Imperfectly Criminal Read online

  “Are you going to sue me?” I ask after the cop leaves and Dean’s picking up his bag off the ground. I’m standing behind my open car door, like it’s a shield from his anger. He hasn’t bothered to hide his irritation at me, but that’s nothing new.

  “Probably.” His voice is emotionless and monotone.

  “Why?”

  “Why not? You drive like an eighty-year-old woman with a lead foot and a lust for blood.” He shoves a book into his bag and slings it over his broad shoulder.

  “But you’re okay,” I say.

  “Yeah, I’m okay. A few bruised ribs, probably. I’ve suffered worse. But what about the next poor shmuck? You could kill someone. Maybe this way you’ll be more careful.”

  “Fine.” It’s pointless arguing with him. “I have to go. You have my info.” We exchanged numbers and insurance information somewhere in between walking a straight line and reciting the alphabet backwards, which is really difficult to do, I might add, drunk or not.

  I start my car and very carefully check all of my mirrors, making sure Dean is fully out of the way so that I’m not tempted to hit him again, before pulling out and down the road. My date better be spectacular. I need something, anything, to get my mind off the potential law suit breathing down my neck. Like I don’t have enough to worry about.

  Stopping at a red light, I take a deep breath to calm my heart and try to get my head straight before I get to the restaurant. There’s nothing I can do about the Dean situation right now. I’ll just have to wait him out. Let him cool off and try to talk him out of filing charges. Maybe I can get him to drop it if I give him something in return.

  A sudden image of both of us naked and sweaty infiltrates my thoughts.

  Stupid brain.

  He would be attractive if he wasn’t such an asshole.

  I push him from my mind. I need to concentrate on the problem at hand.

  My date.

  I hope this time it’s different.

  Ever since Cameron…ever since we broke up, well, I can’t stand to have people touch me. Guys, specifically. It’s ridiculous. Even a simple pat on the shoulder makes me jump like I’ve been shocked, or I run away like a frightened rabbit if they seem too interested in me. I’ve been dating every male I can find within a twenty-mile radius to get over this problem of mine, and so far, nothing has helped. Maybe tonight is the night. I don’t believe it, but hope is the only thing keeping me going at this point.

  Cameron left me broken and battered. Not on the outside, but on the inside. Not only did he cheat on me with Liz the slut, he…I can’t even think about it. Suffice it to say, he’s the reason I can’t handle being touched.

  I hate that he still has that kind of power over me. Especially since I haven’t even talked to the guy in five months.

  Luckily, I’m not one of those girls that’s easily defeated. I’m not going to let someone else control me. The problem is that no matter how I try, I can’t make myself stop having these involuntary reactions.

  Since we broke up, I figured it would help me get over him if I could find someone else, someone who is the exact opposite of everything Cameron is and everything he represents (read: pure evil bastard). Once I find this paragon of virtue, I could sleep with him a million times (or so), until Cameron is no more than a distant and vague recollection.

  Great idea, right? That is if I can get past the whole part where they actually have to touch me.

  I pull up outside the restaurant and check myself in my rearview mirror before getting out of the car. I see my date, Mike, standing outside the door. I know it’s him because we agreed he would wear a red tie and a black suit. He’s cute, in a clean-cut, Zac-Efron-before-rehab kind of way. He’s not very tall, but I don’t care about that since I am five foot nothing. It doesn’t take much to tower over me. My friend Bethany set us up, and all I know is that he’s pre-med and according to Bethany, one of the nicest guys ever.

  “Here goes nothing.”

  Chapter Three

  Dean

  When a man is denied the right to live the life he believes in, he has no choice but to become an outlaw.

  –Nelson Mandela

  I watch Freya drive away. A small triangle of fabric from her dress sticks out of the car door, flapping in the breeze.

  I can’t help but smile. She’s a mess.

  And she just hit me with her car.

  Why am I smiling?

  I frown.

  My phone rings before I can think too much about it.

  “What’s up kiddo?”

  “I’m not a kid, I’ll be thirteen in November,” the immediate response fills my ear.

  “A fact that I’m well aware of, no matter how much I try to forget.” I kick at a rock in the middle of the sidewalk, sending it skittering into the street.

  “What are you doing right now?” Sarah asks.

  I scrub a hand through my hair and sigh. I love my little sister, I really do, but it’s never a good thing when she calls and asks that question.

  “I’m on my way to the library. What do you need?”

  There’s a momentary pause and then she says, “Mom’s sleeping and there’s no food in the house.”

  “What do you mean, there’s no food? We just went shopping last week.”

  Sarah sighs and I can hear her opening and shutting cupboards. I can picture her in the faded kitchen, all gangly limbs and blond hair that’s messier than mine. I should have bought more food last week. Lately, Sarah’s been eating more than two full-grown men.

  “Well, I’m hungry, like, all the time. I can’t help it, I’m growing,” she grumbles.

  “I know you are.” I squint down the road in the direction of campus, trying to pull my thoughts together. I had planned on going to the library. There’s a guy I need to scope out for a job next week, and he’s supposed to be there today.

  But now…I could run to the store and come back to campus later. It sort of wrecks the time I would have spent studying, but I’ll have time to find my target, at least.

  At the rate Sarah eats, I’m going to need even more jobs than I already have.

  “All that’s left is a can of refried beans and a tub of mayonnaise,” she says.

  I’m already walking back towards my car. “I’ll be there in twenty,” I say before we hang up.

  I would jog to save time, but my body’s still a bit sore from the impact of Freya’s car. I’m lucky she wasn’t going very fast.

  It’s probably sadistic, but I almost enjoyed making her feel bad. Making her indebted to me, in some way. Knowing that I’ll have to talk to her again. It’s weird because she’s not exactly my type. Not that I have a type, anymore. I don’t have time for romance. I don’t have time for much more than working, studying and taking care of my family.

  I don’t really know why, but I love messing with her. She gets this indignant expression that’s almost cute. And the things that come out of her mouth. You really can’t predict it.

  Once I’m at the car, I throw my bag in the back and slide into the driver’s seat.

  I always park a good long way from campus when I’m working on a target. Just in case. It wouldn’t do to get caught. Not that what I’m doing is necessarily illegal or anything, just some harmless pranks against guys who more than likely deserve it, but still. Last week, one of the guys wound up dead not long after I saw him. It’s a weird coincidence, probably means nothing. Probably some random act of violence. But still…it doesn’t sit well with me. Maybe after this last job, I’ll give up the business. I have plenty of other work to keep me busy.

  When I pull up in front of my mom’s house with a trunk full of groceries, Sarah is sitting on the porch swing, waiting for me.

  “Finally!” she calls, jumping out of the chair and onto the yellowed lawn. She runs up to my car to meet me at the trunk.

  I can’t help but notice that her pant legs are getting short. Again. She could almost use them as Capri pants. I buy her new clothes every mo
nth, and she grows faster than I can buy them.

  “I’m glad I made it in time,” I tease her, squeezing her skinny arm. “You’re wasting away.”

  She laughs and wiggles out of my grasp.

  I hand her a couple of bags and we bring the food inside.

  She grabs some noodles and sauce from one of the bags and puts it out on the counter. I guess that means she’s decided what she wants to eat.

  While I put stuff away, she pulls a couple of pots and pans out of the cabinet.

  “Mom still sleeping?” I ask.

  “Yep.” She starts the water in the sink and sticks a pot underneath the tap.

  I finish putting food in the fridge, and then help her with dinner.

  “How is she doing?” I ask while we wait for the water to boil.

  Sarah shrugs. “Good, I guess. I haven’t seen her much this week. She’s been sleeping a lot, and she was kinda out of it when I got home today.”

  “It’s the chemo. She’ll start feeling better in a couple days,” I say.

  “Yeah, but then she’ll just have another round a few days after that.” She frowns and turns away from me, opening the package of noodles.

  I don’t know what to say to that. She’s right. And as much as I wish that I could make it better, I can’t.

  I leave Sarah to the food, grabbing forks and plates and setting the table in the small dining room.

  Dinner is ready quickly, and I help Sarah carry the food to the table.

  “Should we wake her to eat?” Sarah asks, once we’re sitting down.

  “Nah, we can save her some leftovers. I’m sure she needs her rest.”

  Between the chemo and radiation treatments, her sleep patterns have been sporadic at best, not to mention the toll it takes on her body.

  I shake the thought away. We’re all okay, for now.

  “How’s school?” I ask while shaking parmesan over my noodles.

  “Fine.”

  “Did you get your homework done?”

  “Yep.”

  “Can you speak in more than one-word answers?”

  “Nope.” She tosses me a cheeky grin and I shake my head.

  “Oh,” she says, “I do have some paperwork that needs to be signed by a parent before tomorrow.” She bounds from the table.

  I stare at a water spot on the ceiling and listen to her rummaging through some papers on the counter in the kitchen. I’m really glad winter is over and we got through it without having to replace the roof. It’s the small things that I have to be thankful for.

  She skips back in and hands me a stack of papers.

  I shuffle through them. “What is this?”

  “Just school stuff,” she shrugs.

  It’s not just school stuff. It’s more expenses that we can’t afford. Yearbook fees, lab fees, book fees, a fundraiser for the music class…I sigh and rub a hand through my hair. At the bottom of the pile, there’s a few more medical bills and a past due notice for the mortgage.

  “We need more money, don’t we?” Sarah asks.

  She must have noticed the pained expression on my face.

  I shake my head at her. “It’s nothing you need to be worrying about.”

  “Maybe I could get a job,” she says. “I could babysit or something.”

  “No. You should focus on school. Plus, you need to be here for Mom.”

  She scowls at me, but she doesn’t argue.

  I wish she could be a normal kid, with a normal, middle-class childhood. I wish she didn’t know about cancer and money problems. I wish I could put her in some kind of sport or something, anything that would help her cope. But we can’t afford that.

  When she was a baby and I was her age, I enrolled in karate classes at the community center. It was one of the few things in my life that was stable. We had more money then, though. Sarah’s dad—my step-dad—was around and he worked and supported us. Money was the only good thing he gave us.

  Maybe I can look into something for Sarah to do that isn’t too expensive. Maybe the community center still has some classes or activities she can get involved in. She deserves something to look forward to.

  I guess I won’t be giving up the evil ex business, after all.

  Chapter Four

  Freya

  I strenuously object.

  –A Few Good Men

  Bethany did a great job setting me up on this date. Mike is cute, nice, smart, funny…everything that anyone could ever want in a guy.

  Except I don’t want anything to do with him.

  The conversation is good and flows smoothly. We talk about school, our families, and our mutual friends. We even talk about the guy they found dead on campus last week, and then right back to less morbid topics.

  But then, it happens.

  We finish eating. He pays the tab, and we’re getting up to leave. He moves forward to give me a hug, and I leap back and stick my hand out to shake.

  He seems surprised at first, but then—like the perfect gentleman he is—he smiles and shakes my hand, asking when he can see me again.

  “I’ll call you,” I say.

  I won’t.

  He leaves, but not before offering to walk me to my car, which I politely refuse. Instead, I tell him that I’m going to use the bathroom and he should absolutely not wait for me.

  We part ways and once I get to the bathroom I try not to slam my head against the wall.

  What is wrong with me? Why can’t I find one guy, just one that I want to bang?

  Once safely locked in a stall, I pull my phone out of my purse and unlock the screen.

  “Lucy,” I say when she answers the phone.

  “This isn’t a good sign,” she says.

  “What isn’t a good sign?”

  “Your date started less than an hour ago. It didn’t go well.” Leave it to Lucy to jump right to the point and make logical conclusions.

  Lucy and I met about six months ago. She was working in the peer counseling clinic, and I was a hot mess because I caught Cameron cheating on me with Liz the slut. Lucy tried to console me by talking about herpes and cavemen—which was highly ineffective—but somehow, after that, we became friends.

  I should probably mention that Lucy is a genius. And a doctor. And she’s just turned twenty-one. It’s enough to make even the most ambitious person feel inadequate.

  “It went fine. He was fine. He was great, actually…the problem is me.”

  “You need to give yourself time.”

  “It’s been six months!”

  “There’s no set time frame required to get over a trauma. Everyone is different. Don’t rush yourself.”

  I hear the door to the bathroom swing open, and someone gets into the stall next to mine.

  “You’re right,” I sigh. Then I change the subject because I’m sick of talking about me. “What are you doing now?”

  “I’m at the lab. I’m meeting Jensen at the gallery in about an hour.”

  Lucy’s boyfriend, Jensen, is an amazing artist. He draws these charcoal prints of people that are beautiful and damaged. It’s weird that he’s all creative and she’s all logical. I guess that’s why they work.

  “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast?”

  “Yes,” she says and hangs up on me.

  Typical Lucy conversation.

  I exit the stall and start washing my hands. The other person in the bathroom comes out of their stall and starts washing their hands at the sink next to me.

  I glance over in the mirror and then have to do a double take.

  I recognize the girl next to me, even though she has sunglasses on and she’s actually wearing clothes. Unlike last time I saw her, bouncing up and down on my boyfriend.

  “Freya,” she says when she notices me gaping at her.

  “Yep.” I didn’t think this day could get worse. I was wrong.

  Who wears sunglasses inside? Besides Jack Nicholson?

  “How are you?” she asks.

  “Fine.” I
yank a paper towel out the dispenser. I have to get out of here.

  “I’m glad I ran into you.” She slides her sunglasses to the top of her head, over her straight cut black bangs, her gaze pointed at her feet. As soon as the sunglasses are off her face, I realize they were hiding two awful looking black eyes. It must have happened fairly recently because her nose is swollen and I can’t help but wonder if someone punched her in the face and why that person wasn’t me.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” I ask.

  “It’s nothing, I was playing softball and I got hit with a ball,” she says quickly, shrugging and glancing away from my eyes in the mirror. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

  That shocks me into silence. For about three seconds. “You are?” Liz the slut is apologizing?

  “Yes. That whole thing with Cameron was a huge mistake. There’s no excuse for what I did. An apology at this point is probably useless, but I promised myself if I ever saw you again I would say something.”

  “Oh.”

  “So…that’s it. I’ll see you later,” she says quickly, turning towards the door and sliding the glasses back over her eyes.

  Liz and I used to be friends. Well, friendly, before the whole Cameron incident. I’d heard stories that she slept around, but she always seemed a little sad and lonely to me, and I can’t help but root for the underdog. Plus, she was funny, in a subtle way. Before she tainted my thoughts by her actions, I actually liked her.

  The saddest part of the whole thing was that if she hadn’t slept with Cameron, we might have been friends.

  “Wait!”

  She faces me, and I’m confronted with my own reflection in her shiny black sunglasses.

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I know how persuasive Cameron can be, and really, we’re both better off without him.”

  “Tell me about it,” she mutters with a small laugh. Then she gets serious. “I’ve got to go, my brother’s waiting for me.”

  She disappears out the door and I’m left alone.