Ricochet

by Ashley Haynes

  Regan’s car wasn’t in her spot when I pulled up, so I turned the car off and waited. I stared at my phone. If Cash had made it back home, he wasn’t the least bit concerned about where I was. Maybe he noticed my things missing and sighed in relief that I had found somewhere else to stay. Regan pulled up next to me, base thumping. I jumped out of the car and grabbed my suitcase from the backseat. Regan greeted me with a hug.

  “Damn, got your bag packed. What the fuck happened?” She asked.

  “I don’t even know. We’re done, I guess. I need to crash on your couch for a few nights,” I explained.

  “Ah, man. You know my door is always open but it’s like… a really bad time. This fuck boy has been staying with me… I might have a boyfriend, I don’t know. But I’m kind of getting railed, like, on the regular. I can help you out with like, paying for hotel for a couple nights,” she droned.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re gonna turn me away so you can keep getting dick?” I seethed.

  “No, it’s just… it’s a weird situation,” she stammered.

  “Fuck you, Regan,” I spit. I threw my luggage in the passenger seat and tore out of the parking lot. I deleted Regan’s number from my contacts.

  Cash’s car was back in his spot in our parking lot. I didn’t want to go back in there. I also didn’t want to deplete my bank account by living in a hotel because I needed to be able to pay for the deposit when I finally am able to look for an apartment. I have no idea where I’m going to go. I gathered my wits and sprinted across the cold parking lot to the building. I closed my eyes and tried to control my breathing on the elevator ride to our floor. I opened the door to the apartment slowly and quietly. I breathed a sigh of relief when I didn’t see Cash. That meant I could sneak to the guest bedroom and shut myself in without him knowing I was even there.

  I crept down the hall and heard him raise his voice from the bedroom. The door was shut, and against my better judgment, I pressed my ear against it. He was arguing on the phone.

  “I don’t know. Not right this minute, but yeah. She’s still here… What do you expect me to do? She doesn’t have anywhere to fucking go… That wasn’t part the deal… You know what? Fuck you. I don’t even care. She already knows… No… You’re a fucking sociopath… Because! She figured it out! What the fuck… She doesn’t need to see… God damn it, you fucking bitch… You know, do whatever you gotta do. And then never fucking contact me again you fucking cunt,” he bellowed.

  I backed away from the door. Cash cursed and something crashed to the ground. I moved quickly back to the living room. I sank onto the sofa and stared at the wall. I heard the bedroom door open, and I turned towards the noise.

  “Hey, I didn’t hear you come in. You okay?” he asked.

  “I guess,” I croaked. No, you fucking idiot, I am not okay. He sat next to me on the couch and placed his hand on my knee. I stood to retreat to the other room.

  “Wait. Lilly…” he trailed off.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  My phone started buzzing on the coffee table. I picked it up to avoid having to answer Cash. I have no idea what to say. You made a mistake? Okay. I’m sorry? Sucks to suck. Nothing he can say at this point can change anything. I don’t want to hear it.

  “Don’t… don’t look at that yet. I need to talk to you, this is important,” he said, grabbing my phone from my hand and placing it back on the table.

  “Okay. Then talk,” I said bitterly.

  “Listen, I know this is going to be too little too late but I can’t keep doing this anymore. I love you. I am so in love with you and I am so, so sorry,” he recounted.

  “Get to the point or stop talking,” I interjected. My phone continued to buzz. I reached for it again.

  “Lilly, please. This is hard, I’m trying, can I please just have your undivided attention for a minute?” he begged.

  “My phone is getting blown up, it seems kind of important,” I dismissed. My notification screen was littered with multimedia messages from a number I didn’t recognize. I read the number aloud.

  “It’s Claire. Can you please just let me talk before you read them? Otherwise I probably won’t ever get to explain anything,” he voiced.

  “Was she who I heard you talking to on the phone when I came in?” I ventured.

  “Yeah, I guess. Just, she was blackmailing me because I fucked up and that’s what this has all…” he trailed off as he was interrupted by the first video beginning to play on my phone. He stood and paced as Claire’s voice rang through the speakers. Cash was standing at a sink in a towel as Claire spoke off camera. He told her to get the fuck out of his room. In the next message, Cash’s head was between her legs.

  Are you filming me? Don’t fucking film me.

  The next message was a black screen and muffled breathing.

  Tell me you love me.

  No.

  Please, just tell me. One last time, tell me you love me.

  I love you.

  There were at least ten more messages, but I couldn’t stomach anymore.

  “You told her you fucking love her?” I gasped.

  “That’s the most concerning thing about what you just saw?” he asked, exasperated.

  “Do you love her?” I bellowed.

  “No, I do not love her,” he defended, “I love you.”

  “Then why did you tell her you love her?” I challenged.

  “To get her to shut up. Once upon a time I thought I loved her, and I told her everyday. She was on this big kick about it being our swan song, you know, one last hurrah, and I guess she got nostalgic,” he explained.

  “So indulging her nostalgia was more important than everything we had, everything we’ve been building here?” I persisted.

  “So you can forgive me for sleeping with her but not for reluctantly telling her I love her?” he scoffed.

  “I never said I forgive you for anything, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I snapped.

  “Fair enough,” he conceded, “Do you even want to know how, or why, it happened?”

  “Nostalgia, right?” I said, rolling my eyes.

  “No, it’s a little more complicated than that,” he insisted.

  “I don’t think it could possibly be very complicated. You might be complicating it with excuses and bullshit, but at it’s core it is not very fucking complicated. You put your dick in someone who is not me, let that person manipulate you into treating me like shit, all to… what? Preserve my feelings? You did a really shitty job at that, bro. If you would have come to me, we could have talked about this. We could have tried to work it out. If you had told me the fucking truth instead of playing games with me, this would be an entirely different conversation. Even when I had assumed that was what had happened, I was still willing to talk about it at that point. I was still willing to figure it out with you because I love you and I didn’t want to go, and people make mistakes. But now? Now I’m fucking done. I’m done. Why? Why push me away, so far away that I can’t get back and hurt me like this to the point that I can’t even look at you?” I admonished.

  “I don’t know. I felt like I had to punish myself, I guess. So you’re not willing to talk about it now?” he asked.

  “No. Fuck no. There is no talking. There is only me leaving,” I sighed.

  “So, you suddenly have somewhere to go?” he chided.

  “I’m going to go stay in a hotel, fuck a savings account, right?” I quipped back. Cash produced a small velvet box from his pocket. He opened it and spent a few moments admiring the contents before snapping it shut and dropping it in my lap.

  “Well, see if you can sell that. Offset some of the costs,” he choked.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I asked in surprise.

  “Probably,” he sighed, defeated.

  “Where did breaking up with me fit into that whole plan?” I barked.

  “It wasn�
��t ever part of the plan to break up with you. I was going to ask you the night I took you to watch the fireworks. But, it was way colder than I thought it would be, and got kind of awkward, and it felt pretty lame and predictable and I thought I could do better,” he recounted.

  “So you wanted to fucking marry me?” I prompted.

  “Yeah. I did. Well, I still do, but I know that isn’t going to happen. I fucked up and then I fucked up again and it just snowballed into this giant pile of fucked and I know that it’s never going to happen,” he reported.

  “Why tell me this? Do you think this is somehow redeeming for you? Do you think this is going to change anything? Why are you telling other girls you love them if you wanted to ask me to marry you? Why are you fucking other girls if you wanted to ask me to marry you? Excuse me if that doesn’t fucking add up,” I hissed.

  “It’s not like that, Lilly, I-”

  “Excuse me?” I interrupted, “How many times have I had to hear you say that over the course of this relationship? ‘It’s not like that, Lilly. You don’t understand, Lilly. It’s complicated, Lilly.’ Fuck that. Stop saying ‘it’s not like that,’ and start telling me exactly how it fucking is. When did you decide you wanted to marry me? Was this before or after you decided to take Claire on a romantic weekend getaway?” I accused.

  “I already told you, I’ve been planning on asking you for a while. I didn’t fucking plan to take her. That’s what my brother and me were arguing about. He insisted I bring her. That’s why I didn’t want to go,” he defended.

  “Sounds like more fucking excuses to me,” I spit.

  “Well, it’s not. Hank uses our trips as a cover to cheat on his fucking wife. I supply the girls. How could I not hook him up when his wife spent 4 years riding my dick? I never went there with the intention of fucking Claire. She was only there for Hank. He begged me and begged me to bring her. So, after months of arguing, I finally gave in. I was very clear with her that she was not there for me, but she’s fucking persistent, Lil. There were a lot of drugs and alcohol, and no, that is not an excuse, but, fuck. She was on my dick all weekend,” he explained.

  “So someone being ‘on your dick’ is… You know what… Just stop. This isn’t making it any better,” I said.

  “I’m not trying to make it better. I’m just trying to be honest,” he quavered.

  “You know, the sad thing is that part of me fucking believes you. But you know what you haven’t done yet? Not even tried to do? Apologize,” I asserted.

  “How much is it honestly going to mean if I try to do it now though?” he questioned.

  “Everything,” I assured him.

  “Well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I took her, I’m sorry that I gave into her, I’m sorry that I didn’t come clean to you. I’m sorry that I was cold to you and treated you the way that I treated you. I’m fucking sorry. I don’t know what else I can say, but I fucking love you and I would do anything, anything to make you stay. But, I know I can’t make you do anything. All I can do is promise you that I will never put myself in that situation again, and that this will never fucking happen again. No more secrets, no more half-truths, so if it somehow did happen I would never put you through this again. I don’t know how to express the regret that I feel. I just know that I fucked up the best thing that is ever going to happen to me. So, just take that for what it’s worth and do what you have to do,” he conceded.

  “So what if I was to decide to stay? How could we even come back from this? As angry as I want to be, as much as I should want to hate you, I’m not and I don’t and I can’t. I don’t know if I can stay. What kind of fucked proposal would this be anyway? Had you have asked me the night you planned to, I would have said yes. I’m not sure if that would make this hurt worse or if we have hit the bedrock of suck,” I chided.

  “I’m not expecting you to stay,” he said, “I want you to stay. I want to spend my life with you. But, I know better. You don’t have to entertain these what-if’s. This should change nothing. Just do what you have to do.”

  “I don’t know what I have to do,” I admitted, “I love you, and I’ve been lost thinking you didn’t love me. I couldn’t even process it. I’ve become completely consumed by you. Now that I take a step back, I realize that probably isn’t a good thing. I don’t know if I can forgive this. I don’t know if I can stay.”

  “Why don’t you take some time to think about it,” he offered, “Take my credit card, and go get a room somewhere. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

  I declined Cash’s offer to finance my hotel room. I walked out leaving a glimmer of hope that I might return. I’m not thinking about staying. I just want him to hurt like I fucking hurt. I don’t think I’m surprised. People lie, things change. Boyfriends cheat and best friends leave and there are always people who are waiting to see you fail. Doesn’t make it hurt any less. There is nothing worth going back to. There is nothing there worth the gamble that he might break me like this again. Love is always a gamble, but we keep fucking playing. We keep falling in love. I’m done. I’m not going to be the girl you marry. I’m going to be the girl that got away. The girl you think about in twenty years while you’re fucking your boring wife, as she politely fakes an orgasm in hopes that you’ll finish quicker. I’m not going to get a happy ending. Cash isn’t going to get a happy ending. Cash isn’t going to get any ending at all. I’m not going back. I’m not going back to him, I’m not going back to collect my things. I can start over, fresh, new and clean. You don’t always get an amicable ending. You don’t always get to say a final goodbye. You don’t always get all the answers. Sometimes, everything just fades to black.

  As I neared my car, I heard footsteps rapidly approaching me. I stopped in place and closed my eyes. I didn’t want to turn around. If Cash had come chasing after me, he must have sensed that I wasn’t planning on coming back. I don’t want to look him in the eyes or it might weaken my resolve. I can’t do one last embrace. The sound of footsteps turned to labored breathing behind my back. A pair of hands snaked around me, and one grasped my face to stifle my scream. Hot breath hushed me in my ear. I felt a sharp sting in my neck.

  Suddenly, everything faded to black.

  The End

  Recoil

  Coming Late 2016

  Chapter One

  Cash

  I still remember the way my knees began to shake when I first saw her. I tried so hard to play it cool, but Goddamnit she was beautiful. I don’t get caught off guard by beauty often; I’m constantly surrounded by beautiful women. Back then, one phone call and a beautiful woman would be waiting, sprawled naked and panting, begging me to please them. Never was I hungry for a fuck, so I didn’t pay much mind to beautiful women. Lilly was immediately different. She came crashing into me, forcefully acquiring my attention. I’m not being fucking poetic, either; she literally crashed into me. Then she smirked, and blushed, and tucked her hair behind her ear, and was too busy mumbling through an apology and avoiding eye contact with me to notice that she took my breath away.

  That’s where it started for me, I think. I saw her go through a whole spectrum of color within five minutes of meeting her; blushed red with embarrassment, ghastly white from fear, beaming, and glowing gold when she smiled as we parted ways. Of course this peek into her emotional palette made me wonder what she’d look like in black and blue, but mostly I just wanted to sit and listen to her tell me about all her favorite things. I became enamored with this woman who had only spoken maybe ten words to me, and I thought about her for days following our brief interaction. I found myself pondering the texture of her hair, imagining running it through my fingers. I stood at the window and watched as she moved into the building. I could have offered to help her; I probably should have offered to help, but I wasn’t ready to give her an opportunity to amaze or disappoint. She’d polluted my mind, by no fault of her own, and there was no way she could ever live up to the character that I’d built from her in my head.

 
I still don’t know where this initial infatuation came from. Why I went out of my way to elaborately flirt with her every time I saw her. It seemed like a Sisyphean task, as she treated me with increased indifference each time. Her mere existence, and the fact that, despite my widest smiles and most valiant efforts at lazily insinuating she could get it if she wanted it, she wasn’t standing in line to hop on my dick, made me question my own confidence. So maybe I never put any real effort into it. I never asked for her number, or asked her out for coffee. But I’d never had to and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to start now. When she showed up at my door, a nervous little ball of possibility, it felt like such a triumph. I was too busy reveling in my conquest, winning the interest of the uninterested girl, too enveloped in the fact that she was there, and real, and witty and sharp, for it to register that she was shifty eyed and uncomfortable. Before I knew it, she was in my lap, with her lips on my lips and her skin on my skin, and it was all down hill from there.

  I’d imagined Lilly as the kind of girl who liked to get dicked down missionary with the lights off, maybe a solitary candle bathing her in golden light. Doggy if she was feeling a little dirty. Like she thought kinky sex was grunting loud to Nine Inch Nails. I’d imagined she’d messed around, drunk, with another girl in college, and still blushed red when she thought about it because it was so naughty. I would have never imagined she might be into what I was into. I take great care in describing my pre-conceived notions of her, as I’m pretty sure at one point she had threatened to stab me if I ever again described her sexual preferences using an ice cream flavor. Regardless, she did not strike me as being particularly adventurous, and I didn’t care. I was absolutely ready to fall into boring sex just to be close to her. Imagine my surprise when she expressed interest in being fucked with no mercy.