“You know I wasn’t even myself when that happened.”
Right. She’d said that several times, but that didn’t stop it from hurting; it didn’t erase that it happened.
“Anyway, I guess I worry that you might still have feelings for him.” There. I said it.
She squeezed my hand again, and this time I couldn’t tell if she was trying to assure me or herself as the plane made contact with the ground, bouncing us along before the brakes were applied with urgency.
“Dex, I don’t have feelings for the man. Especially not after what he did to me. He turned on me when I needed him the most and I’m not going to forget that.”
“He has his excuses though, about why he did what he did,” I pointed out, playing devil’s advocate for some reason.
“I still don’t know what they are. He said he was trying to help me in the end, but he nearly got me carted off to the hospital. It was because of him that the whole mental thing started with my parents, that was what put the idea in their heads.”
I wasn’t too sure about that part. As much as I hated Maximus and loved to blame him for everything, I knew Perry’s parents were against her from the moment I first met them. I didn’t mean that they wished her harm, that they didn’t love her. But they didn’t understand her and they were afraid of her and that made them dangerous.
“So you think he’s going to do something like that again? Because baby, you know I am not going to let a single thing happen to you. I’m going to be with you, be in you, as much as I can.”
We deplaned fairly quickly and met Maximus out at the gate. I looked around the airport, a lot smaller than I thought it would be, with all of the stores closed. When we stepped outside to line up for a cab, I was met with the unmistakable smell of swamp—musty, damp, and earthy.
Maximus smiled to himself. “My Lord, is it good to be back home.” He breathed in deeply and for a moment I was almost happy for him. Almost. I wasn’t. It just reminded me again that we were on his home turf and he was the one calling the shots. But I refused to let his love for his state cloud my own opinion of it.
We got in the cab and had one hell of a chatty driver who talked to Maximus like they were old buddies. The Senegalese cabbie moved to the city just after Katrina blew through, attracted by the cheap housing and the underdog spirit of the rebuilt city. Maximus hadn’t been back in the city since right before Katrina hit. Apparently after we cut ties in college, he had come to NOLA and lived there for three years, just working at a bar. That’s what he’d told the cabbie, anyway.
The cabbie dropped us off on a narrow, bumpy street in the French Quarter, telling Maximus that some districts had gotten worse post-Katrina and warned us to stay out of them like our lives depended on it. He said he wouldn’t even drive through certain areas, no matter how much the fare was.
We thanked him for his warning, pulled our bags out of the cab, and looked up at our accommodations. Perry and I had been flying blind so far but Maximus did alright in this department. We were staying in an old three-story house with a wide front porch, gas lamps and wrought iron balconies. It looked straight out of a plantation or perhaps just straight out of the French Quarter itself. That was the thing I’d instantly discovered about the city—it looked exactly as you’d imagined it. I looked behind me at the flickering lanterns that lined the street, the brightly painted houses beside quaint bars where I was immediately tempted to drink my face off, the hidden courtyards; it was like stepping into a movie.
“I feel like I’m in Disneyland,” Perry said, looking up at the house with a big kid smile on her face.
“You, missy, have to stop being so damn cute,” I told her, bringing her to me and kissing her on the lips.
Maximus cleared his throat. “Glad you guys like it, it’s a bed and breakfast with the tastiest beignets you’ll find in the city. Well, aside from Café Du Monde, if it’s still there.”
I pulled away from Perry and eyed him. He didn’t look too pleased at our PDA, and I was wondering when he’d start questioning what was happening in our relationship. Obviously he knew that we were together now, and judging from the beady look in his eyes, he obviously didn’t like it. Tough tits, ginger.
The look got even worse when we went to check in and I told the pucker-faced, extremely spritely receptionist that we would only need two rooms, not three.
“I see,” she said, studying Perry and I. “I wasn’t aware that there was a couple staying here.”
“Neither was I,” Maximus said under his breath.
“Sorry,” I told her, jerking my head in his direction, “this one here made the booking without consulting us first.”
She adjusted her glasses. “Yes, well, since it was such a last minute reservation, I’ll just cancel the room without penalty. Probably better that way anyway—it is the haunted room.”
“Haunted room?” Perry spoke up, looking frazzled.
The woman smiled. “It’s just George, the resident ghost. He’s a friendly one, don’t worry.”
“Friendly, sure, I’ve heard that before,” I said. She gave me an odd look and I didn’t bother trying to explain myself. The day I met a friendly ghost was the day I came up with better analogies.
Both of our rooms were on the third floor, overlooking the street, with a shared balcony connecting us through French doors.
Perry and I tossed our bags on the bed and surveyed the quaint room. It was a little too old lady-ish for my liking, like the receptionist decorated it, but Perry seemed absolutely enthralled. I guess there was a romantic, girly-girl somewhere beneath that Mastodon t-shirt.
“I guess the bastard wants to keep an eye on us,” I told her.
“I heard that,” came his muffled voice through the wall. Oh great, and the walls were paper-thin too. Though that made me extremely glad that I’d remembered to pack something.
“What’s so funny?” Perry asked.
I wiped the smile off my face. “Nothing, just trying to look on the bright side. Shall we unpack?”
“No time,” Maximus said from the doorway. Shit, he was just everywhere, wasn’t he?
“Can’t you just give us a few minutes alone?” I asked.
“Sorry I’m such a cockblocker—”
“At least you’re apologizing this time.”