Something True (4 page)

“Ibbie?” he asks. What is he expecting? For me to unzip my face and reveal that I'm somebody else like one of the villains from Scooby Doo?

“Sorry to drop by unannounced,” I say, scuffing my converse against the carpeted floor. “I stopped by Reid's tattoo shop and he said you weren't working for him or Digby today.”

He blinks. I've never noticed before how long his eyelashes are. “You were lookin' for me?”

Well duh
almost slips right out of my mouth, but then I remember that I'm here for his help. “Yep.”
 

“You wanna. . .uh, you wanna come in or somethin'?” He looks about as uncomfortable as I feel.

“Yes please.”

Without another word, he opens the door wider and steps aside.

My lips press tightly together as I step inside Walt's apartment for the very first time. It's way nicer than I expected – it's not the fiery pits of Hell, for one thing. But the place is smart, in a modern, manly kind of way. Wooden floors and black and blue furnishings, with an entire wall made up of windows. Very bachelor.

Stacks of canvases lean against the walls, some empty, but some filled with beautiful swirls of color. I move forward curiously to check them out but Walt hurries over to turn them away from my prying eyes. For a moment I bristle, thinking he's doing it to be rude, but then I catch the faintest tinge of pink on his stubbly cheeks and I realize that he's
embarrassed
.
 

He's wearing a black vest which clings to his sculpted body. On one side, the snake tattoo created by Reid curls around his arm, and even though that's incredible in its own right, the other side is what never fails to take my breath away. From the top of his shoulder right down to his hand is one continuous work of art, a masterpiece. Starting with the intricate tattoos of the sun and the moon and the stars at the top of his shoulder, to the birds mid flight as they escape a terrifying dragon on his bicep, to the flames and the swirls of patterns with small words and phrases worked in that I've never gotten close enough to read on his forearm and wrist.

“I didn't know you were an artist,” I tell him. “I mean obviously I knew you were an artist, because you kind of have to be if you're going to be inking people's bodies and all, but I had no idea you did other kinds of art too.” Wow. Ramble much?

He shrugs, not meeting my gaze. His hands are covered in black charcoal dust, and I see an open sketchpad on the table behind him.

“Can I see?” I nod towards the sketchpad.

A look of panic flits across his face. Without even turning back, he reaches behind him and flips the pad closed, then stands in front of it protectively. This Walt, he's so strange and different to the cold, snarly guy I'm used to. He's almost. . .shy? He folds his arms across his chest, making the muscles in his arms bulge. I'm pretty sure the snake on his arm just winked at me. “No. It's private.”

“
O
kay then,” I reply slowly, because I'm ninety nine percent sure the real Walt has been abducted by aliens and replaced with this stranger.
 

“So what do you want?” he demands roughly. “Isn't it enough that I have to see you when we all hang out?” Ah,
there's
the Walt I know and hate.
 

“What, you're not gonna offer me a beverage? A snack? A comfy chair by the fire?”

“I would, but I don't want you getting any ideas. Like that you're welcome. Because you're not.” And the verbal punching begins. “This is a princess free apartment.”

I hold my hands up in the air. “Okay, can you just. . .find your silence for like, two seconds. Please?”

He rolls his eyes. “Seriously, what do you want? I'm not having sex with you, if that's what you're after.”

“First of all – ew. Very, very ew.
Huge
ew. Gigan-”
 

“I get the point.”

“Right. Second. . .” My voice trails off as I suddenly become extraordinarily embarrassed about why I'm here. In Walt's apartment. What was I thinking? He isn't going to help
me
.
 

“And second?” he encourages impatiently.

I heave a sigh, deciding to just get it out there already. Unless I actually want to have sex with him, there's no other valid reason as to why I would be here. “I wanted to know if you knew whether Aleix was okay or not.”

His face loses all of that coldness, all of that harshness, as soon as I mention his brother's name. I've noticed that, that he seems to really care about Aleix in a way I hadn't even realized he was capable of. Honestly, I'd kind of suspected he didn't actually have a heart. Just a lump of clay or play doh or ball of licorice or something. I wait for him to be an ass, to make fun of me or say something sarcastic, but he doesn't. “Aleix is fine. When was the last time you spoke to him?”

It's my turn to shrug. I lean against the back of his leather sofa, staring down at the wooden floor. “Later ago. He hasn't answered any of my calls. I thought maybe he. . .I don't know, maybe he was sick or something. It was stupid. I don't know.”

He's silent, and when I finally gather the courage to look up at him I find not a trace of ridicule in his eyes like I'd expected. He just appears genuinely confused. “He's stopped contacting you?”

Now I feel
really
foolish. If Walt doesn't know anything about Aleix being sick then it's probably because he's
not
sick. Or hurt. He's just done with me. We don't even know each other that well – I only see him when he's working in the city, and it's not like I've ever even been to his house or anything. “Yeah.” I start moving towards his door. “I'm sorry. Coming here was a mistake. Can we just pretend this didn't happen? I guess I was confused-”
 

“Ibbs,” he calls after me, and it immediately stops me in my tracks because he's never called me that before. With him it's always a mocking nickname, like princess, and that's if he even bothers to address me at all. Hearing him call me Ibbs is strange – like a term of endearment that sounds foreign coming from his lips. He seems to realize this too, because he fumbles over his next words. “Ib. . .I mean, Ibbie. . .I mean. . .” He sighs. “Just let me give him a call, okay? There's probably a good reason for this. Aleix likes you, trust me. I had to fuckin' hear about it for days. And even if he doesn't wanna hang with you anymore, he's a good guy. I'm sure he would've talked to you about it.”

I hesitate, but eventually give him the go ahead. One way or another, it would be nice to just
know
.
 

“He's not answering me either,” he announces a minute later, a little furrow forming between his brows.

“Okay, well I'm gonna go-”

“Wait,” he interrupts almost desperately, like he really doesn't want me to leave. Who
is
this guy? “I was headed down to my grandparents' house in a while for dinner – we always have dinner together once a week. Aleix should be there too, and even if he's not, he lives in the same town as them. Come with me and we can find out what his deal is.”
 

I shake my head violently, because that does
not
sound like a valid plan. I mean, I liked Aleix and all, but we only hung out for a few weeks. Stalking him all the way to his grandparents' house? No frigging way. “It's fine, Walt. You go, and I guess if you see him just tell him to call me or something-”

“Come on, Ibbie.” When he smiles at me, it's so unbelievably
captivating
. It's not perfect and charming like Aleix's deal winner smile – in fact, it's crooked and devious and full of sin – but when it's aimed my way, it makes me feel like I'd agree to anything in the whole wide world. It's the first time he's ever smiled at me instead of smirking. “It's only an hour away. Live a little. Come on an adventure with me.”
 

I take a step back, because I'm not sure I can handle this Walt. The mean, cold, butt head Walt – sure. The sweet, decent, persuasive one – nuh uh. Not on my watch. “I have a show tonight.”

“So call in sick. You have an understudy for things like that, right? It's just one show.”

I hesitate again, because this seems like a really bad idea. And yet he's making it sound like a really good one. How does he do that? “I don't-”

“Look, worst case scenario – Aleix ain't there and you get to stay for dinner. My grandma makes the best pot pie, I swear.”

Actually, the worst case scenario seems like it would be me turning up and Aleix calling me a freak and a stalker. “You want me to have dinner with your grandparents?”

“Sure.” I don't know who this Walt is. This Walt that
smiles
at me and invites me to family dinner and is nice to me and seems like he genuinely wants to help me. It's eerie. But at the same time, I find that I. . .that I
trust
this Walt. Is that stupid? Maybe. But I still do.
 

“Mehkay,” I hear myself saying. And even though I feel like I'm going to regret this, I don't take my mediocre acceptance back. Especially not after he grins at me like I've made him truly happy. “Let me just call the director.”

He nods. “I'm gonna go wash up.”

The director, Ian, picks up on the very first ring. He's the kind of guy who has his phone practically
superglued
to his ear. He seems particularly suspicious about my chosen excuse. “You only just remembered it was your mom's birthday?”
 

“I'm a very bad daughter,” I confirm.

“Hold up, didn't your mom have a birthday last month?”

“Um.”

“Your mom seems to have a lot of birthdays, don't she?”

“She's like the queen that way.”

Luckily for me, I've caught him in a very good mood. He's probably been boinking his assistant again. “Look, I know how much you  love the show, so I'm gonna go ahead and assume that whatever it is that you need to do tonight is important. But just this once, you hear me? Call in with an excuse one more time and you're fired. Seriously. I want you here even if your arms and legs have dropped off and you're having to drag your limbs in behind you with your teeth.”

I cringe at the imagery. “Thank you, Ian! Loveyouloveyouloveyou!”

He hangs up.

The shower is running somewhere in Walt's apartment, and I want desperately to use the opportunity to check out his artwork. But I resist, mainly because I like nice Walt and I don't want him to catch me snooping and revert back to the asshole version of himself.

When he appears a few minutes later, my mouth drops open at the sight of him. In his tan slacks and his blue and white striped shirt and with his hair combed neatly back, he looks. . .normal.

But as handsome as he looks, I find that I miss the regular old Walt. The one with the ripped jeans and the too tight t-shirts and the spiky hair.

“What?” he demands self consciously when I can't stop staring. He hasn't taken the eyebrow rings out. I'm glad about that. “I told you we're going to my grandparents' place. I gotta look smart or I won't hear the end of it off of Grandma.” There's something so fond in his voice when he talks about her, and it makes me melt. Just a little bit.

“You do look nice,” I assure him. “PFM.”

“What now?”

“Pure friggin' magic. You've transformed from the devil into a nice young man.”

He just shakes his head at me, like he has no idea what I'm about. I find most people tend to look at me that way when I talk.

I glance down at my jeans and baggy cardigan, then up at him again. This will not do. “Okay, if I'm meeting your grandparents then we have to stop by my apartment first. I so need to change.”

“YOU LOVE YOUR grandparents a lot, huh?” Ibbie asks from the passenger seat as we make the hour long drive out of the city.

She's astute. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, but quickly turn back to the road because I know if I look her way for too long then I won't be able to stop staring. I'd told her she looked fine, but at her insistence we'd stopped by her apartment where it had taken her only ten minutes to throw up her hair and slip into a bright blue dress. It's short sleeved, just brushes the top of her knees and the color makes her eyes sparkle. She looks beautiful, like every one of my dreams and fantasies brought to life in vivid color

“Hell
oo
?” she calls, tapping my head with her knuckles. “Anyone in there?”
 

I realize that I've just been sitting here, stewing in my own thoughts while I keep myself from pulling over so that I can kiss the hell out of her and make her forget she ever met my brother, and I never answered her question. Clearing my throat, I reply, “Yeah, they're pretty awesome. They raised me and Aleix from when we were kids. I got a lot of respect for them.” That was more than I'd meant to reveal, but she has that effect on me.

“I can tell.” When I eye her questioningly, she explains, “I can hear it in your voice when you talk about them. Where were your parents?”

“Dad ran out when I was a baby. Mom bailed when I was twelve.” I swallow hard, pretending that I don't give a shit just like I do whenever Mom and Dad are brought up.

Yet being abandoned by them left scars that will never fully heal. Now that I'm twenty two and older and wiser, I know that them leaving wasn't my fault. It was their deal. The fact that they couldn't be parents to the two children they'd brought into the world was
their
fault. But as a kid I'd lacked that kind of logic. I'd assumed that it must have been something I'd done. It couldn't have been Aleix, because he'd been the perfect child even back then, so it must have been me. I must have been so fucking awful that even my mom and dad couldn't want me. I'd felt that way for a long time, until Aleix and Grandma and Grandpops had slowly won me around, had shown me love and made me realize that I wasn't to blame.
 

“Grandma and Grandpops moved out to the city to take care of me and Aleix when Mom left 'cause we didn't want to hafta change schools,” I continue. “Can you imagine a sweet little old couple trying to navigate the shittiest parts of the city where we lived? But they never complained. They just. . .dropped everything for us, dropped their whole fuckin' lives. We'd spend the week up in the city, then drive back down to their house on weekends.”