A Many Splintered Thing / Day 16: "I tend to build walls—okay, villages—around myself to keep people away.”

 Did you know we're at over 21,000 words? Wow. How time flies when you're writing a book with friends along for the ride. Hope you're enjoying yourself. And your Friday.

XOXO
Sommer
p.s. How gorgeous is that picture!? I want to go there, sit in a lawn chair and drink wine as I watch the sky shift and change.




Dahlia
Jesus, what do you say to that? You can’t fuck with a person who admits that what they felt at some point was the closest thing he’d known to love. It would be an asshole move to say the least. Especially since she had absolutely no doubt he was being sincere. By the way he moved restlessly around the room, the way the muscles in his shoulders, neck and jaw bunched with tension.
She wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Jasmine could have her charms. And sometimes her sheer awfulness—a trait which reared its head fairly normally—could be part of her magic. She was definitely a dazzling creature to people who had no idea what it was like to be spoiled.
“You’re not an asshole,” he laughed. “Just nosy. As am I. We’re supposed to be making the bed springs scream right now. At least that’s what poor clueless Harrison thinks.”
“He’s not as clueless as you think,” she said. She spoke fast to make herself ignore the fact that when Caleb, big-big Caleb whose energy seemed to be filling the room like an invisible force, mentioned bed springs her body reacted.
He cocked an eyebrow, a trait she found annoyingly appealing on him. “No?”
“Nope. He knew he was going to get to her with the maids. The poor sap is hopelessly in love with her, you know. He only did it to get her riled up. I don’t think he figured she’d call you.”
“Do you think he knows whyshe called me?”
She shrugged and became aware of what it did to her breasts when his eyes settled there. “I don’t know. There’s a chance he does. There’s a chance he doesn’t.”
He looked at her face and blew out a sigh, but then his eyes drifted down again.
“Can I help you?” she asked, laughing.
Again that eyebrow went up and he groaned. “That, my dear fake soul mate, is a loaded question. I can think of a thousand and one ways I’d like for you to help me.”
“You’re very shy, aren’t you?” She sipped her drink, keeping her eyes pinned to his.
“Painfully, so.”
Dead silence and then they were both laughing. Alice lifted her head, looked from one to the other, and put her head back down. She’d acclimated to her new home rather fast, Dahlia thought.
He scratched his head and tilted his head back. “I’m sorry,” he said to the ceiling. “I came here for one woman who railroaded me into her bizarre psychosis. Then you walked in and I felt like Wile E. Coyote when his eyeballs do that bug out vibrating thing.”
She couldn’t help but smile. He was bold, but by God he was honest. And she loved that above all other things.
“Do tell.”
“I am telling!” he said, raising an arm in frustration. “And you’re all whiskey drinking, cowboy boot wearing, dog loving, food bringing and just…” He lowered his gaze to look right at her. “Hot as hell. I barely know you but I like you. And I feel okay around you. Which sounds like a half-assed compliment but it’s actually full-assed.”
She smirked, raising her glass to her mouth to try and shield it. Dahlia didn’t think it worked, though.“How so?”
“I don’t…jibe with a lot of people.”
“And why is that?” she asked. “Let me get my invisible notepad and pen since I’m playing therapist.”
He grinned at her. Her stomach dropped like an elevator and she almost sucked in a breath but managed to squelch it. Thank god. She didn’t need him to know he had any kind of effect on her. At all. That was private.
“Probably because I started our rough right out of the gate and I tend to build walls—okay, villages—around myself to keep people away.”
“So for the woman you almost loved for real you picked the most spoiled abrasive woman on earth?” She chuckled.
He scratched his forehead. “My god. I never thought of that. Maybe that was intentional, eh? Thanks, Dr. Freud.”
“I shudder to think what that says about me if you find me easy to be with.”
“I don’t know. Good things, I hope. That’s the thing. I find myself telling you stuff.”
“It’s the whiskey,” she said, giving him an out.
No it’s not.
“No it’s not,” he said, echoing her thoughts. “It’s you. Which is a little unnerving. But I can live with unnerving. By the way it would take a lot more whiskey for it to be the whiskey.”
“You can drink, hunh?”
“I can,” he said, buffing his nails on his shirt. “Not to brag.”
“But you will.”
She watched as his face fell. Shit. It was like watching storm clouds move in on a vibrant day.
“I think it’s genetic,” he said. His face had gotten so serious. “My old man could drink his way through a bar shelf and then drive home. Well,” He winked. “To hear him tell it.”
“Something tells me though you sound jokey it’s not a joking matter.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Not really. He was a cop. You know the cliché cop of the movies, I’m sure. Looks like the good guy but under it all maybe isn’t so good. Maybe drinks too much, maybe beats on his wife when it’s convenient—but knows how to do it without getting caught. Or!” He held up a finger, his tone again jovial but his expression anything but.
Her stomach turned over fast and she thought she might be sick. She put her whiskey down and tried to breathe deeply. She’d touched a nerve, Dahlia realized. Which was surprising to her because when she first saw him standing there with Jasmine she’d have sworn in court the man had no nerves to touch. Cool as a cucumber. He seemed like a guy who got his way, liked to swing his big dick, and run roughshod through the world.
This was a surprise. And something in her softened for him. Ached for him.
“Or, if your wife finally withdraws to the point that it’s just no fun to pound on her anymore, you can move on to the kid.”
She shook her head. “Jesus. I’m sorry.” It made her hands shake. They had something in common. Something she had no interest in admitting or discussing.
He seemed to come back to himself. He laughed but it had a bitter undertone. “Wow, you’re like a witch or something. Do you practice mind control? Maybe you’re a mesmerist?” He was trying to make light of it.
“Sorry, nope. Just boring old me.”
“I’ve never told anyone that before,” he said. “Willingly.
She sized him up and then picked up the bottle and poured them both a drink. “Not a witch or any of those other things. But I can tell you that the best way to get know someone—especially your make believe beloved—“ He snorted and she nodded. “Is to get drunk with them. So…you up for killing the bottle?”
He glanced at the dog. “What do you say, Alice?” They waited in silence as the dog sat and stared at him, ears perked. Then he turned to her and said, “She said yes.”  

photo credit: heanster via photopin cc