Psyche Moon (6 page)

Slowly I zipped and buttoned her jeans before releasing her hands. Lastly, I pulled my shirt from her face to gaze into a pair of glazed and wondering eyes. I leaned my head against hers, exhausted from the day and finally feeling it. Meeting her eyes, I stated firmly. “I’m not going to let you push me away because you don’t know if you can trust me.”
Or because you see yourself as a savage.
But I didn’t complete that thought aloud.

Her voice almost squeaked, a sound completely out of character for her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

My tone turned low and belligerent. “Don’t underestimate me. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I see that.” She whispered and slapped my ass as she darted around the jeep.

We drove without speaking for several minutes, a comfortable silence that didn’t need piercing. Needing a few minutes to compose herself, I gave her some space. Her mind worked over what she intended to say, and finally prepared, she spoke. “Pain has its place. In a fight it raises your adrenaline and makes you faster and stronger. When you’re injured it can bring clarity to your mind. If you embrace pain, it doesn’t control you. I’m very much a masochist, but I don’t give up control easily, and it’s kind of hard on relationships. What you did to me, I never would have asked for it.”
Thank you.

The mental gratitude shocked me more than her confession. Certain I didn’t pluck that out of her head, the only other option was that she’d sent it to me; and that had never happened before. I knew nothing about my ability. Sure, I’d met the random psychic, but most were just good students of human nature. The few who had any real ability couldn’t hold a candle to me. They could read emotions, see auras, and some could even see the past or the future.

I’ve never seen an aura in my life, and emotions were child’s play. The past and the future held no interest to me personally, and I’d never had reason to look for that in someone else. I didn’t honestly know if I could do it. I’d never met anyone who could do what I could.

I’ve never known a time when I couldn’t read a thought as clearly as hear a voice. But it was the least of my capabilities. If I wanted to I could reach deep into a person’s mind and see anything I desired. At one point in my life, I had abused that ability, scaring and violating the people around me. I had even controlled a person’s actions. I’ve seen the damage I could wield, and I vowed long ago never to abuse it again. I haven’t.

What Billie did, sending a thought to me … I couldn’t comprehend how that was possible. She wasn’t like me, and as far as I could tell, she wasn’t even a psychic. Puzzled, I wanted to dig inside and drag it out of her mind, but I knew I never would. I almost asked her – I desperately wanted to – but I couldn’t have that conversation. I wouldn’t drive Billie away, so I simply stored the information away.

Returning my thoughts to the present, I noticed Billie neither expected nor wanted a response to her confession. She considered the conversation done for the moment. Which was good, because it meant my hesitation didn’t bother her. Her words made sense, though I wondered how many fights she’d actually been in.

“What do you do for a living, Sadie?” Her need for silence ended, and she reached out for me again.

Happy for the shift of thought, I told her. “I work at Lydd’s Warehouse. Started as a pick-packer three years ago and now I supervise one of the shifts.”

She nodded. “Do you like it?”

“It’s okay. It’s a good job just not very fulfilling.”

“Ever thought about college?”

“I’m not really the college type.” That had been my standard answer for many years, but she didn’t have the same response as most.

She grinned. “Few people are. But they go anyway.”

She didn’t bring it up condescendingly as some people do, but the question bothered me a bit anyway. Sighing, I tried to explain. “I’ve thought about it. It would be nice to actually do something with my life, but I don’t think I’m cut out for it. I didn’t exactly do well in high school.”

“You’re older now.” She glanced at me, raising a red eyebrow.

“True, but I don’t even know what I would study.”

“That’s part of the point of going – figuring out what interests you. I didn’t go to college to be an accountant; I found it while I was there. In my family it was expected, so I never questioned that I would go. I’m glad I did.”

I thought about my own family, who had had the same expectations. Until they disowned me and decided they didn’t care. “My parents always wanted me to be something.”

She obviously didn’t like that comment. “Hmmm. To me college isn’t about being someone, it’s about the process of getting there.” I didn’t understand and said so. “It’s hard to explain. You work for years to accomplish a goal, and in the end they give you a piece of paper to frame and impress people. But with a four year degree you’re not an expert at anything, so what’s the point? The point is you did it, it’s something you earned. Most employers who ask for a degree are looking more at your determination than your knowledge.”

I hadn’t thought about it that way before. Ruminating over that for a moment, it did make sense. “In the warehouse, when we’re looking for a new supervisor we promote from within. And one of the most important things we look at is length of employment. Someone who’s stuck with us for years is more likely to stay and do the job right.”

“Exactly. What interests you? Hobbies?”

Other than reading minds?
I thought about it. “Nature, animals. Hiking and exploring. I don’t want to be a vet, so it just doesn’t seem like a career path. What am I going to do, climb a mountain for a living?”

Amusement crossed the front of her mind, and her face lit up in a smile. Her eyes sparkled alluringly. “Sure. Environmental Conservation, Forest Service, Wildlife Management. You love it out here. Why not help preserve it?” I hadn’t quite thought about it that way, though I should have. “Remember your concern when you didn’t see squirrels?”

“It’s a thought.” It was a thought I’d never had before. I knew people managed these mountains, but I’d never considered joining them. I’d thought of them as pencil pushers and bureaucrats, but it dawned on me that they needed first-hand observation in order to know what to do.

“I’m not telling you what you should do; everyone needs to follow their own path in life. There’s nothing wrong with working in a warehouse if that’s what you want. But don’t sell yourself short.”

With Billie beside me, the world seemed full of possibilities – new adventures, new worlds, new beginnings. “It would be nice not to live in a cave.”

“Hey, I’ve spent some quality time in surprisingly comfortable caves.” Despite the amusement, she was dead serious. “Let’s stop in Idaho City for dinner.” She was already turning towards town.

“You’re hungry? After all that food? I don’t think I’ll eat for a week, and you ate a lot more than I did.” Granted, a few hours had passed, but still.

Shrugging, she admitted freely, “I eat a lot.”

“How do you stay so skinny?” It didn’t seem fair that I had to watch every bite that crossed my lips while she could consume so much.

“High metabolism, active life. And if you didn’t notice, we were kind of active today. My treat.”

I sighed. “You’ve been treating me all day. I’m going to feel like you’re my sugar-momma soon.” I couldn’t help complaining, preferring a relationship to be balanced.

“Don’t worry about it.” She must have read something on my expression, because she continued easily. “I’ve told you I’m observant, and I’ve made a few assumptions. Correct me if I’m wrong at any point. You came to your favorite bar for the first time in a year wearing twenty dollar jeans and a slightly faded shirt. I’m not complaining, you looked yummy. You live in a house that couldn’t cost more than $800 a month, drive a car worth not much more. Your kitchen table is not only old, it’s second-hand, and though your couch is cute and looks comfortable enough to fool around on, you’ve had it for a while.

“You may not care about living rich, but you would replace your table at least if you had any money to spare. The scratches trap grime and you’re quite clean. I don’t care how old your car is or what your wardrobe costs. But I don’t want you to go broke trying to keep up with me. Especially the way I eat. I have money – I take home a good salary as an accountant and I’ve invested well. I have enough to spoil you the way I want to.” She said all of this matter-of-factly, and it was all true, though how she knew the table was second-hand was a mystery.

She was right, though. I didn’t care about having the fancy house and new car (a reliable one would be nice), but certain things I did want. And didn’t buy because I barely had enough to pay my bills.

Parking at a dingy bar and grill, she leaned over and kissed me. “Let me spoil you. You deserve it, and I’ll love it. Come on, I’m hungry.” Her stomach rumbled as if the comment excited it, and I just shook my head and grinned.

Like all of the stores on Idaho City’s main strip, the restaurant was historical. Outside, the wood was either original or made to look so, giving the impression of a hundred year old building. It was probably older. Inside, the design mimicked the same style, though the “antique” tables and chairs were simply aged. The sign asked us to seat ourselves.

Taking a table against the wall, we made ourselves comfortable. Pulling a chair out for me, Billie stole a kiss before she took the corner seat. This provided her with a clear view of the room, while I had to turn my head a bit to look around. That was fine with me. The place was nearly full this late on a Saturday summer evening. The waitress appeared harried and gave us a “be with you in a moment” gesture.

A middle aged man in an apron approached us almost immediately. Even before I looked at him, I could feel his hostility and stiffened, understanding immediately what was about to happen. Boise was pretty open and homophobes in customer service were expected to keep it to themselves. But it seemed the further you traveled away from Boise the more this happened. I braced myself for the encounter, unable to hide the stiffening in my muscles.

His face twisted in a snarl, he clenched his fists at his side and rumbled. “You’re not welcome here.” Not a subtle man.

Billie’s eyes narrowed as comprehension arose, along with a thread of anger, carefully controlled. “Excuse me?” Her voice, though polite, expressed her distaste.

“I don’t want your kind in my restaurant. Go find somewhere else to eat.” He nodded his head toward the door and I was more than ready to leave.

Billie’s face relaxed into casual politeness, but the anger beneath it didn’t recede. I doubted the man had a clue how pissed she was, considering how well as she contained it. “No, actually, I think we’re fine right here. Could we have a couple of menus?” She smiled without expressing any warmth.

Raising his voice, a few patrons turned their heads, few of them noticing the situation prior to his outburst. “Are you deaf? Take your dyke asses out of my restaurant and go back to San Fransisco.” The room quieted, and the subversive hostility I felt around me left me short of breath. One man was prepared to back up the owner, and others were on the verge of speaking in our defense. Most were just upset we were spoiling their dinner or embarrassed at the scene.

As was I. Shifting in my seat, preparing to stand and leave, Billie sent me a thought that kept me where I was. She had something up her sleeve. “No menus? Well, I would like a hamburger and fries. What are you having Sadie?”

I didn’t want to eat at that establishment, all hunger lost in the confrontation in front of me and around me. Trying to mimic Billie’s tone, my voice still came out a bit shaky. “Just a beer. I’m not hungry.”

“I’m not serving you.” He stood his ground, but so did Billie. My new girlfriend was stubborn.

Looking directly into his eyes, challenging him, Billie said sweetly. “If you want to kick us out, you’ll have to ask the police to do it. If that happens, I will bury you in a lawsuit so deep you’ll be stuck under paperwork and lawyers for years. And in the end, I will own this restaurant.” She let that sink in for only a hairsbreadth of a moment. “If want to avoid that, all you have to do is bring us our food and beer.”

The sneer that never left his face deepened. “Like you could.” Silently pulling a business card out of her leather wallet, she handed it over to him. He read it, flipped it over, and looked thoroughly confused. “So?”

“Lorren, Volstein and Marks are the top civil attorneys in Idaho. I happen to be the accountant for their firm, and Richard Lorren happens to be one of my closest friends. He doesn’t practice much law these days, but he still enjoys giving it up the ass to bigots like you from time to time. And I’m sure he’d score points with his husband by taking on this particular case.” I hadn’t heard her cuss before in conversation, and even only a little in bed, which I liked. The effect of her proper speech, her deceptively sweet tone, and the addition of a few choice words my mother would have gone white to hear me say was impressive.

The proprietor blanched, looking at the business card as if it would contaminate him and make him as gay as its origins.

Billie’s anger hadn’t faded, but she knew she’d won the fight. The satisfaction in her mind didn’t show on her face. She spoke slowly, as if to a small child. “So. I would like a hamburger and fries, and my girlfriend here would enjoy a beer.”

A muscle worked in his jaw as he contemplated for about ten seconds. “Fine.” I almost didn’t catch his response as he turned on his heels and left.

Not entirely sure what just happened, I turned an incredulous look toward Billie. Her face was serene, but triumph filled the forefront of her mind, her anger quickly dissipating. “You don’t let anyone push you around.” I spoke softly, trying not to let anyone overhear.

“Nope. And certainly not bigots like him.” She took my hand in hers and brought it to her lips in a simple kiss.

“I would have just left. I’d rather not patronize a business who doesn’t want me.” That was how things were done, I thought. If they didn’t want ‘your kind’ around, you left and never came back. You spread the word, and others of ‘your kind’ plus friends and family didn’t either. You hit their pocketbooks and their reputation.