Pull

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Trust. The word falls easy from my lips. Trust me, need me, use

  me. You call to me. Your eyes hide secrets I want to know. Yet I keep

  myself from asking, afraid that the answers are too close to home.

  Slowly, I catch myself from falling, faster. I want to be with you

  now, not after, after you heal from that pain. I’ll never be the same.”

  I played it in a minor key, giving it a folksy feel. I figured if I

  added some electronic sound effects, it would be amazing.

  I looked over the words and cringed. I’d forgotten how

  emotional writing was, how it seemed to reflect exactly what was

  on my mind and damn the consequences. The words taunted me as

  I put the paper down and finished the song.

  I set up GarageBand and recorded it, then attached it to an

  email for Alec.

  My phone rang five minutes later.

  “Dude,” Alec said on the other end. “What was that?”

  “A song?” I swallowed. Crap, I thought he would like it.

  “You made Nat cry.”

  “It wasn’t about her!” I argued. “I just wrote it and —”

  “Chill.” Alec laughed. “She cried because it was so beautiful,

  and because she gets emotional when she’s proud. Right, babe?”

  I heard Nat say a dirty word and laughed.

  “She’s mad at me for telling you.” Alec chuckled into the

  phone. “Can we record that for the album?”

  I thought about it for a minute. It was kind of personal, and

  it wasn’t even about me, but about her. But it wasn’t as if she

  listened to us anyway. “Sure. Yeah, let’s do it.”

  “Cool, now write twenty more.”

  “While you do what?”

  Alec laughed into the receiver and spoke in a low voice. “I

  think I’ll have Nat keep me occupied.”

  “And this conversation is over.” I rolled my eyes. “Later,

  brother.”

  “Bye.”

  It was three in the morning before I found my bed, and also

  the first time in the last year that I didn’t crave something to numb

  my feelings.

  I felt raw. Exposed. I’d forgotten how much I liked it. Liked

  to actually feel, as bad as it hurt. It was real, it was life. And I was

  finally living.

  Chapter Seven

  Alyssa

  I ran the dishrag over the counter for the hundredth time,

  while trying not to look out the window at Demetri.

  “I think it’s clean,” came a voice from behind me. I nearly

  jumped out of my skin. With a slight sigh, I jerked away from the

  counter and stared at my dad. His expression was a cross between

  worry and amusement. At least he didn’t look freaked that I was

  going to off myself in the middle of the night. Was that progress?

  “What are you doing here?” I asked a little too breathlessly.

  Dad’s face broke out into a smile. “I own the place, and I had

  it on good authority — your mother’s — that you looked

  exhausted, so I was going to give you a few hours to yourself.”

  I hated hours to myself. I hated any time to myself, because

  that meant my focus was on me, and when my focus was on me, it

  was on Brady. And when my focus was on Brady… I just wanted to

  cry.

  “Um…” My eyes traveled to the window that looked out at

  Main Street and Seaside Taffy, our competitors. A few people were

  gathering around the corner, and I knew Demetri had probably just

  gotten in to work.

  “You okay?” Dad asked, though his voice sounded far away.

  I kept my eyes focused on Demetri as he took a bow to the

  gathering crowd and began tossing taffy out. Idiot. Our business

  wasn’t doing horrible, but it’s not like he was helping our sales any.

  If people had the choice between Demetri Daniels or a depressed

  girl with a permanent scowl, they’d choose Demetri every single

  time.

  As if he could hear my every thought, Demetri’s head

  turned and our eyes locked. At least that’s what it felt like. His stare

  was so pensive, my palms began to sweat. Slowly, I sank behind

  the counter until it was just my eyes peeking over the edge.

  My dad chuckled. “What are we doing?” He joined me by

  the counter and seemed to be more curious than alarmed. Great.

  Now I looked like a crazy person.

  “Uh…” I licked my lips and frantically tried to search for an

  excuse. “I dropped the rag.” My fingers released the rag onto the

  floor. I offered a small smile.

  “You sure you’re doing okay?” Dad felt my forehead. “You

  feel hot.”

  “She does look hot, doesn’t she?” I knew that irritating,

  beautiful, ridiculous voice. I closed my eyes and prayed I was

  imagining things.

  My dad shot onto his feet and laughed. “You wouldn’t

  happen to be the person my daughter’s been staring at for the past

  few minutes, would you?”

  “Probably not,” came Demetri’s voice. I opened my eyes to

  glare. He was staring at me, and then he winked. Crap. “She

  doesn’t like rock stars. In fact, she verbally assaulted me yesterday

  about working her corner.”

  “Alyssa,” Dad scolded.

  “Dad,” I said back in a warning voice as I rose to my feet.

  “Did you need anything, Demetri?”

  His eyes crinkled as he attacked me with one of the most

  gorgeous smiles I’d ever seen in real life. “I did… I do.”

  Insert long and awkward pause here where my dad looked

  between the two of us, chuckled, and walked off. Well, at least he

  was laughing. I hadn’t heard his laugh in what felt like years.

  “What?” I snapped.

  Demetri shrugged. “I saw you staring at me.”

  “Did not!” My nostrils flared. “There’s no way you could see

  me through the windows from that far away.”

  “So you were staring.” Demetri folded his muscled arms

  across his chest.

  “No.” I swallowed and looked at the ground. Looking

  anywhere but at him seemed like a good idea.

  “I felt it.” He placed his hands on the counter and leaned

  forward so our faces were mere inches apart. “Not that I mind. I

  just thought I’d come over and say hi, since you seemed to be

  beckoning me over with your lustful glances.”

  “Lustful glances?” My head jerked up. I was half-tempted to

  bang his head against the counter, but I had spent the entire

  morning cleaning up that exact spot where he was leaning. Damn

  him.

  “Yeah, they look like this.” His heavy-lidded eyes blazed a

  hot trail up and down my body as he very thoroughly checked me

  out, and then without another word, tucked a piece of fallen hair

  behind my ear, and left.

  I was still frozen in place when my mom came rushing in.

  “Is he still here? Where did he go? Did he talk to you? What was he

  like?”

  “Mom.” I held up my hands. “Just… don’t.”

  She sighed like a teenager and giggled. She’d lost her

  freaking mind. “I just love Demetri Daniels, and I don’t believe a

  word they say about his rehab or drugs. He’s just a nice boy

  who—”

 
; “—is doing community service.” I pointed across the street

  and sighed. “He’s…” I couldn’t think of the right word, so I just

  shrugged and said, “Cocky.”

  Mom, clearly not caring that she was scarring me for life,

  sighed and watched Demetri cross the street and grab his bucket

  from a large guy with a shaved head. Body guard. It had to be.

  Demetri continued singing the stupid taffy song and

  dancing around the corner like a drunken chicken. And I grabbed

  the rag again and pretended to keep cleaning, while out of the

  corner of my eye I watched. I hated that he made me feel warm

  inside. I hadn’t had that feeling in two years, and I wasn’t about to

  let it get the best of me again. It was all his fault. If Demetri hadn’t

  spoken to me that first day, if he had just left everything alone, then

  I wouldn’t be stripping him naked with my eyes. I wouldn’t be

  longing to touch that perfectly sculpted face. Frustrated, I threw the

  rag against the counter and stomped off, leaving my mom to watch

  him all by herself.

  Chapter Eight

  Demetri

  Four days. I watched her for four days. What kind of stalker

  did that make me? I mean she had the ugliest clothes I’d ever seen.

  She was so small, she practically swam in them, and I’m sorry, but

  there’s a reason guys don’t dig Uggs. They gave her legs no shape,

  and I couldn’t figure out if she had really nice ones or cankles, and

  then it pissed me off that I was thinking about cankles in the first

  place.

  Ever since Tuesday when I ran in to the competition’s store

  and tried to find any excuse to talk to her, I’d been out of sorts. Not

  the out of sorts that just leaves you when you fall asleep at night.

  No, the type that had me eating so much taffy that I was convinced

  I was going to have ten cavities by the end of the year.

  I shook the bucket, but my heart wasn’t in it, not that it had

  ever been truly in it, but still. I felt off. Clearly, I needed another

  hobby, or friends, or something, because my behavior was

  bordering on stalker-ish. Yesterday I’d even gone in her parents’

  taffy store and asked about her schedule.

  I swear her mom almost fainted.

  When she introduced herself, she almost seemed too eager

  to get her daughter into my clutches, which really should have

  been my first clue that something was off. I mean, unless they lived

  under a rock, they knew exactly what I was about. Spoiled rock star

  who nearly killed himself in an accident, troubled past, man-whore

  of the century, blah, blah, blah.

  I’d pasted on my best smile, careful not to give her mom a

  stroke, and asked about Alyssa.

  All I found out was what I already knew. She worked every

  freaking day, just like me, which just reinforced the conclusion I

  had come to earlier.

  She was lonely.

  I asked her mom about friends.

  Again, yes, I’m very much aware how creepy I was being,

  but I had Bob, that was it. I was desperate for some sort of

  companionship, even if said companion wanted to stab me in the

  eye.

  After no convincing whatsoever, I discovered that Alyssa

  had Saturdays off and didn’t often go out with friends.

  I could be her friend.

  Lame. Maybe that’s how I should start the conversation.

  “Hey, Alyssa, I’ve been watching you for the past four days. You

  have a pretty face even though your clothes suck. Wanna hang out?

  Oh, and by the way, I’m so bored and strung out about not being

  able to get high, that if you say no, I just may kill myself.”

  Promising.

  Clearly, I’d been out of the game for far too long. I couldn’t

  even remember how to talk to a normal person.

  I kicked the ground and looked across the street again.

  Tomorrow was Saturday. Tomorrow I was going to pursue the first

  girl I’d pursued since Nat.

  And look how well that turned out.

  The familiar pang of rejection hit me square in the chest.

  Why was I even putting myself out there when I literally had

  nothing to offer, but baggage?

  Hell if I knew, but damn if I didn’t still want to try.

  Chapter Nine

  Alyssa

  I woke up to someone pounding on my door. With a grunt I

  threw off the covers, stumbled out of my bed, and walked

  drunkenly toward my bedroom door, opening it with irritation.

  “Hi, friend.” Demetri smiled.

  I closed the door in his face.

  “Is that any way to treat your friends?” He laughed from the

  other side.

  Closing my eyes didn’t make the problem go away. I was

  still in my Seaside High Track t-shirt and old running shorts. I

  looked like a little kid. I glanced in the mirror and cringed. My

  brown hair was pointed in every which direction, making me look

  possessed, and I had giant bags under my eyes.

  “Go away!” I yelled.

  Silence and then, “No.”

  “Demetri.”

  “Alyssa.”

  Dang, I should have never told him my name. “How do you

  know where I live?”

  “I followed you.”

  “Seriously?”

  His laugh made me want to strangle him. “I’m kidding. It’s

  my day off, so I went down to the store to grab my three pieces of

  taffy and…”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Hey, can I finish telling you why I’m here to your face? It’s

  weird talking to a door, even weirder when the door has a Justin

  Bieber poster staring at me.”

  Crap. I forgot about that stupid poster. Brady had put it

  there as a joke when I confided in him that I loved Justin Bieber.

  After everything happened, I hadn’t the heart to take it down.

  Slowly, I pulled open the door. Should have known Demetri

  would push past me and make himself right at home. “No really,

  come on in. I wasn’t sleeping or anything on my day off.”

  “Good.” He took off his leather jacket, revealing a tight tank

  top that showed off tattoos down his right arm and across his

  collarbone. I tried to pry my eyes away, but I was tired and clearly

  needing more oxygen or something in my room.

  “They’re just tattoos, Lyssa.”

  “Wow.” I chuckled pulling my hands through my tangled

  hair. “Already got a nickname, huh?”

  “I like it.” He crossed his arms, making his muscles bulge.

  I bit my lip and looked away. “So, the reason for my wake-

  up call.”

  “Oh, babe.” He chuckled. “You haven’t even seen the

  beginning of my wake-up calls.”

  “I’m not going to even ask.” I threw on a sweatshirt and sat

  on the bed cross-legged. “So, the reason for you being here?”

  “You’re a cheerleader?” Demetri pointed at the school

  sweatshirt. The same one that had Brady’s old football number

  splashed across the front. Just another piece of him I couldn’t give

  away. Like everything else in my room that had his scent or touch

  on it.

  “Um, I was a cheerleader. Yup.” Talking to Demetri was like
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  herding cats. One minute he was on-topic, and within seconds he

  was changing subjects as if it was completely normal to talk about

  taffy and tattoos in the same sentence.

  His eyes scanned the sweatshirt. I could tell he was trying to

  put pieces of a puzzle together. But I wasn’t up for fixing. I liked

  the puzzle pieces scattered, so I tried my best to give him a flirty

  smile and touched his arm.

  “You were saying?” I urged.

  His eyes darted immediately to where my hand touched him

  and then back up to me. “Taffy. I had three pieces.”

  “What flavors?”

  He grinned and pulled out the three wrappers for me to

  sniff. With a laugh I took them into my hands and smelled each

  one. If I didn’t know he was in rehab, I would think he was either

  drunk or high the majority of the time.

  “Kahlua, Pineapple, and Rum Punch?”

  Demetri howled with laughter and began clapping.

  “Seriously. Best party trick ever.”

  “Clearly you’ve been to all the wrong parties if you think

  sniffing candy wrappers is the way to go.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Or just the wrong parties in general.” He shrugged, his

  smile gone. I wanted it back and I hated that he was making me

  care for him.

  “So…” I leaned back against the pillows. “You came all the

  way to my house to tell me about your three taffy flavors?”

  “Sort of.” He lay down next to me — it was almost too

  intimate. The last time I lay down with a guy on the bed… I jolted

  up and began pacing in front of him.

  He lifted his eyebrows in confusion but kept talking

  anyway. “I saw your parents and asked where you were. Weird,

  but your mom knew exactly who I was.”

  I nodded. “Figures. She has a slight obsession with

  Entertainment Tonight. ”

  He cringed. “You’d think that would make her want to shoot

  me.”

  “She likes the bad boy.” I smiled. “So? You asked her where

  our house was so you could torture me?”

  “Torture?” His dimples killed me. “Is that what’s happening

  between us?”

  Panic swept through me as I felt my face heat under his

  seductive smile. He was the devil. Why couldn’t he bother someone

  else? Was he truly that desperate? Couldn’t rock stars pay people to

  hang out with them? At least he had the luxury of money and the