by W Winters
And maybe the other assholes here are. As each glass hits the table, everyone around me seems lighter, happier, ready to party. That’s what this is. A party.
The air from my lungs leaves me as Kev’s hand pounds on my back.
“You my wingman tonight?” he asks me, lowering his face to mine as I hunch over the countertop. I follow his gaze to the set of brunettes across the room.
One with short hair and a bright pink tank top, while the other has her long hair pulled back and is wearing a short little black dress. They laugh as they spot Kev staring them down like they’re prey. They’re nothing like Allie. Kev can have them both. He nods, and they blush, covering their faces with the red Solo cups of beer in their hands.
“Not tonight,” I tell him. I’m not feeling it. There’s only one girl I want to see here, and I know for a fucking fact she knows I’m here. She knows where to find me. She’s not here because she doesn’t want me. I’m not stupid and her hints aren’t subtle.
I went to her place to grab her ass, but she didn’t answer.
She’s pissing me off more than anything. And with the whiskey flowing through my veins, there’s not much of anything keeping me from going back to her house right now.
“Why the fuck not?” he asks me, rearing his head back to look at me like I’m being unreasonable.
“Not tonight,” I tell him and toss the plastic shot glass into the trash. That was the third or fourth shot I’ve had over the course of fifteen minutes. Maybe fifth. One after the other and I sway slightly, but the cup makes it into the bin.
“Is it that chick?” he asks me.
“Yeah,” I tell him, and my body feels tight, even as my vision tilts. She’s fucking with me and she knows it. And worst of all, I’m letting her.
“Suit yourself,” he says beneath his breath as he fills a cup from the tap of the keg.
Anger rises in a slow billow as I watch the foam rise to the top of the rim.
“What the fuck does that mean?” The words slip from me without any deliberate intention. It’s the anger taking over. Not at him really. It’s anger directed at her.
“Calm down,” Kev tells me, scrunching his brow and looking over his drink at me. “I didn’t mean shit.”
James laughs and it pisses me off. The room slants in the opposite direction when I look at him.
“You got something to say?” I ask him. ‘Cause the fucker looks like he has something to say. The second the question leaves me; the front door opens and there she is.
The short dress hits her upper thigh as she kicks the door shut, letting the thin fabric swirl around her. From head to toe, she has every detail in place. From her straightened hair to the high heels that complement the bracelets adorning her wrist.
That devilish smile isn’t in sight as she turns toward the kitchen, toward us, and instantly catches my gaze. Like she could feel me watching her. I take her in slowly, feeling like an asshole for thinking she was avoiding me.
She wouldn’t have come if she didn’t want me.
But then her eyes flash and she rips her gaze away.
She came to end it.
My heart slams once, then twice, as she walks toward us. In my blurred periphery, I see James lean in closer and say quietly but with an arrogance I’m not in the mood for, “There’s a type of girl that fucks you raw when you show up to her house. Lets you fuck her in public. Likes to flirt. Likes attention. And will do anything to get it. Or anyone.” He nods his head as he talks, staring at something behind me. My knuckles turn white as the anger builds in response to his oblivious nature. “You really want to be tied up with that?” he asks me, and my head turns slowly. So fucking slowly and against my will as Allison heads right for us.
“Watch your fucking mouth.” My words come out sharp, and as I turn toward him everyone else takes a step back.
The heat rises, and my shoulders feel tense.
James looks at me like a deer in fucking headlights. Like he didn’t see it coming. Like those weren’t fighting words that just came out of his mouth.
Before I can say a damn thing, I feel a strong arm push me back slightly, making me face Allison and not that asshole.
“Look who’s in the house,” Daniel says, wrapping his arm tighter around my shoulder and inserting himself between me and James. He keeps a strong grip on me and whispers for me to calm down. That she’s here and everything’s fine. That it’s not worth it. And that last line is what repeats itself as Allie comes closer, looking between all of us like she wishes she hadn’t come.
My heart thumps, and I struggle to know what to do. The whiskey and the anger swirl in the pit of my stomach.
I’m a fucking mess. Daniel’s good-natured laugh seems at odds with what’s flowing in my veins.
But he’s different from me. Daniel has a way of smiling through the bullshit. Of acting like shit doesn’t bother him, when inside he’s envisioning slitting your throat. It’s how he was raised.
“What’s up, sweetheart?” he asks Allie as she glances from James to him, then to me before setting her purse down on the counter.
The metal links of the strap clink as they hit one another, and I force myself to focus on that, rather than the sound of James leaving the kitchen.
My teeth and fists are still clenched, the skin pulled taut over my knuckles.
“You tell me, sweetheart,” she mocks Daniel, but her confidence is barely there, and her focus is split between us and watching James’s back.
“Shot?” Daniel asks as the music plays the word over and over. Another round of shots.
Her eyes flicker from me to him and as she parts her lips to respond, I interject. “Come on,” I tell her, grabbing her wrist and shrugging Daniel off of me.
He hovers for a moment as she stares back at me, ripping her arm away.
The tension grows, and the air goes still and quiet; even the fucking music seems to dim as she considers whether or not to listen to me.
Shit, I guess it doesn’t matter either way.
I can see it written on her face. She’s running. From me and what we had. She only came here to tell me as much. Least she could do is not to say it in front of them.
“Lead the way, Neanderthal,” she says sarcastically, avoiding Daniel’s piercing gaze. Like he’s her fucking protector. I can see it. He’s watching the two of us like he knows shit’s about to go down. Judging by the way everyone averts their gaze when I look at them, he’s not the only one thinking that.
I ignore him as much as she does and lead her in front of me, not really touching her, just staying close as we walk outside.
The music dies the second the door’s shut and the sticky heat of the late summer air and faint sounds of crickets from the woods behind us surround us.
I could use a drag. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a smoke, but right now, I’m hit hard with the need for a cigarette.
“What’s wrong with you?” Allie asks me the moment she turns around on her heels to face me.
“Where have you been?” I question her in return. “We came back Sunday. You missed two classes, texted me back with one-word answers and have been blowing me off.” I pace on the small cement landing in front of the door. “I mean, I knew shit was off on the way home, but all I asked from you was for you to be honest.”
“What wasn’t honest?” Allie bites back with anger. Good. I hope she’s pissed like I am.
“You don’t have to lie to be dishonest,” I tell her and even in my drunken stupor, I know that those words make more sense than any excuse she can come up with.
“Yeah, well, I wanted to tell you something anyway,” she starts, and I scoff at her.
“I gave you the fucking over you needed, huh?”
She shakes her head, that gorgeous hair of hers swirling around her shoulders as the heat climbs and I run a hand through my hair. No matter how put together she is, her eyes can’t lie to me. She can look pissed or like she doesn’t care. But her eyes have th
e same sad look in them they did at the hotel.
“What are you talking about?” Exasperation is clear in her voice.
“You want to be with me or not, Allie?” I ask her the only question I need an answer to and her plump lips part slightly, the immediate answer begging to slip from them, but she stops herself, slamming her mouth shut and swallowing the words.
“I knew it,” I tell her and feel pathetic. I’m not the pathetic one though. This is on her. She’s the one running from this. She’s the one who’s scared.
“It’s not you,” she says with way too little emotion in her voice. Like it doesn’t even matter.
“Oh, it’s not me, it’s you?” I ask with a bitter taste in my mouth. “Is that what you’re going for? Really? You can be more creative than that.” She flinches from the anger in my voice. “Come on Allie, I’ll give you a minute to come up with something better,” I sneer and lean into her. I’m pissed. I’m so fucking pissed.
It’s easier than being hurt.
Everyone pushes me away because they don’t want me. She fucking wants me. I know she does. And still, I can’t hold on to her.
“How about the fact that you were ready to get into a goddamn brawl when I walked in. How about that?”
“How about it?” I ask back. I don’t remember quite what happened or what she knows. All I remember is that someone said something that they deserved to be punched for. I don’t tell her that though, I stand there like an ass, waiting for her to fill me in on what the hell happened.
I shouldn’t have drunk so much. If I’d known she was coming, I wouldn’t have.
“I don’t need you to stick up for me,” she says and James’s stupid fucking face flashes in my head.
“It’s not about sticking up for you. You’re mine.” I thump my hand against my chest to emphasize my words.
“I’m not yours. I don’t belong to anyone!” she screams at me and takes a step closer. The heat from the argument is at odds with the chill in the late-night air.
“Knock it off,” I tell her dismissively. “You know what I mean.”
“This is why I can’t...” she starts to say, but even she can’t hold on to the thin excuse.
“Quit pushing people away – quit hiding,” I beg her through clenched teeth.
“How am I the one who’s hiding?” she bites back the question.
“You just need a reminder of who you belong to, don’t you?” I ask her and take a step forward, closing the space between us. She’s so fucking close. So small and all I want to do is pick her ass up and show her she’s mine. I can remind her. She just needs my touch.
“You’re drunk,” Allie says in a harsh whisper and looks behind me at the door to the frat house. I watch the hollow of her throat as she swallows thickly, and something flashes in her eyes.
“Would that make it better or worse?” I ask her and imagine taking her right here, right now. “If I fucked you right there in the dirt,” I offer her.
“Dean, don’t,” she whimpers and closes her eyes, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. Like it hurt her. “Please,” she begs me and it’s like a slap in the face.
“Please what?” I ask her calmly, trying to pull my shit together. “I didn’t mean to…” Hurt her. I didn’t mean to put that look on her face.
“Allie Cat,” I speak softly, reaching up to hold her shoulders and pull her in closer, but she takes a step back. Her heels clack on the landing.
“I don’t want this,” she finally says and it’s then I see the tears. Real tears, flowing freely and she doesn’t brush them away. It stuns me for a second.
“Please, you’re drunk and this, what’s between us, it’s over.”
“Why?” I expect anger, but this shit welling in my chest isn’t that. “Just tell me why. I’ll fix it.”
I swear I can fix it. I can change. For her, I will.
“You don’t commit to a goddamn thing,” she sneers at me out of nowhere. Like she finally remembered the made-up excuse she could use.
* * *
“I committed to you!” The words come out loud and leave me hollow and empty. “I love you!” I yell the words although I don’t mean to. So loud, the words burn on their way up. I fucking love her. My heart beat slows and the anger leaves in a slow wave at the realization. It’s been a long damn time since I’ve loved someone, and I know she loves me back. Somewhere in there she does. But she doesn’t want to and that’s what’s different about us.
“Well, that was your first mistake,” she says and waits. I stand there, letting everything hit me. What I feel, what she feels. When she turns around and the click of her heels rings through the air, I feel numb.
Not because of what she said, I knew it was coming.
It’s because even feeling all this for her, and knowing I love her and that she loves me, it’s not enough.
Even with all that being true, she won’t stay with me.
Chapter 27
Allison
* * *
I don’t know why I can’t stop crying.
It’s not just little hiccups and occasional outbursts when you least expect it. It’s the violent sobs that refuse to leave. The kind of crying that hurts your chest to the point where you’re in physical pain. The kind that makes you curl up on the floor and huddle in the middle of the carpet with only a throw blanket as if it will save you.
But nothing can. Because the pain is from the inside.
This isn’t me. Dean broke me. He flipped a switch somewhere deep inside of me and I can’t find it. I can’t flick the damn thing back.
There’s not a part of the girl I set out to be left remaining. This isn’t what I planned.
But right now, all I want is him. I want to take it all back.
I want to be someone else. It’s not fair that these are the cards I was dealt.
I pull the blue plaid throw tighter around my shoulders as a shiver runs through me. There’s a pile of used tissues next to me and I hate them. They’re evidence that I’m losing myself. Or maybe I’ve just been hiding all along.
The thought makes my spine prickle with yet another freezing bite.
It’s cold.
Loneliness is cold.
Regret is even colder.
As I sit in the empty house, eerily quiet and waiting for the next bout of bullshit tears to consume me, I try to think of which part of all this I regret the most. Or maybe, a more difficult question to answer, at what point did I start to feel regret.
My body jolts when the phone in my hand pings.
I have several messages from my mother to read still. I can’t bring myself to look right now. I’m so weak I’d tell her everything.
I can feel the confession on the tip of my tongue. And the last time I confessed to her, it ruined me and turned me hateful. I can’t make that mistake again.
I need to tell someone.
The words are so close to escaping, I almost told Angie. A girl I don’t even know. Simply because she was there to listen.
She spoiled it though. I could feel the weight lifting off my shoulders before I even let the truth escape. Class was over, Dean never showed, and the emptiness inside me brewed to a boil. Even though it was perfect. This is perfect.
“I think it’s best to stay away from guys like that,” she told me.
And that’s what made me silent.
What kept the words deep down inside.
What if I didn’t want to stay away?
What if I knew what I was doing?
She wouldn’t understand, and she’d hate me if I told her what I really wanted. More than anything else.
My phone pings again and my body shudders. I’m quick to turn it to silent, but then the thought of missing a text from Dean makes me turn it back.
Pathetic.
I’m so fucking pathetic. Clinging to the idea of what could be.
As if it would even be possible for someone like me.
Someone so consumed with destruction.
/>
I glance at the texts from my mom.
The first line is from me to her.
Only an apology, and a vague one at that.
I’m sorry, I told her. I couldn’t not say it. Not while I sat in that hotel room wishing she was with me. Wishing I could take it all back. If only it were so easy to pluck words from the air and tuck them into your back pocket.
The series of texts from my mother hasn’t stopped since then.
I think she thought I’d killed myself until I told her I hadn’t.
I’m sorry for running. I sent her that text to explain, but it’s not much of an explanation at all. I can’t tell her the truth though because I’m still running, and she’ll stop me.
Just like Dean would.
My body stiffens when I see my mother’s last text.
I’m coming to see you.
I start to respond, but what can I say? No, don’t. It’s not like she’ll listen.
When I delete it without hitting send, another text from her comes through.
You won’t talk to me and this has to stop.
What has to stop? I text back.
I know that will stop her. Because she can’t admit what happened. She can’t apologize to me for what she did. She can’t speak the truth.
I miss you, she finally answers me.
I wonder which version of me she misses. Probably the younger version. The one that isn’t so fucked in the head.
I miss the old me too. But she’s long dead and has been for years.
Chapter 28
Dean
* * *
The beer is cold and the head of it foams just right. It looks like a picture for a beer ad as it sits on the walnut bar of the Iron Heart Brewery on Lincoln and Church.
My back’s to the door as I sit at the far end of the bar, closest to the large glass window. I hear more people walk into the already crowded place, but I don’t pay any attention to the chatter. I just stare out of the window at the parking lot across the street.