Lock & West

by Alexander C. Eberhart

  “So, that’s it then?” He looks down, silver hair falling into his eyes. “I’m just starting to feel like myself again, and I think that was somehow because of you. I don’t want to lose that.”

  “Dude.” I touch his arm, and he’s looking at me again. “This is me speaking from experience—you can’t put that much pressure on someone. You’ve got to figure out who you want to be and who you are and then start working on bridging the gap.”

  “Man, how’d I mess this up so bad?” he asks, moisture shining in the corners of his eyes.

  “You want the list? I’ve been compiling it for days.”

  He just pouts.

  “It’s easy to fuck things up,” I tell him. “You just have to own up to it and learn from it. And maybe not cheat on your boyfriend with your ex-best friend. That’s a pretty good place to start.”

  He laughs weakly. “I guess so. I’ve got some work to do, I guess. I am going to miss you, West.”

  “Then get your shit together.” I smile. “And maybe we can be friends someday.”

  He hugs me, and though it feels completely different than when we shared a bed, it’s still nice. I don’t tell him how much I’ll miss him too. That would only make it even harder for him. But I’ve never been more certain of this—it’s not Clay I want holding me.

  “That sounds like a goodbye,” Clay says.

  “Alright, Hallmark movie. Let’s take it down a notch.”

  He laughs, full-on this time.

  “Take some time for yourself, Clay. And you should definitely apologize to Seth. He seemed really sweet. Don’t make me come find you.”

  “Fair enough.” He steps away from me, a sad smile playing on his lips.

  “I should head inside.”

  Clay nods, stowing his hands in his jacket.

  “I’ll see you around.”

  He walks away, gone from my life for a second time. Not gonna lie, it still hurts. But I’m not twelve years old anymore. And Lock is on his way or might even be here, and my life doesn’t feel like it’s over. That fact alone puts a bounce in my step as I head inside.

  It’s super loud in the house, the kitchen full of rowdy girls. I can hear Chels from the other room, singing into the karaoke machine. She makes an amazingly awesome Angelica Schuyler. If she’s made it, that means Lock is around here somewhere. I’m freezing from the chilly temperature outside, so I grab a spiked hot chocolate from the stove and start my search for the boy I can’t get out of my head.

  I’m ready to leave the kitchen, but I stop, something catching my eye. I step up to the window overlooking the pool, an outline of letters visible in the fog.

  It’s struck through. Just like those parts of my lists I don’t want to stop and acknowledge.

  But who wrote it?

  I’m frantic in my search now, splashing my piping hot drink on my hand every other step. Chels is surrounded by her fans in the living room with more people coming in the front door. I glimpse Lock’s gray hoodie through a window and push through the streaming crowd out onto the porch.

  He’s sitting alone on the swinging bench, the rest of the cast heading inside as the temperature continues to drop. He doesn’t look up as I sit next to him, setting my steaming cup on the porch rail.

  “Hey,” I greet him.

  “Hey.” He continues to stare at the cup he holds with both hands.

  “I’m glad you made it,” I tell him, resting my hand on my knee palm-up so maybe he’ll get the hint.

  He doesn’t respond. Or take my hand.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  “Why did you kiss me earlier?”

  “What?”

  He looks at me now, pain twisting his usually neutral features. “Why did you kiss me? Is this just a game for you?”

  “What are you talking about, Lock?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He stands, swaying slightly. That’s definitely not his first drink. “I saw you. By the pool. And I get it, he’s probably more your type. I’m just the weird homeschool kid who gets too stuck in his own head. What could you see in me?”

  “Are you talking about Clay?” I follow him. “Lock, let me explain. That wasn’t—”

  “You don’t have to,” he cuts me off. “I get it. I really do. You probably want someone you have more in common with. Someone brave and unapologetic. You deserve to have that, West.”

  “You’re being stupid,” I tell him. That seems to confuse him even more. “Clay and I couldn’t be more incompatible. I mean, yes, I did sleep with him a couple times last month but—”

  “You slept with him?” Lock turns on me.

  “Y-Yeah,” I stammer, heat rising to my cheeks. “But he has a boyfriend. After I found that out, I ended things. Well that and because he’s kind of a dick head.”

  “How noble of you,” Lock scoffs, sipping from his cup. His whole demeanor has shifted.

  “What the hell is your problem?”

  “My problem?” he repeats. “How about the fact the guy I like just told me he was fucking someone else behind my back?”

  “Whoa.” I put up my hands. “Why exactly is that any of your business? I didn’t have to tell you any of that. Besides, it’s not like we’re dating! You hadn’t spoken to me in weeks.”

  “You’re right.” Lock sets his cup down, arms folding across his chest. “What was I thinking, hoping you’d be able to keep from hopping right into bed with someone else while my mom was fighting to stay alive. It was selfish of me to think you could wait until my life wasn’t falling apart.”

  I bite my lip. “That’s not fair. You don’t know what I’ve—”

  “Maybe it’s for the best.” He goes in for the kill. “Even if we were together, who’s to say you wouldn’t turn around and cheat on me with the first attractive guy you saw?”

  There’s a stinging in my eyes. “You’re drunk, Lock. You don’t mean that.”

  “So, what if I am? I told you before, I don’t lie.”

  My words catch in my throat. I clear it to ask, “Is that seriously what you think of me?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Fine,” I say, blinking the tears away before they can fall. I want to leave, to walk away from him, but there’s something else that has to be said. “I honestly thought you would be different,” I tell him with a broken laugh. “But I guess that’s my fault.”

  He’s obviously done talking, so I turn to leave.

  “There you two are!”

  Chels grapples me, wrapping an arm around my neck and Lock’s, pulling us in.

  “Isn’t this a great party?”

  Lock pulls away from Chels, storming down the front sidewalk.

  She lets go of me, and I dab my face.

  “Whoa, what’s his deal?”

  “He’s drunk,” I say quietly. “You should probably take him home.”

  “Already?” Chels protests, but then she finally catches my expression and nods. “Okay, sure. You gonna be okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, waving her off. “I’m going to head home too. You know, gotta get plenty of rest for tomorrow’s show.”

  “Right.” Chels nods. “Well, be safe. Text me when you get home?”

  “Sure.”

  With a last look, she hurries after Lock, grabbing him before he turns in the wrong direction.

  Alone, I don’t feel so bad about the tears that fall.

  What did I just do?

  “What’s going on between you two?” Chels asks once we’re in her car. She sounds like she’s coming in over AM radio, and I can’t get the words to stream together with coherence.

  “It’s hot,” I mutter, rolling the window down. The cold air is the slap in the face I need to sharpen my senses. Suddenly, everything I said to West is crystal clear, and guilt springs up like a geyser.

  “He looked sad,” Chels continues, just heaping the guilt on. “You didn’t break up with him, did you?” She laughs at her own joke, but something tells me she’s low-key
serious.

  “He told me about Clay,” I say, resting my head against the half open window. “Told me they were sleeping together while Clay had a boyfriend.”

  “Oh shit,” Chels breathes. “Poor West. He just can’t seem to catch a break.”

  “Poor West?” I repeat. “What about the boyfriend?”

  “That’s not his fault,” she says, as if she’s on his side. “West didn’t know Clay was seeing someone.”

  “Not his fault?” A laugh far crueler than I thought myself capable escapes through my loose lips. “He destroyed a relationship, Chels. Just like my—” I stop.

  Light bulb moment.

  “Oh, holy fuck.”

  “Did you just say fuck?”

  “Holy fuck!”

  “Okay, twice. I love it.”

  My dad. West reminded me of my dad. That’s why I’m so upset. Chels is right. If he really didn’t have any idea, then West was just as much the victim.

  “I’m such an idiot.” I sigh.

  “You gonna let me in on this little self-realization moment?”

  “I didn’t take the news well,” I tell her, burying my face in my hands. “And I may have taken out some unresolved issues with my dad on him.”

  “That explains why he looked like a puppy just died.”

  “I’m the worst,” I whine into my fingers.

  “Not arguing with you on that one,” Chels adds. “So, are you going to apologize?”

  “He probably doesn’t ever want to see me again,” I realize, guilt morphing into something deeper and much heavier. “Oh god, what did I just do?”

  Chels rubs my back with her free hand. “It’s okay sweetie, we all make mistakes when we’re drunk.”

  That’s an understatement.

  “I don’t know how many more mistakes I can make.”

  “Don’t worry, Lock. You’re young. You’ve got a whole life of mistakes just waiting to be made.”

  Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel any better.

  The headache isn’t so bad this morning, and my mouth isn’t dry like last time. But instead of losing my virginity to a cute guy, I may have ruined any chance of having a relationship with one. So, hangover or no, I can’t say my second drinking experience was the better of the two.

  Chels delivered me to Jill’s door last night, making sure I got in alright. Jill didn’t yell at me, which is more than deserved. Instead, in her infinite wisdom, she’d made me drink two glasses of water and sent me to bed.

  At least it’s Saturday which means I don’t have to see West until tonight’s show. It gives me time to decide if I’m going to even try to repair things with him or if this is my best chance to sever ties, to walk away before he can really hurt me.

  Would West hurt me?

  I’m prepared to spend the rest of the morning debating this question, but a knock on the door brings everything crashing down.

  “Lan? You almost ready to go?” Jill cracks the door open.

  “Go where?” I ask.

  “It’s Saturday, Lan. Your mom’s birthday. We’ve gotta go so we can get there before her midday session.”

  “Oh, shit. I forgot.”

  “Since when do you cuss, young man?”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s a new development.”

  She’s sure to start lecturing me now, but to my surprise, Jill gives me a thumbs up. “About fucking time. Now I don’t have to feel so bad about my own mouth.”

  I’m laughing, in spite of last night’s disaster.

  “Hurry up and get ready,” she tells me, backing out of the doorway. “I’m going to start wrangling Jack to get him in the car.”

  I nod, throwing off my comforter.

  “Isn’t there something you want to tell me, Lan?” Jill asks from down the hall.

  I think about it for a moment.

  “Fuck off?”

  “That’s my boy!”

  Last night was dumb. After Lock left the party, I had to wait another two hours for someone to take me back to my car. It was past midnight before I even got home. I stared at the ceiling till three before finally willing myself to sleep.

  When Claire bangs on my door at nine in the fucking morning, I’m not super thrilled.

  “Someone better be fucking dead,” I call, but it’s through a yawn so I don’t think she can understand me without a translator.

  “Did you forget about me?” she asks, pushing my door wide open and leaning on the frame. Even though she only wore it for a few months, she seems naked without her engagement ring.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That’s what I thought.” She sighs. “You told me you’d go shopping with me this morning since, you know, Black Friday really wasn’t a good time.”

  Right. I did say that. Fuck.

  “Give me ten minutes,” I tell her, rolling out of bed. Then I notice something else is awake, and I add, “Actually, make it twenty.”

  Claire just rolls her eyes. “Don’t take too long or all the good parking will be gone.”

  “We’ll valet,” I say then shut the door.

  L-Square is packed. I keep reminding myself it’s the holiday season. For completely legitimate reasons, I haven’t really had a chance to get into the Christmas spirit. I blame it on the sexual assault, but it’s probably more to do with seasonal depression.

  “Do you think Mother would like this?” Claire holds up a pair of diamond earrings.

  “Does the price tag make you want to gouge your eyes out?”

  She shakes her head.

  “Then probably not.”

  I’m not in a shopping mood, which is bizarre seeing as I’m me. This whole Lock situation has me fucked up six ways from Sunday.

  “What’s with you, today?” Claire asks, perusing a sapphire necklace that could feed a third-world country. “You’re not my usual shopping buddy.”

  “I’m not really in the mood, I guess.”

  “That’s totally understandable.” Claire nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.”

  “Okay.”

  She doesn’t press me for more information, but eventually, she wears me down with those sideways pity stares.

  I let out a sigh. “Lock and I got into a fight last night.”

  “Wait, who’s Lock?”

  “He’s just this guy,” I huff. “See? Not important. Let’s move on.”

  “Apparently, he is important. Start spilling, little brother.”

  “He’s just a friend from school,” I say, doodling finger smudges across the clear display cabinet. “Chels and I have been hanging out with him a lot lately. He’s sorta been having a hard time at home.”

  “And why were you two fighting?”

  My cheeks burn. “No reason.”

  “Seems legit.”

  “I think she’d like that one,” I deflect, pointing to the most expensive thing in the cabinet. The sales associate looks like he’s about to shit a brick.

  “So, how long have you two been sleeping together?”

  “Wha-Who-What are you talking about?”

  Claire is laughing now. “Oh, come on, West. I know you better than anyone else. You like this kid, which means you’ve already slept with him. Which means if you two were fighting, it was probably about another guy. Am I close?”

  “Fucking Journalism majors.”

  “You can’t hide anything from me.” Claire beams. “Now, let’s have it.”

  “Fine.” I look back to the guy behind the counter. “Put that on hold, please. We’ll be back for it later.”

  He nods, hands shaking as he takes the necklace off the display.

  “Can we not do this in the middle of the store?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Claire agrees.

  We leave the jeweler, moving to a small sitting area off the beaten path. There’s a guy on his phone and a dusty fichus, but the guy has headphones in and I don’t think the fichus gets around too much, so we should be safe to tal
k.

  “Tell me about this lover’s spat.”

  “We’re not lovers.” I cringe at the word. “But you’re right, we did have sex. Once. Drunken sex, so it really doesn’t even count.”

  “You remember it.” Claire smirks. “So, it counts. Do you like this Lock?”

  I start to say no, but I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. Stupid Lock and his love of the truth. It’s starting to take root.

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “That was a long pause, little brother.”

  “Would you just shut up for two seconds? I’m telling you something.”

  “Sorry. Keep going.”

  “Anyways. He’s mad at me because Clay showed up at the cast party last night.”

  Claire raises an eyebrow. “Clay?”

  “Yeah, Clay. Like, Clayton Derrick. My Clay.”

  “Oh right. How long has he been back in the picture again?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Right, sorry. I’ll shut up.”

  “Well, he saw Clay kiss me last night, and of course didn’t stick around for the part where I told him to get his shit together and stop fucking around on his boyfriend.”

  “Wise words.” Claire smiles. She seems proud of me, which makes me blush for some reason.

  “So, he freaks the fuck out on me.” I add a flourish of hand motions because I’m starting to get into the story and I can’t help but perform it. “Which I really wasn’t expecting, but he was also kind of drunk for the second time in his life.”

  “Jesus. Where did you find this kid?”

  “Claire.”

  “Alright, fine. Sorry.”

  “So anyways, he blows up on me last night and then accuses me of bed hopping. Which is ridiculous and hurtful, especially since I told him what Blake did last sum—”

  Oh, fuck. My hand claps over my mouth.

  Claire’s expression shifts, darkening. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” I say quickly, but my voice does that thing where it jumps an octave.

  “Bullshit. You said Blake.” She makes a face like his name tastes bad. “What happened with Blake over the summer?”

  “It’s not a big deal,” I tell her. “He’s gone, and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”