Burn Before Reading Page 14

  "This isn't your problem! Leave. Now."

  "How long?" He repeated. "One day? Two?"

  "Four," I groaned. "Now just please, leave -"

  He cleared his throat, announcing loudly;

  "Mr. Cruz, I'm taking your daughter out for a date."

  Every hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. No, no no no! He can't just say that! To Dad of all people! I never go out - I've never dated, Dad never failed to always sternly warn me about the dangers of boys when I used to talk about the band members I was crushing on - we're not actually going on a date, are we? Oh god, we're not actually - with Wolf? No no no, that's impossible, this is stupid -

  The door creaked open. My heart soared as Dad stood in view, his face so much thinner than I remembered. His beard was tangled, his lips chapped, but his eyes were alive - dancing with curiosity and suspicion as he looked Wolf up and down.

  "Who are you?" He croaked.

  Wolf extended his hand, his voice cool, almost calm for once.

  "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cruz. I'm Wolf Blackthorn. I'm a junior at Lakecrest. Your daughter and I are in the same Auto Shop class."

  Dad's eyes bounced to me, and I instantly burst.

  "Dad, you have to eat something. I made soup -"

  I knew the darkness that clouded his gaze at the words from my mouth - shame. He saw me and instantly recoiled back into the room, but Wolf wedged his boot in the door swiftly.

  "Mr. Cruz," He said quickly. "As I said, I'm taking your daughter out for a date. We won't be back until midnight."

  Dad's face scrunched up, his spine straightened. He stood tall and proud all of a sudden.

  "No. No, Bee's not going out at all with you."

  "She is," Wolf insisted.

  There was a tense silence in the room before Dad glowered.

  "You'll be back before seven, or there will be consequences. I'll be here, waiting up all night if I have to."

  "Outside of your room, I presume?" Wolf quirked a brow. Dad's glower intensified, then went slack all at once. Something changed in him - some realization he had. A sense of time blurred for some people with depression. Dad might've lost track - and was just now understanding how long it'd been for everyone but him.

  "Yes. Out of the room." His eyes ventured to me, this time staying on my face. "Be careful, Bee. Please."

  My chest felt so much lighter - he was fine. All the worry I'd cupped like liquid lead just...fell away. He was going to come out of his room. And Wolf had - Wolf had been the one to do it. Not me. Tragically, horribly, not me. Not once was anything I did effective. Wolf's little lie had done what I couldn't.

  "There's soup, Dad, and bread." I insisted. "Promise me you'll have some while I'm gone."

  "I will. If you promise to be careful."

  I nodded, smiling. "I promise."

  I felt a tug on my hand - Wolf's leather gloves against my palm as I let him pull me out of the door. I was too shocked, too relieved to do much else than follow him downstairs. I was halfway across the lawn before I stopped.

  "Wait - " My head snapped up. "We're not really going on a date."

  "I'm a lot of things," Wolf said, walking over to his bike and pulling a spare helmet from the seat compartment. He offered me it. "But I'm not a liar."

  "With you? I’m in my -" I looked down at my pjs. "I'm in my pajamas, for shit's sake! I can't go anywhere like this! And you - you and me - that isn't a thing!"

  Wolf darted his eyes above me, to the living room window. "Look."

  I looked. Dad stood there, watching us go, clutching a cup of coffee and looking worried. He was up! He was out of his room, getting some sunlight, drinking - it felt so good to see him out and about again.

  But how long would it last?

  "Pretend, for an hour, like this is real." Wolf muttered, pressing the helmet into my hands. "Come with me. He'll be waiting for you when you get back."

  My self split into two again - half wanted to stay and look after Dad, make sure he was alright, the other half wanted nothing more than to get away from the house. If I left, Dad would stay out of his room waiting for me. He'd eat, he'd watch some TV. He'd do something other than sit in that room and stew in his guilt and sickness.

  I took the helmet from Wolf and buckled it under my chin. He shrugged his jacket off and dumped it on my shoulder.

  "Put that on, too."

  "But you’ll be cold -"

  "For the love of God, scholarshipper, can you just worry about yourself for once?"

  An incredulous laugh bubbled up from me as I pulled the warm jacket on. He was right - I was way colder than he was. It made sense for me to take the jacket. It made sense for me to fake a date with him, in my pjs. This all made sense. If I kept telling myself that, it would be true, right?

  Wolf put his own helmet on and revved the motorcycle. He patted the seat behind him, his voice muffled through the visor.

  "You can hold on to the back of the seat. I won't go fast."

  He never let anyone ride his motorcycle. Mr. Blackthorn had told me that much. So why was he letting me?

  "Maybe I'll just hug you, instead," I threatened. All I got for that was a scoff. He hated the touching thing, so I just held onto the seat, careful not to press my legs anywhere near his, though the motorcycle made it hard. I looked back as he revved the engine again - Dad lingered at the window. He saw me on the motorcycle and went stark-white, then barreled for the front door. He was coming out to stop us, but Wolf was faster - he gunned the throttle and drove away, Dad becoming a small, shouting speck on the lawn.

  My stomach knotted itself, then loosened. If Dad's pissed at me, maybe it'll take his mind off the argument with Mom. That's a fine trade off.

  The wind blew my hair from my shoulders, the smell of maybe-rain and motor oil and greasy fast food assaulting me as we drove down the road. I saw all the familiar pawn shops and Chinese take-out places and realized we were on the strip, heading north. I noticed Wolf didn't take the highway, preferring the residential route instead, probably because I was here. It was a long drive, but the scenes flashing by - houses, kids playing in yards, roadside steakhouses, shopping malls - it all blurred into a sort of white noise that washed my thoughts clean. My brain was empty, too busy watching everything pass me to think about anything at all. The way the motorcycle purred and growled at different speeds, the way Wolf turned it with the slightest tilt of his hands - it was so incredibly fluid. Trees dropped their leaves on my shoulders, flowers spraying pollen as the force of our drive-by wind rustled them.

  I didn’t realize it at the time, but looking back on it, it was the most peaceful I'd felt in a while.

  Finally, Wolf pulled into the driveway of a small, but very beautiful dark wood house. Ivy clung to the roof, quivering in the autumn breeze. We both got off the motorcycle just as the front door opened.

  "Wolfgang!" An old man with silver hair and a cherubic smile walked out. "I'd know that rumbling anywhere!"

  He had an accent - Scottish? Irish? I wasn't good at discerning accents. He walked up to Wolf, stretched his arms out as if going in for a hug. Wolf flinched a little, and the man quickly put this arms down.

  "Oh my, forgot about that again, I'm sorry my boy," He mused.

  "It's fine," Wolf shook his head.

  The man spotted me and smiled. "And who is this lovely lady?"

  "I kidnapped her," Wolf deadpanned. The man threw an alarmed look at me.

  "Is that right?"

  "Oh, no -" I suddenly felt self-conscious about my pjs. "We're just - classmates. We're working on a, um, project together."

  "She needs something to wear," Wolf said. "Do you have anything, Seamus?"

  "Of course!" The old man smiled at me. "Come in, dear. It's much too blustery to be standing around outside."

  I furrowed my brows as Wolf and I followed the man in.

  "We could've just stopped at a Target, you know," I whisper
ed. Wolf idly played with a leaf of a potted fern in the entrance way. "Who is this guy, anyway? Why are we bothering him?"

  "He's my father's tailor," Wolf said.

  "Like - like a professional tailor?" I sputtered. "I don't have the money for that. Just take me to Wal-Mart."

  "You're not paying," Wolf asserted.

  "Listen here, buster, I won't have you paying for my -"

  "Ah, come into the kitchen!" Seamus poked his head around the entryway. "I've made some tea, and we can take your measurements."

  I looked at Wolf, but he only motioned for me to go first. Bastard. He knew I couldn't refuse such a nice old man. I wandered into the kitchen and Seamus sat me down at the small table, pouring me a cup of tea.

  "Peppermint!" He exclaimed, pushing his little glasses farther up his nose. "Now then, what are you - a ten? Nine at the waist?" Wolf walked in, and Seamus shooed him out. "What are you doing in here? A lady only truthfully tells a tailor her size - get out!"

  I laughed at the utterly bewildered expression on Wolf's face as he walked away. Seamus turned to me, hands on his hips.

  "Now then, let's hear it again, miss...?"

  "Bee," I said.

  "Miss Bee," He nodded. "I'll need your waist size if I'm to get you a serviceable set of clothes."

  "Uh, twelve. I think."

  Seamus frowned, then pulled a measuring tape out of seemingly nowhere. "If you'd please, Miss Bee. Stand for me. I hope you don't mind if I measure you."

  "N-Not at all."

  He puttered around me with the measuring tape, taking my shoulders, my sides. I did get a little skittish when he measured the inside of my legs, but I just shut my eyes and tried to pretend I was Wolf - stoic and unmoving. Finally, Seamus straightened and smiled at me.

  "You're so much easier to measure than that boy out there. He hates it all. It's just as I thought - you're nowhere near a size twelve, dear."

  "But - that's my jean size."

  "For mass production, of course it is. But a properly fitted pant on you would be a ten, at the most."

  "Mr. Seamus," I sighed. "I don't want to take up too much of your time. Do you just have, like, an extra pair of sweatpants lying around?" I fished around in my wallet and came up with a ten. "Ten is all I have, but I can pay you back the rest later."

  Seamus looked down at the ten I was offering, and a smile creased his eyes. "Oh no, sweatpants? For a girl as pretty as yourself? No, I'm afraid that won't do. It's a matter of artisan pride now, you understand."

  "I...don't think I do. Um. Understand."

  He motioned for me to follow him. Confused, I did. He led me down the hall to a larger room, filled to the brim with gorgeous bolts of fabric and smooth planes of leather and lace. A massive, hefty-looking sewing machine sat on a desk in the back, all sorts of needles and darning tools and protractors hanging from the walls. Seamus fiddled with a pile of clothes, searching for something.

  "I've known the Blackthorn boys since they were babies," He grunted, pulling a gray shirt out. He shook his head at it, then threw it back and dived into the pile again. "I've known their father since he was a baby, since his father immigrated to the United States. We came to Washington together, me from Wales, him from Turkey. Aha, there it is! No, that's the velvet. Where did I put -"

  Seamus pulled out a piece of green fabric. "Which do you like better, Miss Bee - skirts or dresses?"

  "Seriously, just pants will be fine."

  "Miss Bee, please," Seamus pleaded. "I've been sewing suits and boys' clothes for the Blackthorns for so long. If you'd let me attempt a dress, I'd be over the moon."

  I expelled a breath. "Okay. Fine. But I'm paying you back for it. Full price."

  Seamus chuckled. "Of course, dear. Of course. Now then, let us begin."

  He pulled bolt after bolt of fabric down from the shelves, offering me colors and patterns I'd only seen in magazines - delicate gold-stitched things, blue shiny fabric, stuff with so many sequins on it shimmered like mermaid scales. I was overwhelmed with color and texture as Seamus explained to me each fabric's traits. By the time he asked me to wait in the living room for him to finish, I felt like I'd been sucked up and spit out of a whirlwind. I made my way to the living room, only to see Wolf sitting on the couch, one knee over the other, his leather gloves in his hands as he checked his phone. The sun played over his raven-dark hair, catching his jade eyes as he looked up.

  "You survived," He said.

  "You sound impressed," I collapsed on a nearby armchair.

  "When I was five, my dad took me here, and Seamus showed me his collection. I came out crying."

  I smothered a laugh. "Oh yeah? How did Burn and Fitz do, then?"

  "Burn just stood there and took it like he always does. Seamus calls him the 'perfect mannequin'. You can guess how much Fitz likes Seamus."

  "Loads," I offered. Wolf shot me a lopsided smirk, and being on the receiving end of it made my breath catch. It was weird, but not unpleasant, to see him amused instead of irritated with me.

  "Truckloads."

  We sat in silence, the gentle ticking of a grandfather clock the only noise that dared to exist. Questions gnawed at me, but one louder than the rest.

  "Why did you come to my house?" I asked. Wolf shifted on the couch, almost - nervously? But that couldn't be right. Wolfgang Blackthorn doesn't get nervous.

  "I was coming to apologize," He said. "I was....harsh, that night at the party."

  I wove my fingers together in an effort to look busy. "And tipsy, apparently."

  He snorted. "I hate getting drunk at those sorts of things. People turn into idiots so quickly. Myself included."

  "Is Fitz okay?"

  "Yeah. He's always enjoyed pushing my buttons. And it always comes to a head. But not like that. I blame the alcohol."

  "Why were you drinking if you hate it?"

  "I was nervous."

  "Why?"

  He narrowed his eyes. "You ask why way too frequently for comfort."

  "Sorry, can't help it - naturally curious. Or annoying, depending on who you ask."

  Wolf cleared his throat. "I was nervous...about seeing you." I opened my mouth, but he flinched. "If you ask why again, so help me -"

  "Alright!" I held my hands up in surrender. "We can leave it at that. I won't even dig into it. Much. Good shrinks take what they can get, and infer the rest."

  "No, see -" He crossed his arms over his chest. "That’s exactly what I don't want. You inferring things about me."

  "Why?" I stopped. "I mean, uh, because you think I'll infer wrong?"

  "You're running the risk of deciding things on your own," He said slowly. "If you get used to your inferences, you can lose sight of reality. Things aren't what you decide they are - they are what they are, whether you can understand them or not."

  I laughed, suddenly nervous. "I don't get it."

  "Inferring is easy," He leaned forward, eyes riveted to mine. I couldn't look away if I tried. "It's someone deciding in their mind, whether they're right or wrong, what something means. Rather than let that thing hang, scary and unknown, they give it a meaning to feel more secure about it. But if they've inferred wrong, they could end up hurting someone with that."

  "Uh, can I have an example?"

  Wolf exhaled. "Fine. Me, for example. The reason I was nervous about seeing you. You're going to infer from it that I...like you, or some garbage like that. But I don't. I was nervous about seeing you because – “

  I watched his throat bob with a hard swallow. It wouldn't take a textbook to realize he was uneasy, reluctant to say the next few words. I searched my memories for something, anything that could make someone as put-together as Wolf squirm. And then it hit me.

  "Because of the pool thing," I said. "I tried to - I almost - touched you."

  Wolf flexed his jaw, then nodded shortly.

  "I didn't mean to," I blurted. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, I jus
t -"

  "It's fine."

  "It's not fine!" I stood up. "Look, I read a lot, okay? The textbooks say phobias like yours aren't to be messed with lightly."

  The sun carved his face in doubt. "How did you know I have a phobia?"

  My stomach dropped out. "It's obvious. You never touch anyone. You flinch away if someone gets too close. You always spin your rings when you’re thinking, and when someone gets close you spin them fast. The only time I've seen you touch someone was that night when you fought Fitz, but you said you were buzzed. Your inhibitions were lowered. And that was the only time."

  Wolf stopped spinning a ring on his finger, like he caught himself in the act.

  "How many people have you told?" He demanded, eyes just beginning to stoke with emerald brimstone.

  "None, I promise. I don't think anybody's caught on. They just think you're a jerk."

  "Better a jerk than a freak," He muttered.

  "You're not a freak."

  Wolf laughed, the sound reverberating. "We're social animals, scholarshipper. Babies without touch grow up stunted. Touch is vital. To be afraid of something so simple and integral and easy for everyone else -" He clenched his gloves in his hand. "Is freakish. Stupid. Immature."

  The last three words didn't sound like his own. They sounded hollow, like a recording of a memory.

  "It sounds like you're just reciting those last three words. Like, you've heard someone say them to you a lot, and you're just repeating them."

  Wolf's eyes flashed dangerously. I wasn't going to press him about it. I couldn't press him about it - it was his past to bear, even if I wanted to know badly what it was, how he got such scars.

  "It's okay," I said slowly. "I'm trying to save my Dad, and you're repeating words from someone in your past. It happens. Shit happens. We're both fucked up and shit happens."

  "Maybe you're inferring wrong," He snarled.

  "No. Not with your reaction, I'm not. I'm right, aren't I?"

  The grandfather clock ticked between our silence again. Wolf didn't say anything, his quiet all the confirmation I needed.

  "You said my name," He spoke finally.

  "What?"

  "On your lawn. You said my name. So now we've both said each other’s'."