She was still dressed in the same long blue dress from earlier, her make up smudged around her eyes. I saw her glance at the shoes in my hands, then my bare feet. “Have a good night?”
“Yes,” I mumbled, dropping my heels, moving towards the kitchen. I didn't want to go near her, my brain was tingling with spikes of warning, familiar and disconcerting. Still, I desperately needed water, the alcohol combined with the long night leaving me thirsty.
“What'd you end up doing?”
“Nothing,” I sighed, pouring a glass from the tap, enjoying how cool it felt on my throat. I hadn't noticed how sore I was from singing and cheering. “Why does it even matter? Why are you waiting up for me?”
She turned in her chair, adjusting it so that she almost blocked my way out of the kitchen. “It's my business when you're staying with me, when you're hanging out with my friends!” The fury in her voice was bubbling, a volcano ready to erupt, I had no where to escape the oncoming fire.
“They're your friends, so I can't become friends with them, myself?”
“You shouldn't be hanging out with them without me!”
“Why?” I could hear myself starting to yell, the tension in the small apartment rising, making me tingle with anticipation, the well known enemy called fear. “Why do you get to decide that?”
“Because!” Vanessa screamed, jumping to her feet, standing over me. Her arms were lifted, the fight or flight starting to kick in as I couldn't help but imagine her hitting me. “Because you don't get to do that! You don't get to come here and just start hanging out with other people! You're visiting me, we're the ones who are supposed to be friends! Not you and Deacon,” she said his name like it was a mouthful of rotten food.
“There's nothing wrong with me trying to be his friend,” I scowled, my resolve breaking as the confrontation escalated. Something hard touched my spine, I had backed into the counter without noticing. In my hand, the glass of water shook, threatening to spill.
“You want to be more than just his friend!”
“I—no, I don't—”
“You do! And he clearly isn't even into you, so just give up!” Vanessa leaned in close, eyes white around the edges, her voice breaking with her rage. Grimacing, I turned my face away, tensing for the attack.
Something else hit me. It hit me as I stood there, trembling and terrified of this person I called my friend.
What the hell am I doing? Why am I letting her do this to me, after everything I already promised myself?
Inside of me, I felt my stomach twist, the fear clicking over to numbed surprise.“You don't get to yell at me. And, you don't get to decide this stuff for me. I... I left Owen to get away from this kind of thing!” Slamming the glass onto the counter, I pushed past her, fueled by my own defiance. That's right, I said no more. I won't put up with it, from anyone, ever.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her move. The flicker of worry returned, but I bit my lip, kept from showing it. Vanessa didn't jump at me, or swing a fist. Nothing like that at all. Walking past me to the front door, she grabbed her coat off the hook, hoisting her purse. “I'm going to Greg's for the night. I'll see you tomorrow.”
The door slammed as she exited, leaving me to stand there with a mounting sense of despair. I'd stood up to her, and the result had been her taking the route that I had always thought was reserved for me, and only me.
She ran away.
Chapter 8.
––––––––
The argument with Vanessa haunted me all night. In my head, I kept running over the conversation, taking apart her words from her tone and actions. I felt terrible that I had let myself get so scared of her, yet mildly proud that I had managed to stand up for myself.
The image of her running out the door, cutting off the discussion, taking control in the end... I couldn't get it to leave me alone, it kept repeating.
Was she right, though? I wondered, dejected, sprawled on the couch as the early morning light began to drift inside. Does he not like me, after all? Am I being more of an idiot than ever, playing this game where I'm not even sure I want to chase him, but unable to realize I'm just wasting my time?
Thinking about how close we had been in the car, how easily he could have kissed me in that moment, it made my heart flicker, my skin bristle. Maybe she's right. Why else would he not go for it?
I fell asleep as the sun began to rise. In my dreams, I was dancing in a crowd, weaving through, chasing after someone. Faster and faster, I pushed on through the bodies, unable to make out faces, the torsos stretching high above like trees.
Everything was dark, green and purple, but the burst of red ahead of me caught my eye. I opened my mouth, trying to shout, but I had no voice.
Behind me, there came a sound. I didn't turn, my gut warned me that whoever was behind me was dangerous. Whoever it was, they were chasing me. Hard, solid, a number of bangs echoed through my head. Again and again, until I finally looked behind me...
The knock at the door startled me, making me tumble from the couch in a tangle of limbs trapped in blankets. “Ah!” I shouted, stunned, my brain a muddled mess. The sound came again, pulling me further from my weird, overhanging dream funk. What, someone is knocking? Who is that, actually, what time is it?
Rubbing the bridge of my eyes, my skull tight, crammed with throbbing pain, I stood in my wrinkled dress I'd slept in. Opening the door a crack, I peeked out, almost slamming it shut on impulse.
Deacon Day was on my step.
“Hey there,” he grinned, politely not commenting on the fact I was wearing the outfit he'd last seen me in. “Uh, sorry, I was trying to see if you and Vanessa wanted to get some lunch, but her phone kept going to voice mail, so... can I come in?”
“Oh,” I said, then, much more intelligently, “oh! Uh, yes, right. Of course.” Stumbling over myself, knowing I was a giant mess of smeared black makeup and frazzled hair, I stepped out of the way, letting him inside. What the hell do I do? Vanessa isn't even here. Thinking on it, my belly tensed with the recollection of our argument.
He folded his arms behind his back, his outfit a comfortable looking grey jacket with some simple jeans. Compared to me, though, he looked as put together as a man before a public speech. “So, you're staying on her couch?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, laughing nervously, fighting the urge to run and hide. “There's only one bedroom.”
“Right, got it. Is she still sleeping, then? It's already noon, I figured she'd be awake.”
Licking my lips, my eyes wandered to Vanessa's door, then back to his calm smile. “Actually, she sort of...” I trailed off, waving a hand in a small circle, “...isn't here.”
“What?”
“She isn't here. We maybe got into a fight last night.”
“Maybe? Or did?” He asked, arching a brow.
I opened my mouth, only to close it slowly. Turning, I dropped onto the couch, attempted to smooth my wrinkled dress, a challenge that was impossible. “Did, we did. We fought, then she ran off to Greg's.”
Deacon scrubbed at the back of his short hair, grabbing a chair from the nearby kitchen table, pulling it across from me. Settling on it, he propped his chin in his hands, watching me with rapt concern. “Alright, tell me what happened.”
Does he want to know what happened just because he's curious? Who would he side with, me, or the person he went to college with, the girl he's known far longer? I remembered Vanessa's words, 'he just isn't into you,' and cringed inside.
“It's kind of hard to explain,” I began hesitantly, “she's been kind of on edge lately, I guess. She was mad at me for staying out late last night.”
“What?” He said, clearly baffled, “why would she care about that?”
“I really don't know,” I grumbled, my body aching from lack of sleep, from being filled with too many tequila sunrises. “She started yelling at me about how I couldn't be out with her friends without her, stuff like that.”
“That's weird, that's all s
he said?”
Looking up, I met his inquisitive eyes, sank into the honey color, lied through my teeth. “Yeah. That's all she said.” There's no way I can tell Deacon she accused me of wanting more than just friendship with him. “Then she stormed out.”
Deacon closed his eyes, the look of a man deep in thought. “Well, there's nothing to be done about it now. How about this,” he said, peering at me with a little half-smile. “Want to get lunch with me, give her time to cool off? I'm sure she'll come around and be fine later.”
I don't know if he knows Vanessa as well as he thinks he does. Neither do I, it seems, for that matter. “Alright, I could eat. Let me get cleaned up first, though.” Standing, I grabbed a skirt and a tank top from the arm of the couch, blushing at the fact my things were sprawled everywhere. Covertly, I kicked one of my bras behind the couch. “You uh, you'll be okay, hanging out here while I get ready?”
He nodded. “Of course, take your time.”
Chewing the inside of my cheek, I hurried into the bathroom with one more quick glance at him.
It felt strange, far too strange, to be showering with the man I was becoming more interested in by the day on the other side of the door. Still, the hot water was glorious, scouring away my old makeup, soothing my taut muscles.
I wish I didn't have to lie to him. But how could I tell him about how she accused me of wanting more from him... or that I had ended the fight by refusing to be emotionally abused all over again...
Lying didn't sit well with me, yet what option did I have? It was the right thing to do. Even so, scrubbing my hair under the hot jets of water, the shame sat heavy in my empty stomach.
Thinking about Deacon sitting so nearby, close enough that if I yelled, he'd hear me, made my thoughts roam down a different road. I wonder how he'd react if I tried to call him in here? The idea was far too forward, my cheeks dark as beets as I explored the possibility. He didn't even want to kiss me last night, how could I expect him to do anything but be embarrassed for me if I attempted to coax him in here randomly?
Turning off the shower, I dried my hair quickly. I had a difficult time looking at myself in the steam smeared mirror. What's wrong with me, do I want to back off from this guy, or what?
Frowning, I placed my forehead on the damp reflective surface, groaning. I clearly had no clue what I wanted anymore. It doesn't matter what I want, if he wants the opposite. Remember, he didn't kiss you, Vanessa is probably right about everything.
Not feeling any better, though I was at least cleaner, I changed into my clothes and tied my wet hair into a messy ponytail. Deacon was still sitting on the chair when I stepped out, tapping on his phone. He raised his eyes when he heard the door creak.
“Ready?” He asked, standing, adjusting his jacket. Watching him move, graceful, controlled, I idly wondered if he had ever been a dancer. More pressing, though, was how I wished I could read his mind.
“Yeah,” I responded, my smile blooming warily. “Let's go.”
****
The drive was short, for which I was grateful. Feeling dizzy, tired, the car was only making it worse, even with the windows down, the fresh air.
We ended up stopping down the street, a distance we probably could have walked, but I didn't complain. The diner was small, greasy, exactly what I was more comfortable with. After yesterday, eating with Greg and Vanessa, being exposed to the concept of waiting in line for scrambled eggs, this was a nice change.
Despite the less than classy décor and mood, Deacon still pulled out my chair for me when we got to our table. “Oh, uh, thanks,” I said, tripping on my words. I couldn't recall when I had ever had someone do such a thing for me, in fact, I was sure I had only ever seen it in movies. Part of me wanted to rebel against the weird novelty of it, yet, even so, my heart pumped erratically.
“How did you find a place like this?” I asked, listening to the door's bell jingle as more people entered, staring around at the old framed photos of famous people on the walls.
“I live up the street, I found it one day just wandering around.”
“You what?” I gaped, snapping my head back to see him looking amused. “You mean you live right near Vanessa?”
“Correct,” he laughed, placing his hands on the table, squinting at me. “Why do I feel like you're about to attack me or something?”
Noticing how tense I was, I made myself sit back, my shoulders lowering from their hunched position. “No, sorry, I'm just surprised. I didn't realize.”
Deacon tilted his head, an owl's movement. “I wonder why Vanessa didn't tell you. It's why taking you home last night was no big deal, you know?”
My neck felt warm, but I blamed my hangover. So, it wasn't inconvenient for him to give me a ride. Fine. That's fine, why should that bother me? Refusing to dwell on it, I instead slid the menu to one side, looking around for the waitress.
“You're not eating?” He asked.
“Hmn? Oh, no, I am, I just don't need to look at the menu. I'll just get some eggs, places like this always have eggs.”
His laugh surprised me, making me stare at him to figure out what was funny. “Sorry,” he apologized, “I've just never seen anyone do that. You're right, they have eggs, you're fine. Is that all you're getting?”
“No,” I said, smiling, studying the room to attempt to catch the eye of a server. “I need coffee, too.”
“Need?”
“Need,” I repeated, waving the woman down. “Hi there! Can I get a cup of coffee, please? And some scrambled eggs, too.”
The woman, who was pretty enough to be a movie star, like everyone else in this town, nodded her head at me. “Of course, and for you?”
Deacon scooped up my menu, handing it with his own to the waitress. “Waffles, please, and a water.” The woman took the items, flashed us a beaming smile, then scurried away. As soon as she was out of ear shot, I stared at my companion.
“Water?”
“I don't drink coffee,” he said.
“You don't drink coffee?” I gasped, covering my mouth like he had admitted to some grand sin.
“What? Is that so terrible?”
“Horrible,” I stated, setting my mouth into a mocking straight line. “The worse, in fact.”
Chuckling, he leaned across the table, lifting an eyebrow at me. “So does this mean we can't be friends, then?”
The way he phrased that, even jokingly, it made me flinch. If he noticed how my guise had slipped, he didn't say, he just kept grinning in my direction. “I guess I can forgive you.”
“Great! I was worried there for a moment,” he said, placing a hand to his chest. Our drinks arrived, saving me from having to keep playing along.
Slurping my coffee, inhaling the sharp scent of it, I closed my eyes. Was that his way of saying he really does just want to be friends? Shouldn't I be... relieved, maybe?
I wasn't, I couldn't even pretend.
“So, Leah, about last night.”
Almost jumping in my chair, I lifted my eyebrows, hiding behind my mug. “Uh, what about it?” Is he going to bring up my amazingly obvious pass at him?
Tapping the edge of his water glass, Deacon set his gaze on me, relaxed and calm as far as I could see. “You said you almost went to college out here, to become a painter, right?”
Oh, this conversation, I thought idly, I guess that's sort of less awkward, anyway. “Yeah, that's what I said.”
“Alright, so this has been on my mind.” He was staring at me, fixated, making it impossible to look away. I couldn't help but be happy to hear I had been on his mind in some capacity. “You didn't tell me why you didn't go.”
“Oh,” I winced, trying quickly to figure out how to answer this inquiry without revealing too much. Ugh, he caught me by surprise, he makes it hard to think sometimes. What do I say, though? Hurry, hurry! “Um, my family just couldn't...” Dammit. “Afford it,” I finished in defeat, the truth stale in my mouth. I took a deep drink of the coffee to try and wash it away, but it stuc
k with me. Well, good job, you fail at not delving into your past.
Deacon frowned, yet he didn't cringe away or give me a painful look of pity, things I had expected. “Yeah, that sucks, honestly. It's tough for a lot of people to go to school outside of their home state.”
“Was it tough for your family to pay for you?” I asked, trying not to sound passive aggressive. I hated conversations about money, but couldn't bite my tongue to hold my comment back.
“Well,” he said with a small, uneasy laugh, “not exactly tough, no. It was a different kind of hassle.”
He'd piqued my curiosity, I set the coffee cup down heavily, leaning forward. “What do you mean?”
“My dad is... sort of a doctor,” he mumbled, for the first time looking embarrassed to be telling me something. That bit of information didn't make me feel much sorrow for him, though, admittedly.
What a terrible problem, having a dad who's a rich doctor.
“He could have easily paid for everything for me,” he said, as if reading my thoughts, “but he refused. My mom ended up taking out a lot of loans to help me come here.”
“Wait, why would he refuse if he had the money?” None of this was adding up for me.
Deacon scratched at his forearm, looking away, the act of a man gathering his thoughts. It reminded me of myself, when I was trying to slip out of a conversation I didn't like, except... “My dad didn't approve of me being a painter. He wanted me to go to medical school, like he did.”
Except, he tells me the facts, he doesn't hide them.
His eyes had moved away, but now they flicked back to me. He must have seen the empathy on my face, it made him sit up straight, his grin returning, his shoulders shrugging off the somber mood. “Anyway! What can you do? It worked out fine, I managed, and I'm pretty sure he's over it these days.”
“Right.” I struggled to smile, agreeing politely. I don't think he actually believes those words. Our food arrived, so we cut the conversation off with silent, mutual understanding.
During the meal, I checked my phone a few times, starting to wonder if Vanessa would ever message me. It's already after one in the afternoon, is she still with Greg?
Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty) Page 90