, but I had taken the scribbled note Dr. Phillips handed me, crumpled it up, and thrown it in the garbage can. He saw no humor in my actions whatsoever, wrote out another one, and gave it to Margaux, then left without another word.
“You are probably right, Nora, but pain is something I can deal with; it is the only thing that is real. Pain is a comfort to me right now.”
She quickly changed the subject and started to open up about herself. She told me about her boyfriend, her family and how she was thinking about training for a marathon but did not know how to get started.
“Well, I can help you if you’d like,” I said. “I mean, when I can get back out there that is. I run…quite a bit actually. I have done the Chicago Marathon a few times and I used to train with…well with a friend back home.”
“Really?!” Nora asked excitedly. “I mean, that would be super.”
“Yeah sure, as long as you can get my shoulder to work again, I’d be happy to have someone to run with.”
When she left, I felt a little bit better so I began to pick up the flat. I washed a week’s work of coffee cups that were in the sink and picked up all of my stray belongings that I had strewn about the floors and furniture. I took the first shower since I had left the hospital and put on the first fresh pair of clothes.
Ari had actually packed my belongings for me, and that thought alone made me sad. In the corner of my suitcase, folded up under a stack of my jeans, was a gray hooded sweatshirt. It was his. He knew I loved it since I was always grabbing it out of his closet to lounge in; I pulled it out and held it to me. Breathing him in, it was the single most delightful thing I had done since the last time we kissed. I hugged the sweatshirt to me and then got up and shoved it into the closet. I could not allow myself to be weak any longer. I went back to my luggage and opted for a pair of jeans and a loose fitting sweater that wouldn’t hurt to put on over my arm. As soon as I was dressed and ready, the only thing I f
elt like doing was crawling back in bed. I didn’t want to face the day. I took to my perch in my window with a cup of plantation mint tea and began to close my eyes.
Shortly after, I heard the door creak open, I turned and August came into the entryway. I rolled my eyes at him and then turned back around and continued gazing, half-asleep, out the window.
“Salut Ava, C’est aujourd’hui le jeudi et il faut parler en francais.”
I turned back to him, giving him my best ‘I hate you face’ and I put my pointer finger up to my eye.
“Mon oeil,” I said in a nasty tone.
August apparently thought I was being facetious and threw his head back and laughed. I moved over to my spot on the couch and August began asking me questions in French about what I had read the night before; I grudgingly answered him with the shortest replies I could muster. He didn’t give up and continued down his list. Once we finally wrapped that up, he stood up and announced that we would be going to see Damien Hirst’s work at the Saatchi Gallery.
The trip was my first time to leave the flat since I had arrived. London was cold and the sun was nowhere in sight. I am sure, under different circumstances, I would have enjoyed being here and would have been more receptive, but the fact that the whole look, feel and smell of the city were the very opposite of what I had experienced in California only made me even more homesick.
We walked around and viewed several pieces of art that included dead animals in formaldehyde. The sight of the animals suspended sideways or upside down in various containers, with open but unseeing dead eyes staring at nothing was weird but morbidly interesting. I didn’t admit to August, though, that discussing art with him was almost fun.
I had learned during the course of the week that, despite August’s somewhat punk-rock look, he was pretty intelligent. On our walk through the gallery, he told me, en francais bien sur, that he had been traveling all across the world with his parents since he was little. They were both bioengineers and their work took them to all the corners of the globe. On his own for the first time, August had recently moved to London, but as I could already tell, he was originally from Paris.
He was a Parisian through and through. He spoke fast and with flare. He was arrogant and a bit supercilious. August could speak six languages more or less fluently, and even though he didn’t tell me so, I was fairly confident that he had a photographic memory. He clearly had a daring personality and my nasty and abrasive attitude had not daunted him a bit. I think, rather, that he viewed me as a challenge, something like an engaging science experiment.
As the weeks began to pass, I fell into a routine. I sobbed and cried each night and woke up to blood-shot, puffy, red eyes. My diet consisted of dry toast and tea. My days were filled with arguments with August; he was unrelenting with his stupid homework. All I needed to do was graduate. That was it. Margaux had sent August a copy of my school transcripts. He took one look at my marks and decided to take it upon himself to see me graduate at the top of my class.
Nora kept to our schedule, and my shoulder started to heal, just as she had promised. We began to run outside, despite the cold, and I started to get her ready for the Virgin London Marathon slated for the coming spring. I had not talked to Ari since that dark day in the hospital. Occasionally, I got a text or two from Emily, but that was all. She told me Ari had moved out of the dorms, back home, and that he refused to talk about me to anyone. I didn’t know how to interpret this news, but I knew how it made me feel, and I sat and cried in my little window seat.
I slept as little as humanly possible, not to avoid my nightmares, but because my bed was cold and lonely. Ari and I had had a hard time staying away from each other from the very beginning of our relationship. In London, during my first night away from California, and Ari, I proved to myself that I am pathetic and weak. I couldn’t even find comfort in the fact that we were sleeping under the same sky. My nights were his days. If I looked at the moon, there was no hope that he was looking at it too. I woke up most nights to my arms and legs rooting through the sheets looking for him. It was beyond depressing.
Despite our constant bickering, August was actually beginning to grow on me. He had a very dry sense of humor and we both shared the same view – that sarcasm should be treated as an art form. I began to warm up to him slightly and in return, he started to lighten up around me, pushing our friendship a little bit further each day. I think that maybe he had planned to do so all along.
Valentine’s Day approached. I sent texts to Nora and August, letting them know that I was not feeling well and they should just take a day off. Nora texted me back right away, wishing me well, and August texted back ‘eye roll’ for his only response.
I am not a Valentine’s Day type of person by any means. I have never been a romantic at heart, but the weight of missing Ari was bearing down on me so hard that I felt like my chest might cave. Thirty-nine days had passed since Ari and I had last spoken, and I was thinking any semblance of composure I might have was about to crack. . .
I spent the entire day in bed, wrapped up in my blankets, fighting off tears. Finally, around midnight, I broke down and called Rory.
“Ava! What’s up, Baby? I miss you,” he said, picking up after the first ring.
“Hi, Rory,” I said sheepishly. “I was just calling to see how things are.”
“Yeah, things are ok… you know same ol’ stuff.”
“So…” I continued. “How are things with Julia?”
“Really good, actually taking her out tonight for Valentine’s Day, and by the way Happy Valentine’s Day to you!”
“Yeah, sure, so how is Lauren; is she ok?”
“Lauren is fine, Ava. She misses you; we all miss you. Ari misses you. He is a mess, Ava; you should be calling him right now, not me.”
“I can’t, Roar.” Great, now I am crying. “Listen I need to get going, I hope you have a nice time tonight and um… please don’t tell him I called.”
“You know I can’t do that Ava Baby; he’s worried about you. I can’t keep something like this from him; he’d kill me.”
I hung up; I couldn’t hear any more. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hands and stared down at my phone. After an hour of looking at the little black screen, I opened a text box. My fingers were shaking. I typed in “X” and then quickly hit “send” to Ari’s number before I could talk myself out of it. No less than a second later, I got a text back and all it said was “O.”
Hugging my phone to me like a security blanket, I sobbed the rest of the night.
By the time August arrived in the morning, I was not in a very pleasant mood. We sat on the couch side by side and stared defiantly at each other for a good fifteen minutes. Then August pulled up his shirtsleeve, unintentionally revealing an arm full of tattoos.
I jumped up out of my seat and grabbed his arm.
“What the hell, Ava,” he snapped. “Back off.”
Ignoring his request, I grabbed his other arm, and pulled the sleeve up, uncovering another arm full of beautifully done tattoos.
“Who did these tattoos for you?” I demanded.
“Well…” he began to answer, “I have had them done by different artists all over the place, but most recently I have been going to this guy Jake, just up the street from here.”
“Will you take me there?” I asked in a more friendly tone.
“What the hell for, Ava?”
“For those,” I said as I pointed to his arm. “I want those.”
“No way. You’re only seventeen. If your grandmother found out, I would be fired in no time.”
I shook my head and gave him a very slow, determined smile.
“If you don’t take me there now, I will see that you are fired in no time.”
“Fine,” he grumbled, pulling his shirtsleeves back down, “You are something of a psycho, you know that?”
I ignored his comment, grabbed a handful of cash and followed August out the door. We walked in silence to Jake’s place. It w
as an old building; and the exterior was covered in chipped black paint. We entered through a back door and went down a flight of steps into a basement. Jake was working on a guy’s shoulder when we walked in, from the looks of it, he was finishing a skull with snakes coming out of the eye sockets.
Jake stood up and stretched. “Alright, Auggie? You ‘ere for more work? Don’t really have a lot a room lef, do ya?”
August rubbed the back of his head.
“Actually Jake, this is Ava. I guess she wants something done.”
Jake looked me up and down and chewed on the inside of his cheek.
“Right, Ava, take a seat; I’ll be wit'chew in a bit.”
We sat down on an old couch in an adjoining room. On a table by the couch I found some paper, a pencil and some design books. I drew out what I wanted and then patiently waited. I found myself in good spirits and didn’t feel even the least bit nervous. August began to calm down and told me he forgave me for being so hardheaded. He perfected my sketch, making it look just how I had pictured it in my mind, and then he helped me with the best placement and coloring.
When the skull guy was gone, Jake came in and pointed at me. “Listen” he said, “I know you ain’t eighteen, but Auggie ‘ere’s a good chap, so I’ll do it for ‘im. If you rat me out, your ass is mine.” Jake’s last sentence came through loud and clear.
“You don’t have to worry about me,” I shrugged.
“’Right din.”
Several hours later, I had a flock of birds taking flight up my right arm. They varied in size and their wings were positioned in different stages of flying. Four stood out among the large flock. They were especially beautiful and they symbolized Perry, my mother, my father and Mia. The tattoo was my way of finally letting them go while keeping them with me at the same time.
On my left wrist, I had Jake put two, two-inch black tally marks. They symbolized the lives I had taken so far from the Kakos -- No. 1 and No. 2. I made sure that Jake left enough room on my wrist to add marks for the rest of the family that I hoped I would eventually defeat. I paid Jake and gave him a generous tip, hoping to ensure that I would be welcome back, and set off with August down the road.
“So…” I turned towards August. “What do you think?”
“Ava, I think they’re pretty awesome. I still can’t believe you went through with it. And. . . wait. . . what’s that?” He teased. “Is that a smile?”
I shot him the meanest death stare I could muster. “Shut up, August, or I will cut you.”
That night, I slept peacefully. . .until, that is, I stumbled upon a rather strange dream. Aggie was in it and there was something wrong with her. I entered the dream, to get a closer view, and it suddenly became very clear to me that she was dying. I began to freak out in her little hospital room. My hands were shaking with panic as I looked around for a way to save her. The clock on her wall only gave her a few hours. It was cancer. I quickly realized that it was time for me to choose her fate. As fast as I could, I took the thread of Aggie’s life and wound it up tight, just as the little old woman in the hospital had shown me so long ago. There was no way Aggie was leaving me, not now. Even though I would not admit it to her, I needed Aggie badly. I knew that sounded selfish but it was true. I placed my hand on her sleeping body and I awoke.
Why hadn’t they told me? I paced around my flat all morning, bouncing back and forth from being angry at them for not telling me, and then relieved that I had gotten to her in time.
My phone started ringing late in the evening. August was still around because of a late start that day and he was packing up his books and notes. I snatched my phone up off the counter and saw that it was Ari. I picked up the phone but did not say anything.
“Hello? Ava?” I was wrong; it was Andy calling from Ari’s phone.
“What do you want, Andy?” I asked in a much colder tone than I thought I was capable of speaking.
“Well, uh, I just wanted to thank you. Aggie’s doctor called us all in today. I was thinking the worst, we all were, but he said that the cancer retreated overnight and there are no signs of it anywhere. I know something like this could only have been done by you, so you have my utmost gratitude.”
I started to respond, my voice getting louder by the second until I was nearly screaming through the phone.
“Why the hell didn’t anybody tell me, Andy? What complete bullshit! I could have helped her sooner! I cannot freaking believe you kept Aggie’s cancer from me.”
“We can’t just come and bother you with stuff like this,” he answered calmly. “You have your own issues to deal with…”
“Stuff like this,” I began to scream louder. “How can you even say that? The only reason I am where I am is to keep you guys alive. Letting Aggie just die completely defeats the purpose! Don’t ever do that to me ever again!”
“Um. . .” he paused, “I’m sorry, Ava; you’re right, of course. Would you like to speak with Ari now?”
“NO!” I yelled right before I hung up the phone.
Even though I missed Ari more than anything, I was so terribly angry at the family for not telling me about Aggie that I knew I would not be able to speak calmly with him. In fact, I had really surprised myself by having spoken to Andy the way I did. All of the anger, pain and sadness that had been brewing inside me the last two months had mounted up. Nearly losing Aggie became my melting point.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and I heard August shuffle his papers from behind me. I jumped, having completely forgotten he was even still here.
“What was that all about?” he asked.
“What did I say about personal questions?” I snapped at him.
“Oh, come off it, Ava,” August retorted. “You know, I had hoped we could be friends. But I know absolutely nothing about you, and you know everything about me.”
“Whatever, August. I don’t know everything about you and I know what I know only because you told me, not because I asked, or even wanted to know.”
“Fine, Ava!” August grabbed his bag off the counter. Normally, I would have just let him fume out and leave for the day. He had stormed out on me numerous times before and had always come right back the next day. However, I was afraid that, left alone on this night, I would break down and do something stupid. . . like call Ari.
I rolled my eyes at him, “Okay, August, what do you want to know?” He had a triumphant smile plastered on his face.
“Uh, ok,” he scratched his head. “Who was that on the phone?”
I took a deep breath and then pushed the air out from between my puffed cheeks. “That was… that was Andy, my boyfriend’s dad, well…my ex-boyfriend’s dad.”
“Huh, so there’s a complicated boyfriend issue, is there? Is that why you’re always so nasty?”
“I haven’t been that nasty.”
August gawked at me.
“Ava, you just cussed out your boyfriend’s dad; “nasty” is a forgiving word to describe your attitude.”
“Yeah, well I guess that’s part of the reason I’ve been on edge. Ari and I haven’t talked since I moved here, apart from one very tiny text message. I thought it would be easier that way.”
“Well, has it been easier?”
“Honestly, no. Each day is harder than the last.”
“So what is lover boy going to think of those new tats?”
“I really don’t know. That’s a good question. He is all the way in California, and I don’t have any plans to go back.”
“That really sucks, I’m sorry. I wish I had comforting words to give you, but I don’t know much about relationships. But, uh, I did hear you listening to The Arctic Monkeys the other day, and I actually have tickets for Friday’s show if you’re interested; might help take your mind off things.”
My mouth hung open in shock. I couldn’t believe I had opened up for one second and he was already coming on to me. I think August could tell by the look on my face what I was thinking. He threw his palms up in a gesture of peace
and quickly blurted out, “It’s not like that! I’m gay!”
“You’re gay?” I asked, having been taken completely off guard.
“Couldn’t you tell?” he laughed.
“Sorry, August, I don’t sit around and play ‘is he or isn’t he.’ I’ve never even thought about it. But now that you mention it, it does make sense…and yeah, sure, I do love The Arctic Monkeys, sounds like fun.”
“Good, ‘cause Jake is busy and I really don’t want to go alone.”
“Well, I’m glad I can help, even if I am just a warm body to fill an empty seat.”
“Har, har, Ava. You know I think much more of you than that. Why else would I have hung around for so long?”
“Uh, I don’t know…maybe because you’re getting paid.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he said with a smile.
That Friday, August hung around until after my exams and waited for me as I got ready for the concert. I had a hard time finding anything that still fit me. London and my stomach did not get along and I had probably lost ten pounds since I’d arrived. I hadn’t ventured too far off my tea and toast diet and my work with getting Nora ready for a marathon hadn’t helped. On top of everything else, I wasn’t sleeping regularly. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had actually felt hungry, but I am sure it was when I was still content, back in California. I finally settled on some leggings, a pair of leather boots and a long chunky sweater. August and I headed down the block to a café that we had gone to on occasion for morning coffee. I was in need of a pick-me-up, having spent another sleepless night obsessing over the fact that I had refused to talk with Ari.
The show was at The Camden Roundhouse and our seats were incredible.
“How did you get these seats? They must have cost you a fortune.”
“Ha, yeah,” August started, “actually your grandmother gave me a raise; she said it’s impressive that I have been able to stick around for as long as I have.”
This made me laugh. “Well, you deserve it.”
The show was great and August and I had a blast. One of the best parts about being me at a concert is that most people can’t stand to get close to me. August and I pushed our way to the front with ease and I created a nice space bubble, without anyone bumping into us or stepping on our toes. We sort of had our own personal concert.
When the show was over, August walked me back to my flat, talking the whole way about his own recent move to London. He had just graduated from l’Universite d’Avignon in the south of France when he found out that his boyfriend Claude had been cheating on him. August struggled to deal with the break-up and eventually realized that he needed to get away.
I listened to his story and felt guilty for having been such a complete jerk to him. Then I realized that I had no idea where August lived.
“So what area of London do you live in? Are you in Camden Town, too?”
“Well,” he began to answer, “I am kind of in-between places right now. My roommate kicked me out last month so his girlfriend could move in, so I’ve been staying on Jake’s sofa until I can find something in my price range.”
“Oh,” I said feeling even worse for him. A sudden thought popped up in my head.
“This isn’t my apartment or anything, but there are two bedrooms and I live there for free, so I wouldn’t charge you. As long as you don’t tell Margaux, you’re welcome to stay with me.”
“Seriously?” He said with a grin. “That would be awesome.”
“Yeah, seriously, it’s no big deal. Just move your things into the spare room. You’ll have to make room in the closet – the chick that lived here before me must have been really into dressing up because she left a ton of wigs and weird leather clothes behind; I would have gotten rid of it by now if I didn’t feel so unmotivated.”
“Hey, wigs and weird leather clothes don’t bother me a bit – the offer sounds great! I don’t have much, but I’ll bring it with me on Monday.”
“Sure. Umm listen, the only thing is that I scream in my sleep. Don’t wake me up and don’t ask me what it’s about.”
“Yeah, sure, ok, Ava.”
I thanked August again for the concert. He left and I made my way onto the lift and into my flat. I felt happy that August would be sharing the flat with me. I hadn’t realized how tired I had become of being alone all the time and was looking forward to having a flat mate. My spirits felt slightly lifted. I went straight to sleep and got my work done in the hospital hallway.