He remained silent as she left him in the alley, alone with his thoughts, a littering of cigarette butts, and the fading click of her heels.
Josie capped the marker and leaned over to blow on the drawing. She watched closely as the ink soaked into the wood wall and dried to a matte finish. These things always gave her a sense of worth. They were the opposite of her, permanent and immortal.
She finished the last of her drink, waiting for the alcohol to deliver what she needed. It had been a mistake staying sober tonight. She had wanted to do it for Tristan, and to prove to herself that she could. But now she needed the pain washed away.
“Hey, there, can I buy you a drink?” a man asked from the table next to hers.
Josie smiled and looked him over. He was moderately attractive, middle-aged, and married. The distinct tan line on his left hand was a dead giveaway. She didn’t care, though. He was the lucky guy tonight, his win concreted by the absence of tattoos and all-knowing green eyes.
“Hell, yeah, you can,” Josie answered, waving him over.
“You here alone?” he asked, taking a seat next to her.
She almost rolled her eyes at his clichéd pickup lines. This guy had been out of the game a very long time.
“Not anymore.”
Josie’s drink arrived and she downed it in one long swallow. The burn of the alcohol stoked her furious need to erase Tristan for good.
“So, what do you do for a living?” he asked.
“Look, this is not an interview. My name is Josie and I’m a sure thing. You want to see me naked or not?”
A few minutes later, the waitress returned, only to find two empty chairs.
“Whaddya mean you’re not gonna to see him again?” Alex yelled, his voice three octaves higher than usual.
He tossed the bag of burgers and fries to her and sat on the edge of the sofa.
“Jo, he knew you back in New Orleans. Which means he knew your family, mami. You don’t gotta be best friends, but you gotta get some info. Then kick him to the curb.”
Alex knew he’d have to approach this carefully. He just didn’t understand her willingness to let go of this person who held so many answers.
“My past is better left in the past, Alex.”
Josie pulled the greasy food from the paper bag and threw a few fries into her mouth. She wanted to avoid this conversation altogether, but Alex had this inexplicable ability to pull information from her.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”
“Do you remember everything in your past?” she asked.
“Shit, yes.”
“How much of it do you wish you didn’t?”
He shrugged, not wanting to further prove her point.
“Still, I’d wanna know what he knows,” Alex said.
“You know what they say about curiosity?”
Josie smirked, knowing she’d gained the upper hand. He shook his head and headed for the door.
“You’re not a cat, more like a stubborn burro,” he said, the r’s rolling off his tongue in annoyance.
She felt relieved when Alex was gone, not having to keep her façade in place any longer. Josie wanted to believe her own lies. She wanted to own them and plant them firmly into her resolve. In all honesty, she wasn’t sure how long determination alone could keep her from seeking out Tristan again
6. Gravity
The attractive force that governs the motion of celestial bodies.
Ever since Josie walked away from him, Tristan had felt that aching pain return to his chest. Although reminiscent of the first time he lost her, it felt deeper and more excruciating, knowing that this time it had been her choice. Having never been convinced of God’s existence, he didn’t have a higher power to plead to, though most nights he found himself begging an empty room to return her. He wasn’t eating enough, and as much as he knew it would numb his pain, he ignored the alcohol leering at him from the behind the bar. For sixteen days Tristan had survived on gas-station dinners and Marlboro cigarettes.
Now he stood behind the familiar bar and filled drink orders with no attention to anything else. Erin was still training the new hire, Brandie, so she was not hanging around for her usual chitchats. Tristan was thankful.
For the past two days, Brandie had been flirting with him, and it was starting to wear on his nerves. Lee had told him that the girl gave great head, and just to feel some kind of release, Tristan considered finding out for himself. She was attractive, though her beauty was marred by her shallow personality. None of that mattered since his mind and body craved no one but Josie.
When Brandie’s shift ended, she sat at the bar wearing her practiced smile.
“I’d like a margarita, no salt,” she requested, placing her hand over his on the bar.
Her eyes visually violated Tristan as he moved behind the bar, mixing and shaking, before pouring the concoction over ice. She seemed mesmerized as she watched the colorful images twist and stretch over the muscles of his forearms. Tristan set the drink in front of her dismissively. Upon tasting the drink, she licked her lips and purred with approval.
Throughout the evening, he continued making her drinks, and she continued to brazenly flirt. It took every last bit of bred-in manners to not lose his cool. Each flutter of her eyelashes, every overenthusiastic laugh infuriated Tristan further. He tried to control his anger; it wasn’t her fault she wasn’t Josie. Finally freed on his smoke break, Tristan hurried outside into the shadow of the alley. He sucked on a cigarette and kicked at a loose brick in the base of the wall.
“I wondered where you went,” Brandie said, appearing out of nowhere.
Two more buttons on her shirt had come undone and there was an exaggerated sway to her hips as she wobbled toward him. Within seconds she had her tight little body pressed up against his with her hands on his waist.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
Tristan tried to make his voice light, but it came out strained. She mistook that for mutual lust.
“I want this,” she said, grinning up at him and palming his crotch.
Tristan jumped and pushed her away.
“Fuck, Brandie,” he complained.
“Exactly,” she answered.
“You’re a beautiful girl, but I don’t want you like that.”
Tristan ran both hands over his nonexistent hair and darted back inside. He let Lee know that he was cutting out early. Only one destination entered his mind. He would not fight it any longer.
In theory, sixteen days doesn’t seem like a long time. In the grand scheme of man’s historical existence, it is less than nothing. Yet during these sixteen days, Josie had endured the greatest test to her willpower.
It had been just over two weeks since she’d seen Tristan, and she felt as though she was fading inside. The bit of light he had ignited, the spark of hope that had emanated from her very soul, was all but extinguished. She could never go back to the time before he’d come along because now she knew he was out there, calling to her.
She hated rejection. To kill the hurt, she found a man to fuck her senseless. When that didn’t work, she got so high she couldn’t remember who she was or why she hurt. When that had worn off, she felt even worse. She snuck through the nighttime streets, searching out white walls to deface. When she found them, she’d get her piece thrown up and find somewhere to sit and inspect it. Perfectly formed letters filled with blues and oranges made words that defined her. Alone. Want. Need. Though they looked like single-word declarations to everyone else, they were so much more.
Josie spent the rest of her time pacing the floors of her apartment. Like a caged animal, she wanted to beat and scratch at the walls that held her captive. Though her confinement was self-imposed, she knew that venturing out again would be too tempting. She missed the nights spent in the Darkroom, nights when drunken strangers and a familiar staff left her feeling like she wasn’t so alone.