BAD LAD

11. Katherine

The return journey takes place in dead silence. I once again cast a short glance at Chris who hasn’t opened his mouth since our confrontation.

I’m not a coward, far from it, however... when he stepped forward until his body grazed mine, with that dark look in his eyes, I thought my last hour had just arrived. An impressive storm darkened his metallic eyes and seemed to want to swallow me completely in its blackness. I was completely paralyzed in the face of what emanated from him at that moment—brute force, anger, and something else, indefinable.

I had just realized that my multiple provocations had overcome his patience. Yet he had warned me countless times...

What a b***h!

It wasn’t like I didn’t know these kinds of men. This category of the quick-tempered bad guy, time bombs ready to explode at the slightest challenge to their ego. They all have the same type of look before laying waste to everything.

What was I thinking?

I watch him unlock the front door: he’s carrying two bags, and me only one, with a brand new broom in the other hand.

When we were at the checkout, he paid, even my damn sanitary pads! Because in truth I don’t use tampons. I tried to protest his generosity, but a glance from him was enough to dissuade me from insisting.

As soon as I crossed the doorway, I have only one thing in mind: clean everything and prepare a decent meal to make amends. Myself, I wouldn’t have appreciated someone laughing at me so much.

From the corner of my eye, I watch him sit on the couch and start playing an online game on his console. The goal is to flush out the enemy and then eliminate them. He seems completely absorbed by his virtual mission, a headset over his ears.

I come to the end of the phenomenal mess in his room. I even find a washing machine in the bathroom, too new to have been used. I turn it on after stuffing the sheets into the drum, wondering how he manages to live in such a pigsty.

I then attack the kitchen which takes me two hours, but I can now prepare a meal. A good fight with the oven is needed to understand its operation. Soon a pleasant smell floats in the air and I smile, satisfied.

So, by the way, we skipped lunch, it’s almost 6 o’clock. I prefer to call Julie before throwing myself in the shower. With my phone in hand, I look for her name in the directory and hit the call button. She answers on the second ring as usual.

“Julie? It’s me.”

“Kate? Where are you?” she asks me, surprised and worried.

“I left the dormitory.”

“How?!”

She seems completely distraught. I close my eyes briefly and sigh.

“Don’t worry about me, I...”

No. I can’t tell her I moved in with a tattooed bad boy, so I opt for the most optimistic version:

“I’m living at Mel’s.”

“Mel’s back?”

Here, Julie is downright shocked.

“Yes and no. I came across her by chance at my job and... I told her about... well, you know.”

“What did she say?”

By the tone of her voice, I imagine her clinging to her mobile phone.

“It’s... it’s Mel, after all.”

“I see.”

Of that, I’m sure, I think bitterly.

We’re familiar with our older sister. She has never shone with compassion or empathy.

“Will you be okay?” Julie is concerned, and immediately continues: “Why did you leave? Did you fight with Father Stephen?”

“Not really, it’s just... I need to keep control... and he’s nice, eh, that’s not the point, but well he doesn’t leave me much room to manoeuvre. But yes, I’m going to be okay, as always.”

“Ah. Good. I understand... Good, then. Take care of yourself, Kate. Don’t let Mel...”

Julie doesn’t finish her sentence and I thank her silently. We both know the effect which Mel has on my already not very easy character. I’m a huge can of gasoline and she’s a lit match. The result of the meeting of these two elements is rather easy to guess.

“Be good.”

This request from me is ridiculous: Julie is good all the time. Only, I hate to say goodbye. Besides, she’s laughing.

“You too.”

I end our conversation, and when I look up, my eyes meet two grey irises: Chris isn’t on his video game at all and seems to have listened to my discussion with Julie. I can’t stand his intense gaze so I divert mine, noting from the corner of my eye that he does the same.

Then I go into my new room, choose a t-shirt and clean jogging pants before going to the bathroom freshly scrubbed from floor to ceiling by me.

When I lower my hand to lock the door, I realize with horror that there’s no lock or even a latch... but the location for a keyhole with the key missing. I press my forehead against the wood panel whose paint is flaking, frowning like a three-year-old kid. I’ll have to ask Chris where it is.

Sick at heart, I return to the living room to sit behind the couch. My eyes go to the screen where a large virtual machine gun sends bursts of bullets in the back of a skull with very short hair. I don’t know why, but he’s stronger than me: I contemplate his neck. There’s a mole in the centre that gives me the sudden urge to put my finger on it. I clear my throat to indicate my presence. Without success. I repeat, stronger. No more effective, ultimately, and I finally pull on his headphones:

“Whoa!”

He jumps then quickly pivots his upper body towards me, looking surprised and a little annoyed.

“I have a problem.”

I’m only entitled to a questioning eyebrow.

“I would like to take a shower.”

The same expression on his face, but now a glimmer sparkles in his grey eyes.

“I can’t close the door because the key’s gone. You know where it is?”

While a grin distorts his mouth, he gently rubs his chin lightly shaded with a beard.

“To do what?”

“To close it. The door. Close the door with the key.”

I have the strange feeling of talking to a two-year-old. Very annoying.

“You said so: for what? Are you afraid that I’ll look at you while you wash?”

“I need some privacy.”

His smile widens to become a strange rictus, telling me nothing worthwhile.

“I see. We all suffer from our primary needs, right? I promise I’ll knock before entering.”

I need several seconds before the subtext jumps in my face, and once my mind is enlightened, my cheeks are burning.

“Dumb-ass! I... I didn’t... it’s not... I’m not an animal controlled by its... its hormones!” I stutter.

This makes me look miserably guilty, where there’s no reason to at all, furthermore. I throw a murderous glance.

“You’re freaking out because of a bad joke with the tampons, and then to suggest that I... I...!”

His lewd expression fades in favour of an embarrassed one and he scratches the back of his skull.

“Sorry about that. I don’t know why I short-circuited earlier. More to the point, though, it wasn’t a good reason. You certainly didn’t want to belittle me or try me... just joking. Only... well, that’s it. I can be very stupid sometimes and this isn’t new.”

His messy explanation isn’t one, so I decide to rise above it. We’re all susceptible to varying degrees, depending on the timing.

“Apology accepted.”

He suddenly looks up to tie his eyes to mine.

“I hope so! It’s not every day that happens, then note it on your calendar!”

I nod an amused smile on my lips.

“So?”

“So what?”

“The key?”

To which he replies with a shrug indicating clearly that he didn’t know more than me on the matter. I sigh, defeated.

“I declare, I swear!” he exclaims, feigning an innocence which I don’t believe for a second.

“You don’t come in at all, period!”

“And if I have to pee?”

“You hold it!” I start walking towards the bathroom.

It takes me less than ten minutes to come out with a towel wrapped around my head, and rush into the kitchen to turn off the oven. Chris is already there, his backside barely leaning against the edge of the sink while he drinks a beer. When I pass him, I hear him spit out his drink noisily. I glance at him while carefully going out with the chocolate cake.

“f**k!”

I carefully place the cake on the Formica table, very proud of its appearance.

“What?” I ask, without looking.

“But, f**k!” Chris repeats, a little less stronger than the first time, however.

I decide to confront him and I’m surprised to see him wear a glazed codfish stare.

“What’s the problem?”

“Nothing,” he says, clearly trying to lose the smile on his face.

I frown.

“Spit it out! Otherwise, you can put a cross over dinner tonight!” I threaten, pointing my index finger.

He grins. Blackmail gives him a painful dilemma, and he finally releases a condemned sigh:

“Never mind, I’ll starve. If I tell you, it’ll never happen again,” he whispers, not hiding his silly smile this time.

He walks away, suddenly eager to put distance between us. Hardly had he left the kitchen he suddenly reappears, only leaning his head through the opening. His gaze falls well below mine. He manages to drink another sip of his beer, then smiles again foolishly before withdrawing for good into the other room.

I look, for a few seconds, at the place where he was with his ecstatic expression, and then I look at myself to find what could have caused such a reaction. When my eyes touch my braless chest, my face burns. The coolness in the apartment resulted in a normal reaction. The hardened tips of my breasts are excruciatingly visible through the thin fabric of my yellow t-shirt.

“p*****t!” I exclaim, mortified.

His laughter echoes my insult.