Façade

Dante opened his eyes to pitch black, punctuated by the glow of the alarm clock. Three in the morning, and he had to wake up in less than two hours to go to work.

He remembered the last week in bits and pieces. He remembered turning his hand into a pincushion, and he remembered arguing with her. As far as Astrid knew, this was all he remembered. He also remembered -- though the memories were hazy -- spending two, maybe three days drinking. He thought he had shown up at her house -- and she told him he had -- but he did not remember driving.

He promised himself it would never get that bad again, and he went back to sleep.

* * * * *

The day passed slowly. By the time he left the tattoo shop he had started apprenticing at two weeks ago, all he wanted was a drink. A little shot would be enough to make the day worth it; he had spent the day watching everyone else tattoo, never getting the chance to pick up a machine himself. He knew he would have to learn a lot more before Doug, the shop owner, would let him do any real work, but he was getting really tired of cleaning bathrooms after pansy first-timers threw up.

He dialed Astrid's number from a pay phone; his cell phone had gotten shut off two days earlier. If he didn't find some real work soon, he was going to be in a lot of trouble.

This week had gone considerably better, at least compared to the last: they were speaking, but tentatively. Astrid made sure to keep herself busy with work so she didn't have to think about the insanity that happened. She also knew if she kept questioning herself, she'd go crazy - she was in the unfortunate habit of constantly questioning and second-guessing herself, something she needed to stop.

At this point, she was on her way home when he phone rang; glancing at the face and peering at the unknown number. Normally she wouldn't pick up, but she knew about Dante's phone, and figured it was him, a safe assumption. Thumbing the answer key as she slowed to a stop at a red light. "Hello?"

"Hey babe," he sang. "Whatcha doin'?" He stood with the phone cradled on one shoulder, both hands shoved in his pocket. Traffic buzzed by, cars skating through the intersection. "I'm headed out of work. You wanna..." He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and quickly counted the bills there. "...get some ice cream?"

Ice cream? She broke into a small smile, unable to help herself. "Sure. Where are you? I'll come pick you up." Work had been terrible for her - working as a manager in a grocery store tended to suck, what with irate customers and incompetent cashiers. Still, it was not too far from home, so she couldn't complain. Flicking on her turn signal at the last second, trying to remember exacly where he worked.

He glanced at his own car, less than twenty feet away in the grassy area of what the owner of the tattoo shop called a parking lot. If he remembered correctly, the needle sat just a hair away from empty on his gas gauge. "All right, sounds good. I'm at work. It's the little hellhole-in-the-wall on that side street." Side street, side street, what the hell was the name of the street? "Cooke," he said. "Right?"

"You're asking me?" Glancing over her shoulder as she turned, craning her neck to peer down the busy road. Cooke was not far away at all. "Just hang out by the sidealk and keep an eye out for me. I'll be there in a few minutes." Astrid hated having phone conversations while driving. Hanging her phone up, she let it drop into her lap, leaning over to turn down the volume knob on her radio as she alternately glanced from the road, to the signs posted, and back and forth. Finally spotting Cooke, turning right onto the street and seeing him standing there. The pain from last week's events still lingered, but she couldn't help but be glad to see him. Pulling up alongside him, the window rolled down as she unlocked the door. "Hey, stranger, get in."

"Ooh, I like it when you get all bossy on me," he said, climbing in. He kissed her quickly on the lips, touching her face for a second before moving back into his seat. "How was your day?"

Her eyes closed when their lips met. In spite of everything, he still managed to make her heart flutter and she alternately hated and loved him for that. "It was okay," she said with a small smile, pulling away from the curb. "Same shitty, dumb-ass customers." Turning the car around, pulling back onto the main street. "How was yours? Oh, and did you really want ice cream? 'cause we can go get some food, if you want. I just got paid, so." Gotta love pay day.

"Aw, no, my treat. Food sounds good," he said, calculating what was in his wallet as he spoke. Could he get away with eating less than usual? "Day was pretty fucking fantastic, but at least I've got a job." Right. One that he could barely live off of. He almost wished he were unemployed; he would probably make more money off of the state than he made at the shop.

"Denny's sound good?" He suddenly craved breakfast.

Astrid reached over, gently rubbing his knee. "Don't worry, babe, it'll get better soon. Apprenticeships can be rough, but I think if you stick with it, it'll work out. Besides, you're an amazing artist. You'll see." Giving him a little nudge; Astrid, ever the optimist. It was true, though, she knew that everyone wanted to apprentice at tattoo shops, and few made it. But then again, they weren't half the artist Dante was, nor were they as dedicated.

The mention of Dennys struck up memories from years ago, and in spite of herself, she broke into a huge grin. "Sounds good to me."

"If all else fails, I can be a guitar bum." He grinned. "Yeah, I'm sure they'll give me the gun in no time." The lie burned on his tongue like an orange out of season, but he did not want to disappoint her.

"Remember the first time we went to Denny's? After what's-his-name's party?"

"Or just be a bum." She grinned at him sidelong, reaching over again to tousle his hair.

"I do!" It was like the dam burst, the way the memories flooded over her; thinking about drinking in Chris's basement, meeting him, and bailing right after - for Denny's. "God, it feels like forever ago. I mean, it was forever ago, but still." Astrid pursed her lips and smiled to herself as she gazed out onto the road, navigating her way to Denny's. She hadn't thought about Denny's in forever, but oddly enough, it was a perfect choice.

"He actually came into the shop the other day," Dante said, ducking too late. "You're lucky you're driving." He cracked the window and lit a cigarette. "He got a pinup on his bicep and tried to get me to come to a party later." He grimaced. "I told him I'd rather hang from my toes and listen to Eminem."

"Oh my God, did he really?" The sound of the lighter sparking prompted her to fish out a smoke from the pack in her pocket with one hand, awkwardly, handing it to him to light for her. "That's ridiculous. Yeah, he came into the store a few months ago to buy beer. Someone else's party, though." Astrid gave him a sidelong look, hardly able to suppress her smirk. "Then who's copy of The Marshall Mathers LP is that in your bedroom?"

"My ex-girlfriend's," he said too quickly, handing her now lit cigarette back to her. "His old stuff was good, anyway."

The bright Denny's restaurant sign rose out of the clutter of the busy street. Dante's stomach gurgled as if in greeting. "Don't judge me," he said, feigning a pout.

"Riiiight," she snickered with a knowing smile, purposely averting her gaze - because they had arrived to their destination. It'd been quite some time since she'd been to this particular Denny's; probably because this was the Denny's she and him had hightailed it to after ditching Chris's crappy basement party. Oh, high school, you did provide some good memories. Pulling up and into a space not far from the door, she grabbed her bag and climbed out of the car. "I ... never thought I'd be so happy to be at a Denny's," she muttered as her own stomach rumbled low; her palm resting on the gentle curve of her belly as they stood in the parking lot. Suddenly, she reached out with her free hand to seize his, pulling him closer to her a bit abruptly. "Baby. Give me a hug."

"Whoa, easy there, we're in a public place!" He winked at her as he pulled her in tightly for a hug. "Though I guess we could always get back in the car," he said, body tensing as he waited for the playful swat she usually gave him.

"Shut up," Astrid grumbled into his collarbone, letting a few seconds tick by so she had the element of surprise - and then she bit gently - but still firmly - into the soft, yielding flesh of his neck, giving a little growl. "Besides," she said after a few beats, releasing him and giving him a small shove, "I thought you liked it when I was affectionately aggressive in public." A cursory glance into her back window - her backseat was so crammed full of junk that they wouldn't fit even if they tried. Damn. She slipped her hand back into his, this time to lead him to the front door.

"Baby, I am putty in your hands," he said, following her and adjusting his jeans. He felt as if the other night had never happened, as if it had maybe happened to someone else, somewhere else. "Pancakes and bacon and eggs and English muffins, here I come!"

"Hi, how are you today?" A waitress with short, spiky black hair bounced up to them. "Two?"

"Yep," he said, letting Astrid go ahead of him as the waitress led them to a booth. "She's even shorter than you." He snorted.

It wasn't the most enlightened method psychologically, but Astrid too had pushed the memory from the far reaches from her mind, at least for the time being. The only evidence of everything having happened were the healing wounds on his hand and wrist, though they would fade in time as well. "I don't know what I'm going to get," she pouted, biting down on her bottom lip.

Placing a gentle by well-aimed jab to his ribs with her elbow for that short comment, she followed the waitress to the booth. "Be nice!" Smiling at the waitress who cocked her head at the two of them, but smiled congenially.

"Can I get you guys something to drink?" She asked once the two were seat, and out came the notepad.

"I'll have a Dr Pepper, no ice," Astrid said, settling in and resting her feet on the seat across from her, next to his legs.

"Uh..." He flipped the menu to the drink section. The choices were juice, coffee, and several different kinds of soda; friendly, family choices. Sober choices. "Oh. Um." His hands shook slightly as he considered his options. "Ya know, I'm kinda in the mood for apple juice. With a little ice."

"Apple juice, it is," said their waitress, jotting down their drinks. "Are you guys ready to order or do you need a sec?"

Dante flipped the menu to the breakfast section. He had a pretty good idea of what he wanted. He hadn't really eaten anything all day. His cupboards and refrigerator were bare; dinner would require some creativity with ramen noodles. "Babe? Do you know what you want?"

Astrid was busy examining her menu, though out of the corner of her eye, she notice how his hand wavered. It concerned her for the briefest of moments, but before the uncertainty grew to paranoia, he stilled his hand after placing his order. She let go of the breath she didn't even realize she had been holding. "Oh! Yeah, uhm ..." A cursory glance to the menu. "Could I have the cheeseburger, please? With regular fries?"

"Got'cha," nodded the waitress, scribbling furiously before aiming the end of her pen at Dante. "And for you?"

"Uh." His chest felt tight. "Ya know, I uh, I'm not sure."

"I can come back," the waitress said, twirling her pen between two fingers.

Dante scanned the menu again. "No, it's uh, it's okay. I'll just have a, uh, waffle with a side of, um, bacon."

The waitress scribbled down their orders. "I'll be back with those drinks," she said, hurrying away without looking back.

"I think I need some air," Dante said, eyes darting to the door. "Too many Marlboros." He stood, then sat back down. "Nah, fuck it. I'm okay." He ran a hand through hair that needed a trim, like the lawn in front of his apartment. "So how was your day?"

Astrid folded her menu, handing over to the waitress; curious gaze lifted to her boyfriend. What on earth had gotten into him? "It was okay," she said, a bit suspiciously. Watching him stand, then sit, forced her to cock her head at a curious angle, brows knitted together. Dante was never this mixed up, indecisive. "Babe, you okay? What's wrong with you?" His behaviour wasn't frightening, exactly, but it still rubbed her the wrong way.

"Ah, forgot my Ritalin today," he said, winking at her. "I'm fine. Just tired. Long day."

The waitress set their drinks down and went as quickly as she had come.

He picked at a piece of dirt under his middle finger nail. His nails needed to be trimmed. He made a mental note to find the nail clippers when he got home. "You know." He took a sip of his iced apple juice and inhaled slowly. "Just like Ma used to make, straight from the Motts jug." He grinned at Astrid. "I'm fine. Really. Now tell me about your day."

Part of Astrid felt guilty for being so suspicious. She knew it was in her nature, questioning everything, and Dante seemed to do everything in his power to make her second-guess herself -- were the little things really there, or did she imagine them? Was he as flighty as she felt he was, or was it all in her head? Thinking like that was making her head hurt, and she was realized when her drink was set before her, a grateful smile flashed to the waitress.

"It was okay," she said finally, turning the events of the day over in her mind. She knew he really did not care that much about the ins and the outs of her afternoon, but there was a strange, thick tension that hung between them. He was acting a bit oddly, but then again, Dante always had been an odd bird. Still ... "This woman freaked out on me because we wouldn't take her expired coupons. I mean, there's signs all over the store saying that starting May first we wouldn't take anymore. Everyone else seems to get it, but not this woman. She threw them at my face, screaming something about how the fascist, Nazi dictators in charge of our company and nation were to blame for this." Her regal brow furrowed slightly at the memory, face twisted in a half-amused expression, half-grimace. The ignorance of people continued to shock the hell out of her.

"How about you? How was the shop today?"

"Huh." He shook his head. "People can't read." He took another sip of the apple juice, his hand trembling a little. "Well, work was..." He rubbed at the stubble on his face. "I need a shave. Well, everyone's freaking out about getting laid off. They're bitching about joining a union or some shit. We only got three cars this week, so really I guess they don't exactly need ten guys. I dunno." He didn't say that he would probably be the first to get a pink slip. Not showing up to work consistently sort of guaranteed that kind of thing.

"But really, she threw coupons in your face? I think I see a little paper cut." Dante winked.

Astrid wrinkled her nose when he mentioned paper cuts. "I probably do." She breathed in, heaving a gigantic sigh, the trembling of his hand just barely escaping her notice. "I know what you mean, though. They've been cutting hours at the store. I've been safe so far, but you know. You never know ..." She trailed off almost morosely, taking a sip of her Dr. Pepper when the waitress reappeared at their table.

"Were you guys all set to order, or did you still need a few minutes?" She asked sweetly, causing Astrid to drop her gaze down to the face of the menu.

"Oh," she muttered, shaking her head and looking up at first Dante, then the waitress. "I know what I want -- I'll have the cheeseburger, no pickles, please." Leaning back, she passed her menu over to the waitress, before glancing back at Dante. "You know what you want, babe?"

Thinking about cut hours and the rent waiting to be paid made Dante nauseous. "Uh..." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Ya know what, I think I'll just have a cup of coffee."

"You sure? We've got great specials..." The waitress winked at them both.

"Yeah, I'm sure." He rubbed his temples with his fingertips.

The waitress smiled and quickly disappeared.

Dante sighed. "Well." He couldn't think of anything to say. The nausea began to ebb, but he still felt anxious. He could see himself slapping a few dollars on the table and hitching a ride home. There were plenty of truckers outside. He could go home, find one of his nearly empty bottles, and relax. Everything would be okay if he could just get a drink and relax. He drummed his fingers on the table some more and stared out the window next to their booth.

Astrid felt her stomach turn over once he got all silent, all fidgety. That could only mean that one thing was on his mind. She tried to remember a point of time to reference when, exactly, his drinking got so bad, so out on control - part of her wondered that maybe he was always like this, and she had just been too blind to realize. She glanced down at the table, rolling up the wrapper to her straw between her fingertips, and tried very hard not to cry.

When she could find her voice, she attempted to sound as natural as she possibly could, hoping that her eyes weren't red, or glassy. "How have you been feeling?" The question bubbled up suddenly, and she leveled her gaze to him. "I mean, since last week. Is everything okay? Aside from cut hours at work." Obviously, she meant the night he busted up his hand, the purple-red wounds fading, but still evident on his hand and wrist. Sitting up, Astrid leaned forward slightly to gauge his reaction, her eyebrows knitted together.

His body twitched at the sudden sound of her voice. He turned slightly toward her, not quite facing her. He cleared his throat. He didn't want to outright lie to her, but he didn't know what else to do. "Yeah, everything's great, babe."

He turned back to the window. Hell, even if he didn't have anything left at the house, he could probably tap into his savings account for a couple bucks to buy beer. Not that he wanted Natural Ice, but it was better than nothing. He tapped his foot on the greasy floor.

The waitress set his coffee down with creamers and hurried away without another word. He wondered how obvious it was that he was losing his mind.