by K. Ryan
But at the same time, I hadn't forced her hand. She wanted an out and all I did was give it to her.
I wanted to hate her. I wanted to tear my room apart, raging at all she'd destroyed, but I just didn't have it in me.
Instead, my phone lay in pieces at my feet.
At least I couldn't call her now. I was terrified at what I might say if I was actually able to talk to her, of what I might do to somehow make everything the way it used to be when she still loved me. Now I was just sitting here in the darkness, ruminating over how I'd let everything spin so disastrously out of control.
I was pathetic. I was useless. I was completely destroyed.
Even at that last moment, when she was walking out the door forever, she'd turned back with tears streaming down her face and whispered that she'd always love me.
That was the biggest pile of bullshit I'd ever heard.
The problem was that I'd never had control over the situation to begin with. She'd applied for a social work program almost 2,500 miles away without telling me. She'd accepted a scholarship without telling me. She'd lied right to my face when she said she was going on a weekend shopping trip with Lex when they were really going to L.A. to look at apartments around campus. She'd been planning this exit for a long time and deep down, I wondered if me coming along was just an afterthought in her plans.
If only I'd been able to send her on her way when she'd first laid this on me at the beginning of the summer. Then I would've been able to hate her. Then I would've been able to tell her off to her face.
But you didn't do that to the person you loved.
So I couldn't send her on her way and I couldn't hate her—I'd just clawed and scratched and fought for her until there was nothing left but a bloody, hollowed-out shell of what we used to be.
Of what I used to be.
It was all for nothing anyways.
She was always leaving...whether I was coming along or not. I was just too stupid to see it. I knew Ariel was selfish—a part of me had always known that—I just never imagined it would all one day come back and bite me in the ass.
I didn't need the I told you so stares or the pitying, embarrassed looks from my club brothers. It was just easier to sit here in this room, in the darkness, and wallow.
That black hole just widened, sucking me down deeper, but I really didn't give a shit. My mom knocked on my door a few more times, but she wasn't getting in. She'd see me when I wanted her to see me.
With that thought, I tossed the empty bottle of Jack to the floor and staggered up to my closet where more bottles of Jack waited. It was the only thing that numbed the pain right now and I didn't care how I felt later. All I cared about was how I felt right now and that I just wanted to feel better. Besides, there was no way it could ever get any worse than this.
As I stumbled back to my spot on the carpet, a jarring image of Ariel assaulted my brain. We'd had sex right here where I sat many, many times, mainly because Ariel was always worried about everyone else in the clubhouse hearing us, and I could almost picture the way her eyes practically rolled back into her head and sighed as I slid her panties down those smooth, creamy legs.
How could she tear me to pieces like this? Didn't she know that I would've done just about anything for her, anything she asked, to keep her? But the one thing she asked, the one thing she wanted—that was the one thing I couldn't give. I just couldn't do it.
And now as I sat in the exact spot that had given me so many hours of blissful, sated ecstasy, I wondered why I'd ever bothered in the first place. Settling down with an old lady wasn't ever something I'd wanted. When I'd first gotten my prospect patch, the endless revolving supply of women, both in school and at the clubhouse, was something to be enjoyed and I appreciated that they never left anything in their wake.
No attachments. No expectations. No relationships. And no commitments.
With Ariel, it had never been that way from day one. Getting involved with her meant I would have to do the attachments, expectations, and relationships. That I would have to commit to her or forget her and I hadn't been able to forget her.
She got under my skin and crawled around like she owned the damned place. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, her face was always there and those big, brown eyes were always beckoning to me like the siren call they were. So I'd slipped into those uncharted waters, followed my siren, and drowned.
This was my life now.
It sucked worse than a black hole.
As I slumped against my bed, that darkness began to clear, giving way to loud, vibrating music and the low murmur of chatter over the noise. The usual Friday night bash at the clubhouse had probably already started over an hour ago, but I'd just been too deep wallowing in self-pity to notice.
I took another long pull from the bottle of Jack nestled in between my hands and each drop that slipped down my throat told me it was time to get up, move around, and forget a little.
Maybe I'd wallowed in despair, away from civilization for long enough and the last thing I needed right now was to worry my club brothers. If I didn't show tonight, my absence would undoubtedly be noted and I didn't need to add that to my ever-growing list of unsolvable, hopeless problems.
This was something I could fix. This was something I could do to prove I wasn't a complete dickhead.
The club didn't necessarily need me to show up tonight. No one had said it and since, the soft knocking on my door had ceased hours ago, I was willing to bet the club would probably let it slide just this one time in light of recent events. But I needed them to know I was still the same guy I'd always been and that a girl wouldn't be the thing that broke me, even it was all a goddamn lie.
And as I staggered to my feet, my hands reaching out for the door knob, I wondered if maybe tonight I'd be able to forget what I'd lost, if even it was just for a few moments.
That was worth the effort and the stares and the questions. What I needed now was just to forget Ariel ever existed and it was the only way I had a prayer of coming out of this on the other side.
Yeah.
I was a delusional, sorry bastard.
Time to go numb the pain.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Behind Blue Eyes
Isabelle
"There's really no way I can get out of this, is there?"
"Nope," Becca replied curtly and just continued applying yet another layer of black mascara.
I watched, more than a little miffed, while Becca put the finishing touches on her eye makeup and ran a long finger underneath her eye to pick up the excess. I huffed a little, hoping that would garner some sort of reaction from my best friend and all I got was a whole lot of silence.
At this point, I was willing to do just about anything to get myself out of going to the Horsemen's clubhouse tonight. I'd just been minding my own business, listening to Becca squeal about just how awesome Eli was in bed when she suddenly turned the tables and informed me I was coming to the party whether I liked it or not.
When Becca had her mind set on something, come hell or high water, it was happening and that was what worried me.
The clubhouse was the last place I wanted to be tonight for a number of reasons. But no matter how much I protested, no matter how much I begged and pleaded, the fact remained that I just didn't have a legitimate excuse to get out of it. Well, if I was going down, might as well go down swinging.
"Seriously, though, Becca," I attempted again. "I really don't think this is such a good idea tonight."
"Why?" Becca turned to me abruptly and wagged a tube of lip gloss in front of my face. "Because you've only been there once before and it was, like, ages ago? Or because you're worried you might actually have some fun for once?"
I just rolled my eyes and slumped down on the toilet seat for added dramatic effect, even if this was an argument I wouldn't be winning. "Well, for starters, there's the whole Caleb situation. I'm not so sure I wanna be around for that tonight."
Becca's hand froze in
mid-air as she brought the lip gloss wand to her lips like she'd just remembered the hurricane that had raged through the Iron Horsemen's property. It was actually pretty difficult to forget, but maybe that had more to do with me working at the shop, which gave me a clear view of the impact, albeit from a safe distance away. But Becca's reaction told me this might be an angle worth playing.
"Oh yeah, I kinda forget about all that. It might make for an interesting night, but that's no reason why you shouldn't come with me. In fact, I think it's even more reason. Don't you wanna see Caleb falling down drunk on his ass?"
"No, actually, I don't," I replied simply.
It was the honest truth. I didn't want to have anything to do with whatever was going down at the clubhouse tonight.
"I thought you guys didn't really get along..." Becca trailed off as if she was trying to wrap her head around it. "So why does it matter?"
"That has nothing to do with it," I waved a hand dismissively at Becca's suggestion. "Why would anyone wanna see that? His girlfriend just deserted him, what, literally three days ago? It's gonna be horrible and...I've seen enough of that already to last me a lifetime, okay?"
Although just about everyone in Claremont had seen it coming, watching Ariel actually go through with leaving was still a bit of a shock. Part of me expected Ariel to board the plane, realize her mistake at the last possible moment, chicken out, and then rush back to the shop and jump into Caleb's arms just like a movie.
But it wasn't a movie, at least not for Caleb. Ariel slammed the door to the clubhouse one last time, ducked her head into the waiting cab, and never looked back.
That was three days ago and according to the murmuring around my new workplace, Caleb had yet to surface from his clubhouse dorm for longer than minutes at a time. Becca had told me, after hearing it from Eli, that Caleb only answered his door once, just for Skyler, and had promptly thrown her out after about two minutes.
"Yeah, I guess I see your point," Becca conceded quietly and she looked down into the sink for a moment. A second later, her sparkling brown eyes snapped back up to stare me down through the mirror.
"Don't get me wrong. I understand your concern. I really do. But what's the alternative for you, huh? It's a Friday night for God's sake. You need to live a little bit, Belle. Let your frickin' hair down, ya know? And don't give me that crap about not wanting to party where you work. Almost everyone who parties at the clubhouse either works for the Horsemen or is connected to them somehow. You might as well jump in and have some fun for a change."
This little pep talk was intended to rile me up, to convince me to embrace whatever was left of my youth, and as much as I hated to admit it, Becca was right. If I fought and scratched my way out of tagging along, the alternative was waiting for my dad to call for a ride home from whatever fine establishment he chose to park it at tonight.
To add insult to injury, I knew all too well what time he would call—right at bar close as usual—and I would still have plenty of time to spend at the clubhouse before he made the call. There really wasn't a way out and I knew it. Still, one last try...
"Well," I pushed out hurriedly. "What happens when my dad calls me needing a ride home? You know I can't let him call a cab and—"
"Maybe Eli will be able to get someone to pick him up for you so you don't have to worry about it."
Wow, Becca was just on a problem-solving roll today. Time to put my foot down. Like yesterday. We'd had this conversation before and Becca was very aware I needed to be the one to take him home, even if it was just so that I could see for myself that he was still breathing.
"No, you know I can't do that, Becs. Maybe I'll just stay for a little bit and then go home and then—"
"No!" Becca practically shouted in me face. "Just stay long enough to have some fun, let loose, relax a little, and when you get that call, I'll come with you if you want."
"I wouldn't dream of stealing you away from your boy-toy," I waved it off. I knew defeat when it was staring me right in the face.
Becca's face lit up. She'd clearly realized she'd just won. "So I take it that means you've officially resigned to a night of awesomeness?"
I just shrugged and took the tube of lip gloss from Becca's outstretched hand. "I'm not sure I would go that far, but I don't see a way out of this."
"Yay!" Becca squealed and tossed her arms around her in victory.
I didn't even bother returning the hug. Resistance was futile anyways.
"Will you just promise me you'll try to have fun?" Becca was whispering in my ear now. "I mean, you look smokin' hot tonight, you're rockin' those heels you stole from my closet, and showing just enough cleavage to have some serious fun, Belle. You gotta embrace that, ya know?"
I glanced down at my attire with a cocked eyebrow, still unsure about the ensemble I'd haphazardly pieced together. With four-inch nude heels, black skinny jeans, and a shiny silver top, I looked like ready for a night at the club and not the clubhouse. Even though it had been over four years since I'd stepped foot inside the clubhouse, it wasn't easy to wipe the images of the girls there from my mind.
Smeared makeup, barely-there skirts and too-tight tank tops seemed to be the accepted uniform there for...what were they called again? Mamas? Sweetbutts? As disgusting and misogynistic as that was, the terminology, unfortunately, was an accurate description of the women who frequented the clubhouse.
I'd made it my mission to wear as much clothing tonight as possible so there would be no confusion over what I was and what I definitely wasn't. While Becca was right, there was no way I was going to let myself get that loose and my outfit needed to send that message loud and clear.
So, maybe, even as I'd chosen my outfit, I'd known exactly where this night was headed after all.
Crap.
"I'm not gonna make any promises I can't keep," I stated matter-of-factly. "I'll go to the clubhouse with you, have a drink or two, and when my dad calls, I'm going to leave, alright?"
"Yes, ma'am," Becca mock-saluted. "Wouldn't dare hope you'll actually have fun."
I just rolled my eyes. "Right."
A half hour later, I was parking the Trans Am in the shop's parking lot and Becca was bouncing next to me, unable to conceal her elation. Well, at least one of us was excited.
As we stepped out onto the pavement, it took me a second to remind my feet how to walk in high heels. I hadn't worn a pair of high heels since my mom's funeral and my feet were already screaming in protest.
Adding concern over my ability, or rather inability, to walk wasn't going to help me loosen up any time soon. Still, I dutifully followed Becca up to the main entrance, my senses immediately assaulted by ear-splitting music and the stomach-churning stench of smoke and alcohol that wafted from underneath the door.
Even though I'd spent the last week here, I'd never really thought too much about what went on in the clubhouse at night. It was just easier to put it out of sight, out of mind in order to concentrate on the job at hand and then all the excitement, or catastrophe, of Ariel's exit had disturbed the generally peaceful environment I'd previously enjoyed in the office.
But now as the clubhouse loomed treacherously at my high-heel clad feet, it was absolutely terrifying. This definitely wasn't like anything I'd ever been to in college, and let's just say I didn't exactly remember much from the last time I'd been to a Horsemen party.
This was a whole different kind of beast and as my stilettos toed along the threshold of the entrance, I might as well have been stepping inside a foreign country. It didn't matter that I'd spent a week with most of the people inside already—that was different. That was work. That was a job.
At night, these people inside probably transformed into something else entirely. Or maybe they were just enhanced a little more. A little more larger than life than they already were.
Despite all that, I still knew there was nothing to be afraid of inside the clubhouse walls. I just needed to have a good time, unwind, let loose, just like Becca said.
With a deep breath, I glanced down one more time at my outfit, even though it was far too late to make any changes to it now.
I looked good tonight. I was ready to have fun tonight. I was ready to finally live a little tonight.
So, I walked through the door.
. . .
The air in the clubhouse billowed around me in a swarm of must, ripe body odor, smoke, and alcohol. My eyes needed more than a few moments to adjust to this new onslaught of an environment and my senses still hadn't adapted. Everything seemed to pass by in a blur, a whirlwind of leather cuts, short skirts, booze, and weed.
At five minutes in, I still wasn't sold on this whole idea.
Becca was a few steps ahead of me, probably because she was on the look-out for her very own plate of man-meat, and just that little bit of space made me feel even more self-conscious—and isolated—than I already was.
I wasn't even all the way inside and already I'd set myself up for failure with this kind of attitude. This was supposed to be a fun night. This was supposed to be a night to let my hair down, to live a little. And I just needed to keep telling myself that.
"I'll be right back," Becca called over her shoulder as she weaved around the sweaty bodies.
To my surprise, she headed straight for the bathroom, completely ignoring Eli on the other side of the clubhouse.
Huh.
I'd expected her to make a beeline for him the second she saw him, but whatever. At this point, I was more concerned about the fact that she'd left me alone, standing in the middle of this room, when she knew I didn't really want to be here in the first place.
What the hell, Becca?
I stepped over to the bar area, desperate to hide just as much as I needed some liquid courage.
"Get the lady whatever she wants, prospect," a gruff, but familiar voice called out behind me.
I turned around on my heel only to come face to face with Dominic Fletcher, who had his girlfriend, Lexie Wright, tucked safely under his arm. Both of them were smiling at me, but it wasn't just their presence or their smiles that threw me off-guard. It was the genuine happiness and the bright, warm welcome in their eyes that had me wondering if this was a case of mistaken identities.