by Blair, E. K.
In the throng of people, I feel entirely free as I dance with my best friend, tossing all my heartaches aside as we let loose. Sweat trickles down my spine, and out of nowhere, Trent scoops me up off the floor. With my free hand, I grip his shoulder as he smiles up at me. “You’re fucking wearing me out.”
“You’re tired?”
“You’ve had me dancing all night.”
He lowers me back down, and when my feet touch, I ask, “How long have we been here?”
“I don’t know, but it’s already after one.”
“How is that possible? I’m only on my third drink,” I shout over the music.
Trent laughs and tells me, “You’re fucking wasted. You were on your third drink hours ago.”
Looking down into my cup, I see double. “What number is this?”
“Fuck if I know. But you’ve been sucking them down like it’s tit milk.”
Laughter bursts out of me and tips me off balance, knocking me into his chest. He grabs on to my elbows to steady me and then leads me out of the room.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m sweating my dick off,” he complains, and when he pulls me outside, we run into Brody, who’s hanging out with a couple of familiar faces.
“You guys heading out?”
“Yeah, man,” Trent tells him as they clap hands. “Kate’s wasted.”
“I can hear you.”
“I’m glad you came,” Brody says, giving me a side hug. “Am I gonna see you in the water any time soon?”
“I’ll get her ass out there,” Trent answers for me.
As I start to sway, he’s quick to catch me before I fall down the steps.
“See you later,” he tells Brody before helping me down to the sidewalk.
I hug his waist and, after a few seconds, I start smacking my tongue against the roof of my mouth when I notice how dry it is.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m thirsty,” I whine.
“We’ll grab you some water.”
“Water is boring.”
Each step becomes more difficult than the one before, and the next thing I know, I have all my body weight leaning against him. He’s practically dragging me down the sidewalk at this point, and I break out into a fit of laughter.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m drunk.”
“Ya think?” he teases before stopping. “Come on. Get that little ass of yours in.”
“This,” I state, touching my finger to the window of his Jeep, “is not my car.”
“No shit.”
“Where is your old SUV?”
“Traded it in a few months ago.”
He opens the door, and I literally crawl in like an animal, and when it takes too long for Trent’s patience, he lays a hand right on my ass and pushes me in, tipping me forward and over the console. With my legs in the passenger seat and my head in the driver’s seat, another burst of giggles consumes me.
“What the . . .”
Popping my head up, Trent stands in front of me with his door open.
“Scoot over, woman.”
When I manage to settle in my seat, he reaches across me and fastens my seatbelt.
“Safety first!” I announce with a pep of energy.
As he pulls away from the curb, he laughs, “Damn, you are ham-dogged.”
He drives out of the neighborhood, onto the main road, and it only takes a block or two—I can’t even count at this point—to come up on a drive-thru.
“Ooh, stop and grab some food.”
He scores us a bag of tacos, and it’s only a few minutes later that he turns into the parking garage of his building.
“Where are we going?”
“My place. You can sleep off all that potato juice, and I’ll take you to your car in the morning.”
“You just want to get me in bed, don’t you?”
After he parks, he shoots me a wink, asking, “You ever been corkscrewed?”
“Eww, no!”
He gets out, walks around the front of the Jeep, and opens my door. “Well, I’ve corkscrewed a chick before, and let me tell you, I won’t ever do that shit again.”
After he helps me out, we head inside. Once we’re on the elevator, I have to brace against the wall because the movement tampers with my balance.
“Why is this thing going so fast?” I fuss. “It’s like a rocket ship.”
When we make it off the elevator and into his condo, I go straight to his bedroom, kick off my shoes, and fall belly-first onto the bed.
“Ahh, this feels so good,” I garble into the pillow.
Trent tosses the sack of tacos next to me and then grabs a T-shirt and a pair of sleep pants. “Here,” he says, and I lift my head. “Change into these before you pass out on me.”
Taking the clothes, I roll a couple of times until I’m off the bed. Closing the bathroom door behind me, I quickly change and head back out.
Trent is already sitting on the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts as he digs into the food.
“I grabbed you a water.”
Picking up the bottle from the nightstand, I guzzle half of it before hopping onto the bed next to him, crawling beneath the warm covers, and fishing a taco out of the bag.
“Mmm,” I moan as I unfold the paper and take a bite.
“Damn, girl,” he laughs. “Don’t molest the damn thing.”
Shreds of lettuce fall from my mouth. “This is so good.”
As I devour taco after taco, Trent takes a few hits off his pen, but I decline. I’m already trashed as it is, I don’t need to get stoned on top of it.
“I can’t believe you just ate all that.”
I toss my napkin, down the remainder of the water, and lie back. With a stuffed belly, I relax into the softness of his bed and let out a deep exhale. My head falls to the side, and I look up at Trent as he takes another hit, and when he releases a plume of smoke, I notice that his scruff is all gone.
“You shaved.”
“What?” His hand runs along his smooth jaw. “Yeah, I got rid of it this morning.”
I like him better without it.
I don’t even realize I’m staring until he jokes, “Like what you see?”
“Maybe,” I respond with absolutely no filter.
He leans back against the headboard while I sink deeper into the mattress.
Out of nowhere, the words, “I used to have the biggest crush on you,” spill out, followed by a light chuckle when I think back to how I used to obsess over him.
“I must be way fucking stoned.”
“It’s true,” I say lazily as I fully relax. “Remember that night at the dance club in Boca?”
“Hmm,” he languidly acknowledges as he nods.
I hold up my hundred-pound arm and almost pinch my thumb and forefinger together, leaving a very narrow slit of space between them. “I was this close to sleeping with you that night.”
His eyes pop open as wide as they possibly can since he’s high as a kite. “Shut the fuck up.”
I laugh. “No, I’m serious.”
“Dude, are you kidding? So, what the hell happened?”
“Ehh,” I joke.
“Man,” he sighs. “I had no clue I actually had a shot with you.”
In my foggy state, I mindlessly reach over and slip the pen out from between is fingers. After I take a long pull, he sinks down under the covers and rests his head on the pillow next to me. “So, you used to have a crush on me.”
Blowing out the fumes, I turn my head and start to giggle because, now, I’m so far beyond blasted. “Yep. It’s those damn eyes of yours.”
“These fucked-up eyes?”
“Fucked up?”
“I hate them,” he says, and I’m surprised because they’re fascinating.
“Really?”
“Yeah, kids used to make fun of me when I was little.”
“Hmm,” is all that’s left in me as I start to fade.<
br />
“You passing out?”
My eyes fall shut, and I give him a slow nod.
“Let me ask one more thing,” he says, and I’m barely hanging on when he adds, “Seriously though, why weren’t you okay with hooking up?”
Somehow, right before I drift completely, I manage to mumble, “Because I would’ve wanted more.”
The next time my eyes open, I’m blinded by the piercing rays of the morning sun and force my lids to close again. As the cloud in my head dissolves, the room dip-dives and I have to open my eyes to regain my equilibrium. It’s now that I realize I’m not in my bed. It takes a few seconds for recollection to appear, reminding me that I came home with Trent last night.
Rolling over, I discover I’m alone, and I breathe a huge sigh of relief when I lift the covers to see I’m still clothed.
“Oh, thank god,” I murmur to myself.
While I’m attempting to sit up, Ady walks past the open bedroom door. She glances in, sees me, and comes to an abrupt halt.
Her eyes widen in disbelief, and she silently mouths, What are you doing?
I assume she isn’t saying anything aloud because Trent is out there, so I mouth back, I don’t know, before shamefully pulling the covers halfway over my face.
Not a second later, Trent appears with a bowl of cereal in his hand. “What’s up, Ady?” he says nonchalantly as he walks right past her and straight over to me. “Morning, sunshine.”
Oh my god, I want to die.
He crawls into bed next to me and shovels a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, and when I look back to Ady, she’s gone.
“How do you feel?”
“Like crap,” I mumble.
“Dude, you got so wasted last night. I can’t imagine the hell you must be in.”
Laying my head back down, I freak out on the inside when I try to recall what happened.
“You even remember anything?”
I shake my head. “What happened?”
He laughs and then takes another bite.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
“You wouldn’t be laughing if I didn’t say or do something stupid.”
“Don’t be so paranoid. You didn’t do anything stupid.”
I don’t believe him though. As I lie here, fretting over what that laugh meant, my stomach begins to churn, and I break out into a cold sweat.
“Dude,” Trent says when he looks down at me. “You don’t look so good.”
The moment my tummy convulses, I launch off the bed and bolt to the bathroom. I almost miss the toilet when the contents of my stomach barrels up.
“Shit,” is all I can hear of Trent as I puke. My body heaves, causing all my muscles to constrict, and I hit a new low when Trent comes in and holds my hair back.
I’m far past mortified, swatting my hand back, urging him to leave. I can’t believe he’s witnessing this monstrosity.
“Relax,” he says before another expulsion hits.
When all is said and done, I’m nothing but a cold, clammy ball curled up on his bathroom floor. The flush of the toilet sounds a couple of times before a warm, wet washcloth runs across my forehead and down the side of my face. All I can do is groan in absolute misery.
“I feel like I’m dying.”
He slips a hand beneath my shoulders and helps me sit up. “Here, swish this.”
I take the small cup of mouthwash, and when I spit out the minty blue liquid into the toilet, I reach up to flush before he gets me back to bed.
“I hope you don’t have any plans today,” he says in humor.
I can’t believe how chill he’s being. I’m sure the last thing he wants to be dealing with is a hungover girl barfing in his bathroom.
He gives me a couple of aspirin and then surprises me when he crawls in and pulls me toward him. I’m too weak to protest, but I manage to conjure enough energy to mutter, “If there were ever anything beyond the realm of mortification, this would be it.”
“That was some serious carnival salsa you just spewed, I’m not even gonna lie.”
“Oh god,” I grumble.
“You’re fine. Don’t even worry about it,” he assures me. “I have nowhere to be, so just chill and sleep it off.”
And that’s exactly what I do. Closing my eyes, I spend the rest of the day fighting one of the worst hangovers of my life.
TRENT
March was the month things shifted, and I’ve been fucked ever since. March was the month Kate got wasted and confessed that she once had feelings for me. March was the month I began reevaluating everything I thought I knew about our friendship. It’s now May, and somehow, I’ve managed not to slip in the puddles of awkwardness she escaped simply by being too drunk to remember telling me what she did.
I’ve been trying not to question myself too much since I know I don’t have the answers. It would only cripple my head more than what it already is.
The two of us have been able to restore our friendship after it felt like there wasn’t anything left of it to restore. We’ve been hanging out more, partying more, and surfing more. It feels great to have her back, and yet, that feeling perplexes me because none of my other friendships mirror the one I have with her. It’s weird in its uniqueness, but that’s because she’s the first girl I’ve had this close of a bond with. My friends, no matter dudes or chicks, are kept on the other side of the barriers I put up. There is no need to throw my personal shit on them, and I’m not really one to want their shit being thrown on to me either.
Kate is different though. She pushed to want to know about my junk, and in turn, I give her pieces of it. The same can be said for the flip side as well. There’s a tugging inside that has me wanting to know more about her. The thing is, ever since she came back, she’s more cautious to open up than she was before. I can’t fault her for that, but it only piques my curiosity about what’s inside her head.
It’s what has me texting her late at night.
It’s what has me calling her more.
It’s what has me out with her today.
“Did you see that foam climb?” she hollers as she floats in the water and hangs on to her board.
I shoot her a shaka. “We should probably head in. I’m seeing lightning.”
When we make it to the shore, we kick back in the sand, drink some water, and watch the dark clouds as they roll closer to land.
“Looks like it’s going to be a bad storm,” she says.
“Made for some good waves though.”
“Too bad Brody had to bail early. He really has a crappy class schedule this semester.”
“No kidding.”
The wind kicks up, sending a mist of sea spray in our direction.
“Give me your extra band,” I tell her.
She slips it off her wrist and hands it to me. I comb my fingers through my hair, tie it back, and throw on a fresh T-shirt from my bag.
“You ready?”
She nods, and we gather our things. It isn’t long until we’re headed back to her place. Fortunately, neither of us have classes on Thursdays, so we’ve made a habit of wasting this day away together each week.
“If you want to hit the shower first, I’ll get the coffee going,” she offers.
Taking my backpack into her room, I toss it onto her bed before pulling out my clothes and closing myself inside her bathroom. It only takes me five minutes to clean up, and then I stroll into the kitchen to find she already has a cup of black coffee waiting for me.
“Give me fifteen,” she says, taking her mug with her.
I make myself comfortable on her couch, grab the remote, and attempt to turn on the television, but it doesn’t respond. The batteries are dead. I return to the kitchen and rifle through her junk drawer for new ones, figuring that’s where people keep shit like that. When I turn up empty, I go in search of batteries in her room. The shower is still running as I open the drawer to one of her nightstands and find nothing but an old package of gum and some li
p balm. It’s the other drawer that throws me—next to her stash of cannabis cartridges and pen is a photo. It sickens me to see she has this here next to her bed, so close to her every day. The fact tears at something inside me, sending a strange sensation through my chest as I look at the smile on her face, but my chest constricts when I shift my attention to the fucker who’s holding her. That piece of shit smiles and has his hands on her, the same hands he used to beat the shit out of her with for god only knows how many times.
I can’t understand why she would hold on to this when there are no other signs of Caleb around her condo. She never even talks about him, at least not to me.
“What are you doing?”
Her voice comes out of nowhere, and when I glance over my shoulder, she’s walking toward me, curious as to what has my attention. I hold up the photo, and she freezes.
“Why do you have that?” she questions timidly.
My instinct tells me to back down so I don’t upset her, but we’ve been skating around this topic for months, which is too long. “Why do you have it?”
In three steps, she’s close enough to snatch it out of my hand before dropping it back in the drawer and closing it.
“Why are you in here snooping?”
“The remote’s dead. I was looking for batteries,” I explain and then ask again, “Why do you have that photo?”
I watch her jaw flex as she bites down, and I can see the defensiveness building in her eyes before she says, “It’s none of your business.”
The last thing I want to do is slip backwards with her, so I take a seat on the edge of her bed and collect my thoughts for a moment. “I feel like we should talk about this.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I know you don’t, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t.”
She turns and walks over to her dresser as she ties her wet hair back.
“The batteries are in the laundry room,” she says, putting a stop to the conversation and then walking out.
I hate that she shuts down so quickly, and when I step out of the room, I find her fiddling with the remote. When she aims it at the television and it turns on, she smiles a fake smile. “There. It works again.”
Flopping down on the couch, she starts skipping through the channels, and when I round the sofa and sit next to her, I swipe the remote from her and shut the television off.