by Jacie Lennon
“Bodhi—”
“I’m tired, Trix. I’m tired of going around and around and not getting a straight answer. Do you love that dick? The one you’ve been with all this time instead of me? Does he treat you like the best thing that’s ever happened to you?”
I stay silent, unable to give him what he needs. Confirmation that I crave being with him.
“Obviously not,” he continues. “You let me screw you. That doesn’t say love for another person.”
I flinch at the sharp word. I know he’s angry, and I know that this doesn’t make any sense to him. Hell, it barely makes sense to me. Even though I have to do what’s expected of me, I wish I could explain everything to him.
“I want you to have your piece back, so we can always keep a little bit of each other in here.” I point to my chest, where my heart is beating a hundred miles a minute underneath my rib cage. My lungs hurt, almost like I’m depriving them of air even though I’m breathing, and I realize it’s desperation. I’m desperate for him to hold on to me, as self-serving as that is.
Bodhi picks up the Best, holding it up in the air as he studies it, the fake crystals winking in the dim light before he wraps his hand around it and stuffs it in his pocket.
Instantly, my breathing evens, and I take the box back from him as he holds it out.
“I should probably get ready.” I glance around my room and then focus on my birthday gown.
“Want me to help you back into this?” Bodhi points at my dress. “I’d rather see you out of it, but I guess that would be frowned upon at a high-society party.” He winks, and I smile despite myself.
“Yes, it would be.”
“Maybe I can take you out of it again later?”
“Maybe,” I say, avoiding eye contact. There seems to be a lot of that happening on my end. I sink to sit on my bed.
“Really?”
The amount of hopefulness that I can hear in his voice makes me want to cry. There’s a lot of that going on with me too.
“Trixie,” Bodhi says, stepping forward.
He reaches for my arms, pulling me off the bed and standing me in front of him. The sheet slips, and my nipples instantly pucker in the cold air. With the proximity of Bodhi’s body to mine, I’m fully aware of how dressed up he is and how disheveled I am.
His eyes don’t dip down though. They stay pinned to mine.
“Be with me. Tonight, tomorrow, forever. Forget about whatever is wrong and be mine. We can go on a trip for a week or a month or however long you want.”
“Bodhi”—I lay a hand on his chest, smoothing the silky tux lapel down—“we still have a month and a half of school left.”
“So? Do we need a high school degree?”
“Yes, silly. It’s required for most jobs, and I know you’ll want to work eventually. You have too much pent-up energy to get out.”
“I want one more opportunity to have you to myself.”
I bite my lip, still staring at his chest, where my hand rests. I made my dad promise earlier to let me have tonight. To let me have one more party and time to myself where I don’t feel weighed down by future responsibilities, without the rest of the world knowing my secret.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
I look up at him, a soft smile on my lips. “Yes, sneak up here once the party is over.”
“No one will come in here?”
“No. Just me,” I say.
He grins, reminding me of what we were before. Happy and carefree. I wish we could be that now, and maybe we can be for tonight.
Bodhi dips his head and captures my lips, still smiling as he gives me a messy kiss. I’m sure my lipstick is all but obliterated after the toe-curling and spine-tingling kisses I’ve been given. Bodhi pulls back, and I reach up, rubbing his lower lip to clean off the nonexistent lipstick. I want to touch him.
“I can’t wait.”
“Me neither,” I say.
I see the digital clock on my dresser, and my eyes widen at the time. I step back, breaking the spell, and unwind the sheet from my body before reaching for my dress.
“Let me help you,” he says, grabbing it first and holding the dress for me to step into before slowly pulling it up my legs, over my hips, and ending at my breasts.
I slip my hands into the straps, putting them over my shoulders as Bodhi tries unsuccessfully to work the zipper at the side. I place my hands over his, stilling them.
“I’ve got it. You need to get out of here.” I look at the door, like I expect my parents to come bursting through. But it’s a silly thought.
They don’t take notice of me unless it’s in public or they need my services. I’m sure my mom is busy with overseeing the placement of my party decorations or food delivery or speaking condescendingly to a worker and my dad is hiding in his office, a glass of scotch in hand, waiting until the actual party is underway.
“Tonight,” Bodhi says, trailing one hand over my shoulder and down my arm before striding confidently to the door.
I watch him open it and then look back and wink at me before slipping out. The door closes silently behind him, and I finally remember that I was trying to zip myself up. I finish the action and cross to my mirror, taking in the state of my hair and makeup.
I let out a long sigh, trying to figure out how I’m going to put it back together. Part of me doesn’t want to. I want to be able to look in the mirror and see the physical manifestation of my time with Bodhi, but I know I can’t go to my party, looking like this. My parents would throw a fit.
I take the time to reapply lipstick, thankful I have something close to the color the makeup artist used, and I push bobby pins back into my hair, attempting to re-create the look the hairstylist did.
I’m finally satisfied with my appearance, and I cross to the bed, picking up the box I laid down. I extract the Friends side of the anklet, and I bring it to my mouth, kissing the half of the heart before bending to secure it around my ankle. For old times’ sake.
Then, I slip my feet into my shoes and face the mirror.
“Here we go,” I whisper to no one, slipping a tiny tiara on top of my head.
19
Bodhi
I stand against the inner hallway, nursing a glass of scotch as I watch people mill in and out of the front doors. I haven’t seen anyone from my friend group arrive yet, but the party has only just started. I glance back into the open room, where Trixie is being the perfect birthday party host, flitting from person to person as she thanks them for coming. Her white dress hugs her curves perfectly, and I can still feel the material underneath my fingertips.
I wasn’t expecting her to agree to tonight, and the way my heart leaped when she said yes tells me I’m in over my head. She’s told me time and time again that this won’t work, and I don’t know why. But what I do know is that it’s the worst fucking idea to see her later, but there’s no chance in hell that I’m backing out of it.
I want her too much. I crave her smiles and kisses and touches. The past few years that I had to attend school with her without her being mine were torture. And I’m only prolonging the torture. I should cut my losses and run, go somewhere for a while. Trying to screw her out of my system didn’t work. Drinking and dabbling in substances didn’t work. Maybe the only cure is time and distance.
I watch Corbin and his girlfriend—our former stepsister—Landry, walk into the large room and head to the bar, but I don’t step out of the shadows. I’m not ready to talk to people, to erase the magic from earlier from my mind by filling it with useless chatter. Brock and his pregnant girlfriend, Peyton, follow about a minute later, but they stay standing on the porch. They all look so fucking joyful. So in love.
It’s irritating, but I’m happy for them at the same time. I know it’s been a bumpy road for each one to find their other half, but they eventually did. My road feels like a mountain. Like I’m climbing it and then the rocks crumble beneath my hands and I slide back down. Trixie is standing on the top, o
ut of reach, and I’ll never make her mine. Even though my heart will always belong to her.
I take another sip of my drink, which I charmed the bartender to get. I’m pretty sure she knew I was underage. This is a birthday party for an eighteen-year-old after all. My eyes find Trixie as she glides across the floor and out the door, and she stands with the two couples and my father, Chester, who joined the mix. One big, happy fucking family.
I finally decide that I need to get inside the large ballroom before I’m spotted and forced into the group when I have no desire to shoot the breeze, so I slink out, keeping to the wall as I cross to the door, slipping inside. I plant my shoulder on the closest upright surface and blink a few times. This scotch has gone to my head. I probably should’ve eaten something beforehand.
Brock spots me as soon as they come inside the room, and he narrows his eyes.
So much for hiding.
“Where have you been?”
I let my eyes find Trixie first, skating across her face, noting her pink cheeks and the tiny little tiara she’s slipped into her hair. A princess. My princess. From where I’m standing, I can see the goose bumps that have broken out across her flesh, and I ache to touch them. Instead, I take a sip of my scotch and shove my free hand in my pocket.
“Around.”
No one says anything for a few moments until Trixie glances around, spying her parents motioning to her across the room.
“Oh, I’ll be right back,” she says, smiling softly at the group.
I want to take her hand, follow her wherever she’s going. But I stay where I am. I watch her cross the floor and climb the steps to the stage, greeting her parents as she stands beside them. My attention shifts to where Peyton and Landry are whispering.
“Is something going on?” I ask, stepping forward to stand next to the couples.
“Hey, Bodhi, do you know anything about this house? Want to show me around?” Peyton asks me.
I stare at her, the weird pitch in her voice throwing me off. “Are you asking me to give you a tour?”
“Yes,” she says before Brock grabs her hand and turns her toward him.
“Why the fuck are you so pale? You aren’t going into labor early, are you?” Brock looks like he’s going to be sick, and my heart starts pounding.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Labor. Early. That’s not good, right?
“No, no labor. I’m great,” Peyton says.
“She’s great,” Landry parrots, wrapping an arm around her waist.
There’s something weird going on. I glance up at the stage as Mr. Northcutt steps toward the microphone while clapping his hands. I furrow my brow when I see Seth and his family standing next to them. It’s weird.
What would they be doing up there for Trixie’s birthday party? Maybe they’ve entered into a business deal or something. But this would be a strange time to announce it. Do people announce business deals? Maybe a partnership? Oh, I know; as her boyfriend’s family, they are probably donating money to some cause for Trix’s gift. That’s got to be it.
The crowd quiets as the microphone gives a little feedback, and then I watch Mr. Northcutt smile, his eyes scanning the crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention, please? I’d like to make an announcement.”
My eyes dart to Trixie, who looks like she’s going to be sick. She looks at her dad and then out among the crowd before her gaze finds mine. There are so many emotions that flit across her face in the span of a few seconds, but I feel it down in my gut—the fact that our time has come to an end. There won’t be a tonight. There is Bodhi, and there is Trixie now. Two separate people.
“My wife, Sharon, and I are so happy you could all come and help us celebrate our little girl turning eighteen.” He turns and beams at Trixie, and she tries to smile at him. “In addition to Trixie’s birthday, we have something else to be excited about.” This time, he turns toward Seth and his family, motioning them forward.
I watch as Seth moves up at the same time that Sharon pushes Trixie to stand next to him. Everyone on the stage is beaming, except for Trixie.
I want to rush the stage and pull her into my arms and then leave this godforsaken place, never looking back. An odd tension has fallen over me. Or maybe it’s the vibes coming from Trixie and my group of friends. Peyton and Landry obviously know something, but Corbin and Brock seem to be as confused as I am.
I watch the scene unfold before me, almost like it’s in slow motion. Seth steps in front of Trixie and drops to one knee. She stares down at him. My brain takes a minute to compute what is happening. The light catches on a tear tracking down Trixie’s cheek, and maybe to the rest of the room, it looks like she’s overwhelmed by the romance of it all, but I know better.
I want to punch Seth Hastings in the face—and not for the first time.
People gasp.
Words are whispered.
I can sense my friends glancing at me.
But I can’t look away. I have to take it all in. I have to see for myself that this is happening and that I’m watching the girl I love slip through my fingers from across the room.
Seth is saying something, but he’s too far away for me to hear. Trixie reaches up and brushes the tear from her cheek. She nods, and Seth slips the ring on her finger. He stands and reaches for her, pulling her into a hug, and she lets him.
Trixie’s eyes find mine once more over his shoulder. One blink, no more tears. That’s all I get before she looks away again. Pulling back, she holds her hand out like she’s admiring the ring.
The whole room is clapping and cheering, and waiters are circling with glasses of champagne.
I think I’m going to be sick. My entire stomach is flipping, smashing against my insides in the hopes of getting me to bend over and heave up this scotch I’ve been sipping on.
But I don’t. I watch. I don’t say a thing. Trixie’s parents hug her, and then Seth’s parents hug her. Seth’s parents hug him, and Trixie’s parents hug Seth. They are wearing large smiles. I can see all of their teeth. It reminds me of the Joker in Batman or the Cheshire Cat in Alice in Wonderland.
Trixie doesn’t look back over the crowd. She doesn’t find me standing here again. She accepts congratulations by those close to her with murmured words, all while I’m drowning in my own devastation.
A hand on my arm causes me to glance over, and my eyes follow up the arm to a face. Brock is standing there, saying something but it doesn’t register. There’s a roaring inside my head, blocking everyone else out. He shakes me slightly when I don’t answer. Peyton is beside him, and she appears to be worried. I look down. My fingers are still wrapped around the cut glass with light from the chandelier overhead winking through it.
I flex my fingers, watching as they leave the glass, and gravity takes over. Brock and Peyton step back quickly as it hits the floor, shattering and flinging brown liquid in all directions. I hear it.
I zone back in on where I am. Landry is beside me now, her hand on my elbow.
“Let me help you clean that up,” she says, and I stare at her.
Why? It doesn’t matter. I don’t care that I dropped it.
Nothing matters.
“Bodhi?” Landry prompts again.
Finally, I slant my head to the side, and the corners of my mouth tilt up as I start laughing. The sound bubbles from my throat, and I can’t stop it. It’s loud, and I’m making a scene. My friends are glancing around, their faces turning red, but all I can do is stand there with glass shards and alcohol littering my shoes while laughing. Guffaw. Snort. I’m crazed.
People around me begin to take notice and back up, ceasing their conversation as they watch me act unhinged. I’m still laughing as I bend at the waist, my hands on my knees as tears from laughing so hard gather in the corner of both my eyes.
“Bodhi, hey, man, let’s get you out of here,” Brock says, trying to get me to stand and be quiet.
My chest hurts, and so does my stomach, the muscles clenching from the
laughter leaking out of me. It’s not funny. It’s soul-crushing, and I’m manic.
I abruptly stand straight and jerk to the side, snagging a glass of champagne from the closest waiter. Peyton says something to me. Corbin tries to take the flute. I hold it tight to my chest and step over the mess I made on the floor. I find Seth and Trixie still onstage, staring at me, and I hold the glass high, smiling at them.
“To the happy fucking couple.” I down it in one go, not caring that no one has joined me in my toast. Then, I spin on one foot and find the doorway, not bothering to look back.
I throw up my hand as Brock and Corbin step forward, trying to follow, and they wisely stop as I push open the large front double doors to the Northcutt mansion.
I claw at my throat. It’s hard to breathe, and I have a flash of panic shoot through me, like I’m dying. The thought makes me want to laugh right after.
Dying.
If only.
This feeling inside me can’t be death; there’s too much of it. Isn’t death the absence of life? Life is coursing through me, adrenaline spiking. I want to punch a brick wall. I want to slam my head into concrete. I want to stop feeling.
I loosen the bow tie, the one I tied with such attention to detail before I left and after we got dressed in the upstairs room. The one I didn’t know would be hanging me like a noose now that the night has ended. For me.
The party is still going on for everyone inside. Celebrating the happy fucking couple. Cheers to a long and prosperous marriage. Good luck. Congratulations.
Another bark of laughter shoots out of my mouth, unbidden by me. I look insane. Fucking crazy. I feel it. I raise my head, coming to a stop as I realize that I’ve been walking in the wrong direction. My car is parked around back, not with the rest of the partygoers’ vehicles.
Fuck.
I reach up and pull the hair at the nape of my neck and then double over, letting out a guttural yell. At this point, every inconvenience is going to make me angry. I’m fuming. I’m hurt. I’m fucking devastated and looking for something to take it out on. I turn, almost running straight into a tree.