by Claire Adams
Two hours later we were in The Dive, a small bar a few miles outside the university that Nick had discovered his freshmen year. “It’s a good place to get away from college kids,” he’d said, as though he was a very old man constantly aggravated by the youth.
My fake I.D. had worked brilliantly, even though it had expired last month. Nick had somehow managed to convince a redheaded senior from his Biometrics class to make me another one for free. I suspected he’d be doing her homework for the rest of the semester, and felt extremely grateful for friends like Nick and Stacey in my life.
The Dive was, to my great relief, not too packed. A few men in business suits were occupying the bar, but other than that and two tables with giggly couples, it was empty. We sat at the booth to the far right next to the dart board that nobody ever used. A waitress came over to us.
“Would you guys like anything to drink before you order?”
“We are here just for drinks, actually,” Nick said politely.
“Actually, can I just look at the appetizers?” I said to make her feel better, but then realized I actually could eat something. Aside from Stacey’s cookies, I hadn’t really eaten in two days.
“I’ll grab the special appetizers menu for you ma’am, be right back,” the waitress said and scurried off.
“So guys,” Stacey began to say, who had thus far been busy fiddling with her phone. She looked up. “Do you want to play Numbers?”
Nick and I both chuckled.
“There is hardly anyone here; women seem to be particularly missing so you guys have a clear advantage.”
Numbers was a game Stacey and I invented our freshman year. We only ever played it between the three of us and the rules were pretty straightforward: try to get as many numbers as possible. The three of us would usually separate into different corners of a bar or a party and talk to random strangers – appearance, status, and sometimes even gender did not factor into it – and try to get their numbers. In order to avoid cheating, the second part of the game happened the next day. Nick, Stacey and I would exchange the numbers we had managed to get and then call each one on the list. Nick would call the men, us the women. Then we would be like, “Is this Sally?” to make sure that it was the right person and we weren’t just making it up. When the person responded “yes”, we’d just make up a fake last name, apologize for calling the wrong number, then put a check mark next to the person. Whoever had the highest count of verified numbers would then be treated to brunch by the other two, and brunch was usually spent laughing about all the tactics and victims involved in the game.
It was fun, but Nick was right, this wasn’t the ideal venue to play the game. We would need a bigger crowd.
“Well, it shouldn’t be a problem anymore,” Stacey said, pointing towards the door. A large crowd that appeared to be celebrating a birthday party walked in. There were at least forty men and women who seemed to be in their early twenties, wearing goofy hats. The birthday girl was easily identifiable by her glistening tiara and a pink sachet that said “Happy Birthday, Brianna!”
“And I’ll make you a deal, Nick,” Stacey said. “Double points for Brianna’s number.”
I was starting to get excited in spite of myself. This game was always fun and brunch with the roomies the next morning even more so. I could use some harmless flirting with a bunch of guys.
And then it hit me: I wasn’t allowed to be harmlessly flirting. Not even for the game. Zayden Sinclair and his crazy contract.
“Guys, I’m sorry to be a party pooper, but I can’t,” I said, frowning at the menu the waitress had brought me.
“Don’t be silly, Aria, of course you can,” Nick said, eyeing Brianna as though mentally weighing how difficult it would be to get her number.
“No, I can’t,” I shook my head. “Not in a dramatic, crappy mood kind of a way. Not like I don’t want to. I really, truly, legally can’t.”
Stacey squinted her eyes. “What do you mean?” When I didn’t respond for a while, she said more sternly, “Aria? What do you mean legally?”
“Can we please talk about it tomorrow? I just… I am glad to be out here with you guys and want to try and enjoy my evening. I’ll tell you all about it, I promise,” I said, looking at Stacey, then Nick coughed. “You too, Nick. Brunch tomorrow. I’ll tell you everything. For now though, three shots of tequila?”
“I’ve waited all day to hear those words,” Stacy said, dumping her head onto the table dramatically.
I ordered some nachos to go with my tequila, and when it arrived, one of the guys from the birthday crowd yelled “woohoo!” and joined us from a distance. It was quite comical since he could barely stand and was trying to take that final shot that would make him pass out. This was obviously not their first party. It sucked that I couldn’t play Numbers; it was bound to be super easy under the circumstances.
With every passing drink, the reasoning why I couldn’t play the game sounded more and more feeble. So some guy made me sign some dumb contract; it couldn’t be legally binding. That’s not how contracts worked. And even if it was, what’s the worst that could happen?
Jail, I heard a tiny voice in my head say. I could get sent to prison. So? The drunk Aria fought back. I’d seen Orange is the New Black, I could totally withstand prison. I just had to learn how to smuggle cigarettes in and…
“Aria.” Stacey was snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Are you okay? You’ve been spaced out for a while now. Do you wanna go home?”
“Go home?” I laughed loud enough for the people on the other end of the room to hear. “Go home? It’s not even…” I looked at my wrist and was extremely disappointed to see no watch there. “It’s not even time…to go home…you know, like time?”
Nick was laughing uncontrollably now, and I wondered if he was on the same level as I was. If not – if they were both not – this was going to get really embarrassing tomorrow.
“Where are our shots?” I surveyed the whole room, as though they would just materialize from a random corner.
“We haven’t ordered any,” Stacey said, and I could swear she was slurring her words too, making me feel better.
“Well, we gotta fix that,” I said, then shouted, “SHOTS!”
Everything after that point was hazy. I was running around the bar talking to anyone and everyone. There were shots and more shots, and at one point I think I did a keg stand – or maybe Stacey did one and I felt uncomfortable just watching her. I was next to the birthday girl, cheering her on…we started taking shots together…I was fiddling with my phone. It felt like I was in a horribly made movie. After one last birthday shot with Brianna, everything went completely blank.
---
I woke up feeling the weight of the whole universe in my head. Slowly opening my eyes, afraid of the light, I surveyed the room to make sure it was my own. Phew. And I was alone, fully clothed, thank god. I licked my lips, still flat on my bed, head pounding, feeling extremely dehydrated. Reaching for the glass of water next to my bed was an enormous struggle and when I finally grabbed it, it was gone in seconds. What was going on with me?
Then I remembered…last night…the bar…the shots…the birthday party. My last hazy memory was dancing with the birthday girl, after which my mind went blank. I had no idea how or when we had gotten home. I pulled out my phone to call Stacey – it felt like too much effort to go over to the other room – and then almost had a mini heart attack.
There were thirteen texts from Zayden, and one from Brianna (the birthday girl?) saying “New bestieeeee!!!!”
I shuddered to think of what may have caused her to give me that coveted title. I must have done something crazy…danced on the bar counter? That wasn’t something I was completely innocent of.
No wonder Zayden’s texts sounded so concerned. Pretty much all of them were some variant of asking me if I was okay. What did I say to him? Shit.
I scrolled through my sent box to see an embarrassing number of texts to Zayden. Not much wa
s decipherable, but one of them said, “im non ibject.” Even I could translate that to “I’m not an object.” And another one that said “fyk ue contact.” I could only assume that meant “fuck your contract.” Then there was “ehy camt I play mumbs lke evry1 eler huh.” “Why can’t I play numbers like everyone else.” This made me extremely glad that nobody else outside of Nick, me, and Stacey knew what Numbers was.
To my utter and complete horror, the phone rang, and it was Zayden. I thumbed the green answer button and weakly pressed the phone to my ear.
“Yes?” I spoke softly.
“What’s up drunky?” He said. I could feel him grinning through the phone and it made me want to throw something.
I mumbled “go away” but didn’t hang up the phone.
“Still unable to speak, I see. That was the theme last night.”
“Look, I’m sorry about the texts…wait…what was the theme of last night?”
“You calling and slurring words that more or less didn’t make an ounce of sense.”
“I called you?” That made me sit up straight.
“When didn’t you call me? About seven times last night. I spoke with quite a few inebriated pals of yours. Some girl named Brianna kept saying her name was Brianna and it was her birthday and that men sucked.”
“I remember very, very little about this person.”
“Last night she was your best friend. She had started suggesting you get on top of the bar counter and dance when I decided to send Ned over to take you home.”
“What?”
“You remember Ned?”
“No, I mean, what do you mean you sent him to take me home?”
“You and your roommates. You told me what bar you were at and I thought it was time for you to go home, based on your complete inability to speak a coherent sentence.”
“Who are you to decide when it’s time for me to go home? You’re not my mother!” A familiar pang of anger started building up inside me. The nerve of this guy.
“I sure hope not. That would be awkward for everybody. But seriously, are you okay?”
“That is quite frankly none of your business,” I snapped.
What was his deal? Just because he has money and a fancy car and driver, he thinks he can push people around and make decisions for them? We would’ve been perfectly fine taking a cab back home. We’d done it countless times before. It’s not like I didn’t have a life before Zayden came into the picture!
“I would say it is, given our contract. It says specifically—”
“Why don’t you just become a lawyer and be done with it?” I sounded angry and that, combined with the headache that was making me feel like I would go blind any second, made me think that I was perhaps not in the best state of mind to have this conversation with Zayden right now. “Look, I am in a lot of pain right now. I’m sure you’ve experienced the mother of all hangovers. It’s not pretty and I am not functional currently. I assure you I didn’t do anything last night that would even put a dent in the contract—“
“I know. You kept saying that last night. I’m not worried, you were on the phone with me practically the whole evening.”
I was such an idiot! My one night out to clear my head of all things Zayden related and I managed to make it all about him. Why did I drink so much?
“I am sorry for harassing you.”
“It’s not harassment if I enjoyed it.” He was smirking; I could just feel it through his phone. “Really quite entertaining. You’re really something, drunk or sober.”
“Thanks for the expert analysis,” I spat. “Now if it’s okay with you, I am going to go back to lying down until time stops.”
“Call me if you need anything.”
“I won’t,” I said and hung up.
My head fell right back onto the pillow and I collapsed.
---
Hours later – or it could have been days for all I knew – I woke up again to Stacey’s face smiling at me.
“Okay little miss drunky, it’s time to spill the beans…what is going on with you and Zayden? After last night, you have to tell me.”
I covered my face under the pillow and mumbled, “Just kill me now, Stace. Why did we drink so much?”
She placed a cup of coffee on my bedside table. “Because you wouldn’t have it any other way. You were clearly pissed about something, and in your drunken stupor decided that the best way to deal with it was by consuming as much as alcohol as your liver could handle.”
“But.” I looked up at her again. “But, weren’t you and Nick drunk too?”
“Yeah, but we got to a point where we stopped drinking because you were sharing your evening with every person in that big birthday crowd. By sharing your evening, I mean, taking a shot with everyone in sight.”
“Did I do something stupid?” I reached out for the cup of coffee and the warmth of the liquid made my body feel infinitesimally better.
“Nope, you were just having fun mostly. Until the calls to Zayden started. Everyone in the bar spoke to him, thanks to you.”
I buried my face in the palms of my hands. “Shit, Stacey, that’s bad. I never should have called him.”
“What exactly did he do to you anyway? I thought you guys were doing so great.”
I sighed and proceeded to tell her everything that had happened after Rick had showed up at the office.
“Okay, first of all,” Stacey interrupted. “What were you doing talking to that Dick anyway?”
“It’s a long story!” I said a little too fast, feeling terrified of Stacey.
If anybody hated my ex-boyfriend with a fiery-passion enough to burn him to the ground, it was Stacey. It was a mark of her loyalty to me and really touching, for the most part. But right now her glare was crushing my soul.
“I have all day. And more if needed,” she said looking at her watch.
“He wants to be friends.” I shrugged.
“Oh, does he now?” She folded her hands.
“Look, Stace, if I told him to go fuck off, it would seem like I am still affected by what he did to me, like I still cared. And in all honesty, I don’t. Yes, he hurt me a lot and yes, I had the hardest time getting over it. But I am over it now and I feel that the best way to move on is to not make a big fuss about it.”
“Do you have to fraternize with him though?” She frowned.
“No, but it’s easier than fighting him off. I have been intending to avoid that coffee with him for as long as possible. But that does not mean Zayden can tell me who I can or can’t talk to! His attitude is what makes me actually want to hang out with Rick.”
“Aria, it doesn’t help to be bitter,” she told me, stroking my arm. “But you’re right…as much as I have been approving of Zayden all this time, I don’t think it was right of him to talk to you as though you’re an object in his possession.”
“I am though, according to that fucking contract, that’s exactly what I am,” I said, fuming. “He has stripped me down to the level of his office desk. It’s like all of the sudden, I have no agency, no independence, like I signed my life away to him, and he’s ready to remind me of it every step of the way.”
“Oh Aria.” Stacey hugged me. “That sounds bad. You should not feel objectified in any relationship. If it’s a power-play, it’s not a real relationship. Definitely not a healthy one. I can’t believe I am saying this, but I think you need to break it off. I know he is helping your mom out – and he was really nice to you yesterday, I spoke to him on the phone—“
“You and everyone in that bar,” I scoffed.
“If I had known about all this I would have told him stop calling back and turned your phone off. It just seemed sweet at the time, like he was concerned about you.”
I thought about that for a second. “I don’t doubt that he is. Concerned, I mean. But I think he does not understand the concept of boundaries and is controlling beyond belief. It’s starting to feel way too suffocating.”
“Then get out of i
t,” Stacey repeated. “We will figure something out for your mom. Maybe I can take out the loan in my name? My dad could help co-sign it. We’d just have to get him really drunk one day—”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Stacey. I’m sorry for fighting with you the other day. And no, I got myself into this mess, I’ll find a way to get myself out of it. But it was extremely sweet of you to offer. You’re honestly doing more than enough by just being there. I couldn’t love you more for it.”
We both sat for a long time hugging each other. By the end of it, I had decided for sure that I wanted to break things off. I was not used to being objectified and doing a man’s bidding, and whatever he was doing for me was not worth my dignity.
Zayden and I had to be over.
Chapter 8
Zayden
To my utter horror, I had gotten the dreaded “surprise” visit from my mother a few days after Aria had stormed out of my office. I already had a lot to worry about: Aria had called out of work all week, making me increasingly anxious. If she hadn’t made those drunk calls on Friday night, I was ready to show up at her apartment unannounced and give her an earful. How could she have done that to me? A whole week? What was I even paying her for, if she could simply choose to disappear whenever she damn well please?
On top of that my mother decided to just show up, no warning, and thought that would make me happy. Likely story— she very well knew how I would react to the visit— yet she was my mother and I had to at the very least try to not be a complete monster. Right now she was going on and on about my chef’s inability to cook the steak to the perfect medium-rare. She was a terrible cook herself, but loved to criticize everything other people did.
“My, my, how hard is it to get a simple steak right?” She frowned at the dinner table, while I wished, cringing, that the chef couldn’t hear.
“I think it’s delicious.” I shrugged and took a huge bite visibly savoring it. “Sean’s the best cook I know.”
That had the desired effect of making her wince. “How can you say that? When your own mother is sitting right across you?”