Exit Stage Six: A Contemporary New Adult Romance Novella (2 page)

It was a week since the mysterious Evan Lake had moved in
above me. I hadn’t heard or seen a single visitor in that time, and had caught
him at least twice more on the landing, cigarette burning down between his
fingers, eyes far away, staring and vacant. I would say hello and ask him how
he was and the answer was always a variation of the same thing…

I’m good, or fine… or I’m fine…

He was fine all right but he wasn’t
fine
, or even
close to okay. Dark circles ringed beneath his green eyes and I could hear him
playing music through my ceiling, though not enough to make out the words or
even what band he was playing. It was rock music though, which fit in line with
his look.

I had time today so I decided to try and really break the
ice and so I baked cookies. I had a plate of warm and gooey, fresh from the
oven, chocolate chip cookies balanced on one hand, a glass carafe of milk in
the other. I was standing outside his apartment door contemplating how to knock
without setting anything down when it opened. I smiled brightly, he looked up
from shrugging on his leather biker jacket and blinked in surprise.

“Oh, hey.” He said.

“Sorry did I catch you going out?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah, thought that was pretty obvious.” He said and I
winced inwardly. He must think I am such a dork… I held out the plate of
cookies and milk.

“I wanted to say welcome to the building!” he stared down at
the plate of cookies for a long couple of moments and stepped out the door,
pulling it shut behind him.

“Thanks.” He said and walked past me without taking them.

I blinked and tried not to let it hurt my feelings.

I set the plate, covered in saran wrap as it was, by his
door and took the milk back down to my apartment.

Why did the beautiful ones always end up being jerks?

Stage 2

Anger

“Persistent aren’t you?” I pulled my camera away from my
face and looked over. Evan stood several feet away, hands jammed in his jean
pockets.

“What?” I asked.

“I said you’re persistent.” The wind blew a lock of his hair
against his forehead and into his eyes and I raised my camera without thinking
and snapped the picture. He looked annoyed.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t take anymore pictures.” He
scowled.

“Yeah well, that was for you being a jerk about the
cookies.” I countered, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, about that. I had someplace I needed to be.” He
grimaced.

“I left them anyways.” I said.

“I know, they were good. Needed milk though.” He pushed the
hair out of his eyes.

“I tried to bring that too.” I reminded him and again he
looked annoyed.

“I said I was sorry.” He said impatiently.

“No you didn’t.” I frowned.

“I didn’t?” he frowned too but not at me.

“No, you said you had someplace you needed to be but you
didn’t say you were sorry.” I closed some of the distance between us.

“You a dancer?” he asked.

“Why does everyone ask me that?” I asked. He looked away
from me and to the ground.

“The way you move. Graceful like a dancer, you’re built like
one too.” He said and I blushed.

“Oh. Thank you.” I said.

“That wasn’t a compliment, just a statement of fact.” He
said gruffly. I blinked and raised my camera. He put up his hand.

“I said no pictures! Jesus Christ!”

“Then stop being a jackass!” I said curtly and lowered my
lens.

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then
closed it again. I raised an eyebrow but when several heartbeats went by
without him saying anything I shook my head let out a gusty sigh and turned
back to the mask I had placed in a moss covered crook of the courtyard’s cherry
tree.

It was a Venetian masquerade half mask that covered the top
half of the face. Laser cut from silver metal with rhinestones carefully set
along the bridge of the nose and at the corners of the eyes and across the
brows. I stepped around it trying to get the right shine of light for the shot.

“I’m sorry.” He said finally.

“If you’re sorry you’ll stop doing it.” I pointed out. He
huffed out a breath.

“Yeah, okay you’re right.” he said and I turned around and
found him palming the back of his neck.

“Evan are you all right?” I asked.

“No. No I’m really not.” He said and closed his eyes. My
attitude instantly cooled its heels.

I stepped a pace or two closer.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked softly.

“I was about to go grab something to eat. Go with me.” He
said. I looked him over. I most definitely didn’t hear a question in there but
what the Hell, why not?

“You buying?”

“Yeah I’ll buy.” We stood across from each other, each
coolly assessing the other.

“Let me finish this shot.” I said and he nodded. I hadn’t
been asking either but meh.

I got it lined up, wasn’t quite happy with the light still,
but I was about to lose it so I snapped the picture, retrieved my mask and
shoved it into my messenger bag which was acting as my purse.

“Aren’t you afraid it’s going to get crushed?” he asked.

“I work at A Masquerade, that trendy club over on the strip.
I have like a million of them, they issue a different one every weekend as a
part of the uniform. We get to keep them.” I lowered my camera and carefully
stepped off the muddy grass and back onto the flagstone path.

“What’re we eating?” I asked.

“You like noodles?” he asked.

“What like Pho?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah I do. I know a great place not far from here, want me
to show you?” I asked.

“Lead the way London.” He said and so I did.

He fell into step beside me.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked after a block and a
half of silence.

“About what?” he asked.

“About whatever is making you not okay.” I replied.

“No.” he sounded resolute and so I did what anyone should
do.

“Well you know where I live if you ever do.” I sad softly.

“Uh thanks.” He muttered as I stopped in front of the little
Pho shop. I got the door for myself and held it for him and he ducked into the
steamy little shop. He picked a table toward the back and sat with his back to
the door shoulders hunched.

“So what do you do Evan?” I asked, not even bothering with
the menu. I knew what I wanted.

“I’m between jobs.” He said and didn’t elaborate.

I let the silence build and took the opportunity to study
him from across the table while he perused the menu. His eyes were greener than
they had a right to be, I’d never seen anything like it. He’d definitely had
braces when he was a kid, like me. No one naturally had teeth so straight and
perfect. He scraped his upper lip between them while he perused the menu and I
itched to grab my camera.

“You know I’m being really good right now.” I blurted out.
His eyes snapped up and met mine and I almost forgot to breathe.

“You always a good girl?” he asked. I pursed my lips and brought
up my camera, he scowled but I snapped the picture anyways.

“Nope.” I said popping the ‘p’.

“What’s good here?” he asked.

“I get the small number one.” I said and he set the menu
aside. We stared at each other for a long time.

“What’s your favorite band?” he asked suddenly.

“I like classical for the most part, but modern band wise, I
like Elysium I guess.” I shrugged a shoulder. There was a moment of flinching
around his eyes and I tilted my head to the side. Curious.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded.

“Who moves in at four thirty on a Monday morning?” I asked
even though what I really wanted to ask was why the flinching, I discarded the
notion. Sometimes it wasn’t always best to announce you were so perceptive. It
made people uncomfortable and I was too curious about Evan to risk chasing him
away just yet.

“I do.” He answered and a muscle in his jaw ticked.

Forth coming he was not.

More silence. I didn’t feel a need to fill it and we were
momentarily saved from having to by a waitress. She took our orders, two number
ones, mine small his large and she wandered away.

“You look young.” I commented.

“I’m twenty-four. You?”

“Just turned twenty-three.” I answered.

“College?” I asked.

“No.” a long pause, then, “You?”

“Photo journalism.” His gaze raked over me, searching my
face. His expression was decidedly unfriendly at the revelation.

“What is
with
you?” I asked, crossing my arms on the
table in front of me.

“What do you mean?” he asked, glaring.

“You’re acting paranoid, don’t like your picture taken, and
you just gave me a dirty look for wanting to be a photo journalist.” I glared
right back. He sighed and ran a hand over his hair.

“Sorry.” He grimaced and I rolled my eyes.

“Make you a deal.” I said. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“What?” he asked.

Our noodle bowls were set in front of us. I began tearing up
Thai basil into mine.

“Every time you start acting like a douche bag I get to take
a picture.” I said.

“You’re doing that anyways.” He raised an eyebrow and he
went from gorgeous to adorable.

“Yeah except if you say ‘deal’ then I don’t have to feel
guilty about it.” I smiled and blew on a bite of noodles. His gaze swept over
my face one more time and he nodded slowly.

“Deal.” He grunted, and I smiled in triumph.

“Gimme your camera.” He said suddenly and held out his hand.
It was my turn to narrow my eyes in suspicion. He waggled his hand impatiently
and I drew the strap over my head and settled the weight in his palm. He looked
down at the back and frowned.

“Where’s the screen?” he asked. I laughed.

“It’s a
vintage
camera, runs on light and film. It
was my dad’s, he gave it to me.” He turned it over in his hands and looked
through it. I laughed and he took a picture of me. He handed the camera back
carefully and I advanced the roll of film.

“Where do you have the pictures done?” he asked.

“I do them myself, in my bathroom.” I answered.

“Is that the weird smell I sometimes get outside your door?”
he asked.

“Kind of vinegar but not?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah that’s the fixer. Sorry about that.” I shoveled in
another mouthful.

“Stinks.” He muttered around a mouthful of food.

“So do your cigarettes.” I shot back.

“They’re cloves.” He frowned.

“They’re still bad for you.”

“Yeah okay thanks for the PSA mom.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah okay. I get a picture.” I said and smiled sweetly and
holy cow, he actually smiled back.

“What?” he asked and it must have been the expression on my
face.

“Nothing.” I tried to lie.

“That wasn’t nothing,” and damn it he was scowling again,
“What were you thinking?”

“You’re really hot when you smile.” I mumbled behind a fork
full of noodles. He laughed and I could feel myself color.

“What’s so funny?” I asked when he didn’t stop.

“Never had a chick get so embarrassed because she got
cornered into telling me I’m hot.” He said.

“One I’m not a ‘chick’, girl, woman, lady, or female are all
acceptable adjectives, chick is so not… Two, you weren’t going to let it go
and…” he interrupted me.

“You’ve got pretty eyes. Not blue, more gray or silver.” He
said and I felt my eyebrows draw in.

“What?” I asked.

“You heard me.” He leaned back in his seat and crossed his
arms, leveling my gaze with his, meeting my eyes in an almost challenge.

“What does the color of my eyes have to do with anything?” I
asked.

“Nothing but it got you off your moral high horse.” He
smiled and it was disarming.

“That’s two pictures.” I griped and he smirked.

“Worth it.” he said and started eating again with gusto.

We finished our meal and true to his word, he paid, pulling
a crumpled twenty out of his leather jacket’s pocket.

“Thank you for dinner Evan.” I said once we were out on the
side walk.

“You’re welcome.” He said, hands jammed back into his jeans
pockets.

I started walking back towards home and turned to say
something when I realized Evan wasn’t beside me but rather striding up the
sidewalk in the opposite direction.

I shook my head. Hot yes, but also weird. I went home,
taking a few pictures along the way.

Two nights later I was off work and hauling myself up the
stairs to my apartment. Someone was leaning against my door fiddling with the
knob.

“What’re you doing!?” I demanded, fingers wrapping around my
phone in my pocket. Evan turned and narrowed his eyes, blearily looking in my
direction. He was piss drunk and I winced.

“Tryin’ t’ get into my fuggin’ apartment.” He slurred.

I went passed him and put my key in the lock.

“This isn’t your apartment, you’re drunk. Your apartment’s
upstairs.” I unlatched the door and opened it but before I could do anything
Evan shouldered his way passed me, dropping his keys at my feet and staggered
into my place.

“Evan!” I whisper-shouted. I went into my apartment after
retrieving his keys. His leather jacket had been discarded in a heap in my
hallway and I rolled my eyes. I so didn’t need this shit!

“Evan!” I went into my bedroom and there he was, flopped face
first across my bed, passed out cold.

“God damn it!” I shook him, but nope, he was out with a
capital ‘O’. I sighed and looked at his keys in my hand.

All right. Two could play at this game. I took a night gown
and house sweater into my bathroom and washed the makeup off my face and
changed. I went out my front door, but not before snapping one of the owed
photos of him passed out in my bed, and I quickly stole up to his apartment
with his keys, my keys and my camera.

He would be safe enough. I locked my door behind him.

“You better not throw up in my bed.” I muttered to no one as
I unlocked his door.

His apartment was sparsely furnished, and I really mean
that. He had a futon mattress and frame out into the bed position. Two black
milk crates stood on end to either side serving as end tables. The only lamp in
the room glowed on top of one. The other held his stacked porn collection.

A computer monitor sat on another milk crate across the
room, the tower for the PC on the carpet beside it. An acoustic guitar and an
electric guitar and amp sat against one wall and that was it… no chairs, no
desk, nothing.

“Well aren’t you the minimalist Evan Lake?” I asked the
empty air.

I locked the door behind me and set my camera and the two
sets of keys on the end crate below the lamp. This was so freaking weird but I
wasn’t about to try and drag his ass out of my place and I wasn’t willing to
call the police on him so…

I got into his bed and laid down, pulling the comforter over
me. The bed smelled faintly of his cigarettes, sweet, and of alcohol…
apparently this wasn’t the first night he’d been on a bender. Underneath the
smoke and booze was a smell like the breeze off the ocean, his cologne maybe. I
tried not to think about it.

It didn’t take as long as I thought it would for me to fall
asleep, I thought it would take longer. When I woke up it was midmorning and I
sat up to find a pissed off Evan standing over me.

“What the fuck London!?” he shouted.

“Don’t you shout at me you drunk asshole!” I snapped. The
window stood open behind him.

I sat up, then stood up, getting out of his bed.

“How did I wind up in your locked apartment and what the
fuck are you doing in my bed?” he ground out.

“Gee I don’t know genius, why don’t you think about it,
figure it out and get back to me?” I picked up my camera and keys and went for
the door.

“Seriously! I have no fucking idea!” he called to my
retreating back and I turned to give it to him but the lost look on his face
killed the nasty words on my tongue. I swallowed them back down bitterly.

“I came home last night and you were trying to get into my
apartment, drunk off your ass.  I
unlocked my door and you made yourself
at home. Passed out cold in my bed. I couldn’t move you and I wasn’t willing to
call the cops, which
I could have
, so I picked up your keys and
apartment swapped.” I shrugged.

He didn’t say anything.

“Just please tell me you didn’t puke in my bed.” I said and
frowned.

“No, I made it to the bathroom.” He sighed and dropped onto
the edge of his futon mattress. I came back and crouched near him.

He looked me over. I must have looked a fright, hair sleep
tousled, clad in a tank-dress to my ankles and a raggedy old house cardigan.

He closed his eyes and swayed at the waist. I sighed.

“I’m sorry.” He said at last.

I started picking at the laces on his combat boots.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Putting you to bed in your
own
bed.” I said simply.

“Stop.” He said, but I started in on the other boot.

“Stop! Jesus London I can do it myself I’m not a child!” he
cried.

“Really? You’re sure acting like one!” I snapped. We stared
at each other, neither one backing down. He looked away first, toeing off his
boots.

“It won’t happen again.” He said through gritted teeth, then
“Thanks for not calling the cops.”

“What is going on with you?” I asked.

“Nothing.” He lied. I snorted.

“If God went around hugging liars, He’d break every bone in
your body.” I said and stood up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“You aren’t stupid.” I shot at him, “Figure it out,” and
with that I went for the door.

“Wait.” He said and I stopped, hand on the knob.

“Will you stay with me a while?” he asked. I almost turned
around and screeched ‘
Are You Serious!?
’ at him but I refrained.

“I have things to do.” I said.

“Just a little bit.” He said.

“Why?” I asked.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.” He swallowed hard. I
went back over to him and crouched back down.

“Tell me what’s going on.” I demanded. He stared at the
ceiling and tears welled in his eyes.

“I lost my best friend.” He sniffed and they spilled over. “He
died.”

Oh.

Damn.

He put his forehead to his knees and his shoulders shook
with silent sobs. I set down keys and camera and sat down on the edge of the
futon by him.

“I’m sorry Evan.” I murmured and put arms around him. I
sighed and he shook.

Finally, when he was all cried out I lifted the blankets for
him. He crawled under and before I could stand he had captured my wrist with
his long fingers, pulling me off balance and against him.

“Evan I don’t think this is a good idea…” I began but my
racing heart was disagreeing with me.

“I don’t want sex from you London.” He sounded exasperated
like the notion was absolutely ridiculous and my first thought was
ouch,
okay…
my next thought was to admonish myself for thinking with my vagina
rather than my brain. It didn’t happen probably as often as with a guy but
girls undeniably did it too… My train of thought was derailed when he uttered:

“I just don’t want to be alone right now,” and he sounded so
vulnerable it made my heart ache. I sighed nodding. Okay I could stay for a bit
more. I laid down next to him but put my back to him. He spooned me, arm around
my waist and buried his face between my shoulders into my back. He drew in a
long shuddering breath.

“You smell sweet, like cherries or something.” He mumbled
before his breathing deepened and evened signaling he’d fallen asleep or passed
out again.

“Almonds not cherries.” I whispered to the empty air and
closed my eyes, sighing.

This was going to end badly for me. I could just feel it.