by Mary Frame
Part of me feels like I should be more cautious around him. I mean, I’m being pretty trusting considering he’s connected to two homicides, and he doesn’t have an alibi. But I believed him when he said he went straight home to go to bed. It was late at night in the middle of the week.
Unless he doesn’t have an alibi because he really is the killer, and he’s luring me into a false sense of complacency by being all hot and smoldery, and then he’s going to take me to his evil lair and have his wicked way with me.
Wait. This isn’t sounding so bad.
The first thing I see when Bethany leads me through the door to the hot new hangout downtown is Cameron sitting at the bar.
“No,” I say immediately, stopping in my tracks. “I can’t go in there.”
Ted runs into my back and then puts his arm around me. “Lady, chill, we will protect you from the heathen. You need a night out. He won’t even see you in this crush. Now scoot that fine ass in there before we piss off the people behind us.”
I glance over my shoulder. I see Ted’s patient expression, and behind him a mob of people waiting in line. He’s right. This isn’t a huge town, and I can’t hide from Cameron forever. I can, however, go in there and have a good time and completely ignore him.
“Come on, beyotch.” Bethany grabs my hand, looping it through her arm, and tugs me into the crowded space.
The new bar is nice, with brick walls and bar height tables littering the spaces around the bar. There are a few pool tables on one end and a stage at the other for live shows. There’s no show tonight though, just light music filtering in the background, almost completely overcome by the noise of the crowd.
I can’t believe I agreed to go out tonight, but I thought it would help take my mind off other things. Too bad other things is at the bar, eyeballing me through the crowd.
We manage to find a table and order drinks, and Ted’s right, within minutes I’ve almost forgotten that my evil ex is present.
“That one’s totally gay,” Ted says, nodding to a guy bending over the pool table.
“No way,” Bethany says. “Your gaydar is the worst. He does have a nice ass though; maybe I should take him home tonight. Wait…maybe you should take him home tonight.” She pats me on the arm.
I love Bethany, I really do, but she’s trying to turn me into a major slut.
“I’m not taking anyone home.”
“Why not? I thought that was the whole point of coming here!”
“I thought the whole point of coming here was to hang out with my friends, not shack up with some gay dude.”
“He’s so not gay,” she insists.
“Wait!” Ted slams his hand on the table. “There’s an app for that.” He pulls out his smartphone.
“There’s a gay app?” Bethany asks incredulously.
“Yep. You take a picture of someone and upload it and it tells you if they’re gay or straight. It’s called Let There be Gay.”
“Okay, that can’t be accurate,” I say.
Bethany has already pulled out her phone and she takes a picture of Ted while he’s looking at me. “It doesn’t work,” she informs us. “It says you’re straighter than arrow that’s been rammed up an elephant’s ass.”
“It does not, you ignorant slut!” He makes a grab for her phone and she pulls it just out of reach.
“It also says that you have a tiny penis and man boobs.”
Ted gasps and stops grabbing at Bethany in order to splay his hand on his chest. “Ouch. That hurt.”
“Awww.” Bethany pats him on the shoulder. “You’re sensitive today. Are you manstrating?”
He snatches her phone away. “Ha!” he says, fiddling with her phone and then frowning down at it. “Hey. This isn’t even working!”
“I know.” She smirks. “The battery died like a half hour ago. It’s time for an upgrade.”
“You are such a whore,” he says, handing her phone back.
“Truth.” She nods in agreement.
“I gotta pee,” I say.
“Overshare much?” Ted grimaces at me and rolls his eyes.
“Anyone else have to go?”
“Ugh,” Bethany says, waving me away. “The lines to the ladies are the worst. I’ll go later. You know how it is: if you pee at the beginning of the night, you’ll have to go every fifteen minutes for the rest of it.”
I finish the last sip of my martini and head through the crowd towards the restrooms in the back. I’ve just passed the bar when Cameron appears in front of me.
Mother fucker.
I try to edge around him without saying anything, but he stops me with a hand on my shoulder. I jerk away from his touch.
“Hey, girlie, how’ve you been?” he asks, giving me a charming smile that shows his dimple.
“Great.” I try to step around him again, but there’s too many people in the way and he mimics my movement and intercepts.
He’s standing too close. I work on not flinching and try to quell the nausea rising in my stomach. If I thought my reaction was bad around most guys, around Cameron it’s a million times worse. I clench my fists at my sides to stop them from shaking.
“You should let me buy you a drink,” he says.
“No, thanks.”
“Come on, don’t be like that.” His voice is placating, almost nervous sounding.
If I didn’t have first-hand knowledge of his douchbaggery, this might be convincing.
“I know we didn’t end on the best of terms—”
“Cameron,” I interrupt him. “It’s been over between us for a long time. I wanted monogamy and you wanted to screw anything with a pulse.” I swallow the urge to mention the other part of why I hate his guts. He doesn’t see it the way I do, and I don’t want to talk about it in a crowd. Or at all, really. “It’s no big deal. I’m over it, okay? Have a nice life.”
I step around him again, and this time he lets me pass.
There’s a huge line to the ladies room but by the time I get in there and finish, there’s only a couple people left in the line.
“Figures,” I mutter. I should have waited like Bethany.
Wading my way back through the crowd, I groan out loud when Cameron stops me again, this time by the bar.
“Hey,” he says. “Look, I just want to be friends,” he says, holding up his hands in a gesture of supplication that I don’t believe for a minute.
“I don’t want to be your friend,” I say.
“That’s fine,” he says. “Just let me buy you one drink, and I’ll leave you alone.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. There’s no way I’m opening that door.
He smiles his old, charming smile that made me fall for him all those months ago. Now it just makes me want to throw angry kittens at him.
I turn around, not even bothering to try stepping around him and head the long way around back to the table. The bar is super crowded, but I need a drink.
I catch a glimpse of Liz the slut in the crowd near the bar, and I move quickly away. Dear Lord, what is it with this town? Why couldn’t I live somewhere with millions of people so I don’t have to worry about running into the last two people on the planet that I want to see?
I wonder—very briefly—if she’s here with Cameron, and I’m almost surprised to discover that I don’t care.
Eventually, I find a small empty spot and order a beer on my way back to Ted and Bethany.
When I get there, Ted is gone and there’s a couple of guys I don’t know sitting with Bethany.
“Where’s Ted?” I ask when I hop onto the chair next to her.
“He left to hook up with some dude from his English class,” she says with a shrug, and then nods towards the guys at the table. “This is Devon and Colton.”
“Hi,” I wave. Devon is tall with dark hair and dark eyes. Colton is the one with the nice ass that Ted thought was gay.
“I think I’m going to finish this drink and head home,” I tell her.
“No!” She pouts. “You have to
hang out with us.” She leans a little closer and whispers in my ear. “I was right, he’s not gay! I think he might actually like me! And his friend is cute, too.” She pulls back and winks at me.
I look over at this allegedly cute friend. I guess he’s okay. I should be attracted to him—I generally like the tall dark and handsome type—but I’m just feeling…meh. As usual.
Bethany doesn’t seem to notice my disinterest. She grins at me, and then Colton whispers something in her ear. She giggles and turns in his direction.
Devon tries to have a conversation with me, but it’s just the same old, same old. What’s your major? Where are you from? Etcetera, etcetera.
We reach an awkward pause, and he says, “I gotta take a piss.” Then he belches. Loudly. And walks away.
Sigh.
Colton and Bethany left the table at some point and I’m not sure where they went, so I’m now sitting alone. I glance around the bar, sip my beer, and people watch. Inevitably, my eyes run over Liz the slut again.
She’s at the bar with a couple of other girls I vaguely recognize, and they’re sitting only a few seats down from Cameron the creep. I must stare a little bit too long, because her eyes meet mine and she gives me a half-smile.
I smile back but then look quickly away, hoping she’ll get the hint that I don’t want her to come over and chit chat.
After taking a small sip of my drink, I risk another glance. Damn it, she’s heading this way.
I stare down into my half-empty glass but it doesn’t have any of the answers to life, the universe, and everything.
“Hey,” Liz yells over the crowd, sidling up to the table, a little too close, totally infiltrating my bubble. Her face looks better than the last time I saw her. The bruising has faded into a mottled yellow, and she’s made a valiant attempt to cover it up with makeup. If I didn’t already know it was there, and if I were farther away, I might not notice.
“Hi.”
“How’s it going?” she asks.
“Fine.”
This isn’t uncomfortable at all.
“Did you see who’s here?” she asks, nodding in the direction of the bar.
I glance over, even though I know exactly who she’s talking about, but I don’t see him anymore. Maybe he went home.
“Yep,” I say anyway.
“Kinda weird right? All of us in the same place at the same time…”
Dude. What is wrong with this chick? Is this conversation necessary?
“Um…yeah. Weird.”
“Ladies.”
Oh, dear God, kill me now.
Cameron is standing between us, way too close. I thought Liz was in my bubble, but Cameron can probably count my eyelashes from this distance.
At least Liz looks as ill as I feel.
She steps away from the table and says, “I’ve gotta go see my friends.” And then she’s gone so fast, I’m surprised she didn’t leave a Liz-shaped cloud behind like the roadrunner.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Cameron says, with a half-smile that would likely be considered sexy by those who didn’t know the real him.
“I’ve gotta take a piss.” I don’t. I slide off the chair, maybe a little too eager to get away from him, and knock my purse off the back of the seat in the process. I do not want to bend over with Cameron standing there staring at me, so I awkwardly squat straight down and grab it.
When I stand, he’s still there.
I down the last half of my beer and then slam the glass on the table. I don’t say anything else, just head back to the bathroom. I’m surprised Cameron doesn’t say anything or try to stop me.
It’s nearly empty, just one person in a stall, so I put my purse on the counter and dig out my phone. I’ll call Bethany and have her rescue me—there’s no way I’m leaving this place without an escort since Cameron doesn’t seem to be getting the hint.
I dial her number and it immediately goes to voicemail.
Shit. She told Ted her phone was dead.
Now what?
The toilet flushes and a girl with tattoo-covered arms and a sun dress emerges, giving me an odd look before she washes her hands and leaves.
I play on my phone for a minute while I consider my options, checking out various social media apps and my e-mail. A couple more ladies come in to use the facilities and then leave, and I’m alone once again.
Okay. Maybe I’ve waited him out and I can leave without being accosted. Maybe I should call Lucy.
Hmm. My brain is starting to feel…fuzzy. That’s weird.
Lucy. Luuucy. Weird word, Lucy. If I say it enough times it loses all meaning, Lucy, Lucy, Lucy…
I turn on the sink and splash some water on my face. I’m getting super tired all of a sudden, and I feel ill. Did I eat something bad? Oh God, I have to puke.
I stumble into a stall and then everything goes black.
I don’t know how long the blackness lasts. It could be minutes, it could be hours. I come to some time later on the bathroom floor, my face pressed against cold, dirty tile. What is happening? My purse is strapped to my body. I dig through it, fumbling for my phone.
I have to call someone. I was going to call someone before, but I can’t remember who.
Lucy.
I can call Lucy.
It takes forever to find her name in my phone. My fingers feel like sausages that aren’t linked whatsoever to my body and I think I black out again momentarily.
I come to again, still in the bathroom. This time, I’m lying in vomit. Is that my vomit? Did I puke? I don’t remember. My phone is still clutched in my hand. I have like a million missed calls and they all say Lucy. Did I call her? Did we speak? I have no idea. I still feel dizzy and out of it, but I think the vomiting must have helped because I’m able to get up and stumble out of the stall to the bathroom sink.
A chick with about fifty piercings in her face and bright blue eye shadow looks at me with a scrunched face. “You look like shit, girl.”
“There are two of you,” I slur.
She laughs. “I bet there are. You okay?”
“Fine, I think,” I say. I splash water on my face and when I look up again, she’s gone. Did I imagine that entire conversation? I’m seriously tripping. I need to go home. Find someone or call a cab or something. Shit.
Somehow, I make it outside although I don’t actually remember walking back through the bar. The cool night air feels great on my face. Maybe I can find my car and pass out. Wait. Did I drive?
“Freya, are you okay?” Cameron’s suddenly in front of me, all concerned eyes and touchy-feely hands.
“No,” is all I can manage.
Inside, I’m screaming, No, no, no, no. I don’t want him here, I don’t want him touching me, it makes me remember the last time he touched me and it was baaad.
He puts his arm around my waist. “Let me take you home,” he says.
“No,” I say again.
“You’re clearly not in your right mind. What did you drink tonight? Did you take something?”
“No.”
“Let me help you.” He starts guiding me down the street, away from the lights of the bar and the people. Panic swells in my veins, but I’m still too out of it to pull away. It’s like one of those dreams where you can’t yell no matter how hard you try, and you feel like you’re walking in quicksand
Then a voice emerges from the darkness. “I’ve got her from here.”
I know that voice. Someone is pulling me away from Cameron.
I turn and Dean is towering over me. I nearly weep with relief.
“Who the fuck are you?” Cameron asks. He does not sound happy.
“I’m her boyfriend. Who the fuck are you?”
“Boyfriend?” I ask, confused.
The ground disappears underneath me, but no, that’s just Dean lifting me into his arms like I weigh no more than a toddler. Of course, compared to him, I am approximately the size of a toddler so there is that.
“It’s okay,�
�� he murmurs into my hair.
I relax into him. He smells so good. Much better than the stank coming from…um I think that’s me.
I glance over at Cameron, but he’s turning away. I think I glimpse a flash of something in his face—anger, frustration—but I’m tired and dizzy and I’m probably just imagining things.
“I’m so dizzy,” I say.
“I know,” he says and it’s probably the gentlest tone I’ve ever heard coming out of his mouth. This is like a dream. It’s like Dream Dean. I like him much better than grumpy mob guy.
“I don’t understand…” I start, but then it all goes black again.
Chapter Ten
Freya
Nobody can hurt me without my permission.
–Mahatma Ghandi
I wake up in a strange bed. It’s comfortable. Clean. Smells good. The sheets are soft. Smells like…a man. Oh God, what have I done? I bolt out of the bed and immediately feel both dizzy and cold. I look down. I’m in my bra and panties. Nothing else. And not my cute panties, but the ones reserved for laundry day and that one week each month where no one is getting near me anyway.
Holy shit.
What the fuck.
Am I still drunk?
There’s a digital clock on the bedside table. It’s almost noon.
Dean appears in the doorway, making me jump. “You’re awake,” he says.
I stare at him. How the hell did I get here? What happened last night? Did we…?
“Where’s my clothes?” I ask in a strangled voice instead of what I want to ask because I chicken out at the last second, and I’m not sure I want the answers to those other questions.
“I had to take them off. You threw up all over them.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and won’t meet my eyes, focusing on the ground directly in front of him.
“They’re in the dryer,” he says after a moment of silence. “I’ll get them.”
He leaves and it hits me that I’m standing next to his bed half naked.
Dammit, no wonder he wouldn’t look at me. I quickly get back under the covers. If I was puking last night, that means I wasn’t fornicating. This is a good thing. Embarrassing as hell, but good. The last thing I want is to replace my last horrible memory of sex with…nothing. Drunk black-out sex. Ugh.