by Lila Price
“Tristan,” I say. “Talking to me isn’t enough. I feel so helpless, because there’s nothing I can do for you.”
“You can just be you, listening to me, accepting me. That’s enough.”
When he reaches up to caress my cheek, I almost lose it. But crying like a child will do neither of us any good. I only lean into his palm, and from the sadness in his eyes, I know that he feels terrible about making me feel this way. He’s not thinking of how screwed-up he is.
“But I’m not enough,” I say.
“What do you want me to do then, see a shrink?”
I can’t dance around the true subject anymore. “A professional might be able to help you understand why everything you do is because of the abuse you endured with your real mom.”
His gaze goes sub-zero cold as he stands.
“Sosie,” he whispers, and his voice is just as chilling as his eyes. “Never bring my mom up again.”
This time when he leaves, it’s for real. I know it is, because there’s truly nowhere to go with a man who refuses to get rid of those demons that are going to be on his tail for the rest of his life. I have no other choice but to be done. The most pathetic thing is that I fell for his act yet again.
Stupid, stupid, stupid me.
I don’t hear him exit the house. I barely even hear his car take off, because he must’ve parked it down the block. It’s as if he’s left my life just as quietly as he came back into it tonight.
As I put my pajamas back on, I feel as if I’m trying to piece myself back together. It doesn’t quite work, because Tristan has taken a part of me with him. But my parents were so right about him—I do have a future, and the sooner I acknowledge that Tristan is doomed to repeat his past mistakes over and over, the better. If I continue to see him, he’ll only hurt me again and again, and I’m a big girl now, even bigger than I was when I came back home to see him washing his car in the driveway. I can handle life without him.
All I have to do is shut off the part of myself that loves him. All I have to do is move on and forget what we had.
I crawl back into bed and stare at the ceiling, where shadows from the tree branches outside are inching over the white paint like wagging fingers.
All I have to do is be the Sosie I was before Tristan.
7
As I yawn for the millionth time, Julia puts down her strawberry lemonade and gives me a critical look. Her long blond hair is perfectly styled in a spiky bun, and she’s dressed in a light pink short-skirted dress and wedges. Next to her, I look like Raggedy Sos, and it doesn’t help that everyone who passes our fountain-side table in the Tuscan-inspired mall is giving Julia an appreciative eye. Every salesperson we’ve encountered in these upscale stores has been fawning over her, too.
“You might want to get some shut eye before you go into work tonight,” she says. “You’re obviously still sick.”
Yeah, heartsick, but I cling to the lie I’ve already told her. “No worries. I’m on the upswing.” And I am. I haven’t thought of the guy-who-shall-not-be-named for at least five minutes. It’s a record, and it’s due to the fact that I’m having a surprisingly decent time bonding with my bestie while I try to forget about last night and move on.
I have no other choice.
“It sucks that you got sick right out of the gate,” she says, playing with her straw. “You barely had time to whoop it up on vacation before you started barfing up your guts with this flu. Then the parents came home. Just think of the parties that could’ve been had in Casa de Walker-Cooper.”
If only she knew about the whooping I’d done in the house with…
I’m not going to think about him.
“Based on how my parents were cuddling up to one another in the breakfast nook this morning, they might have another trip in store—of the second honeymoon variety,” I say. And what a relief that is. They were both happy to see me this morning. My stepdad didn’t say much—Mom probably told him not to—but he kept giving me relieved smiles. My mom must have told him how I’d sworn I was done with Tristan.
Julia swigs from her drink, then rattles around her straw. “If they go away again, you should have a total shindig, invite everyone you know in town, including your new friends and coworkers at Shady’s.”
“Why don’t you just come to the club again to party?”
“I’ve been planning to.” She toys with her straw some more. “Actually, I was thinking I’d drop by tonight.”
“For free drinks, now that I’m behind the bar?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Sos, but I was planning on sticking with my original supplier.”
I think for a second, then ask, “You mean Brent?”
A blush inches over her face, and when she sees I’ve caught it, she shrugs.
I open my mouth to say something, although I’m not sure what to say, but she beats me to it.
“I know, I know. He used to be hot for you in high school. But you’ve never said anything about him in that interested kind of way, so I was thinking…” Julia trails off.
“Yes!” I’m sitting up in my seat, all my energies redirected. “Jules, he’s such a great guy.” Discreet, cute, responsible, gallant. Julia deserves someone like him. Why didn’t I notice that she’d noticed him?
Because you were concentrating on someone else entirely…
Nope, not going to think about whatshisname.
“Brent and I are just friends,” I say, “so I’m definitely not interested. Your path to him is clear.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod emphatically.
“So,” Julia says, cocking her head, “you wouldn’t think I’m breaking the girl code if I batted my eyelashes at him? Just like this?” She adorably demonstrates.
I laugh, and it feels so good. “You should bat away tonight. And wear that super cute dress you bought today, too. He’ll be a goner.”
As she starts chatting away about Brent and our high school days together, everything else fades to the back of my mind and my heart, but I’ve made my decision about my own so-called love life, and I’m never going back.
Not even if Tristan shows up again to tempt me.
8
The night starts off perfectly at Shady’s: the crowd is tipping me with a vengeance, the music is upbeat, and summer is in full swing. Best of all, Julia has a seat at the corner of the bar, and Brent hasn’t been able to take his eyes off of her. I’m sure it would be a challenge for any mortal man to do that since my best friend looks stunning with her blond hair streaming over her shoulders and her slim figure encased in a sleek blue dress that brings out the liveliness in her gaze.
Every time she’s even smiled at him, he’s found his way over to her, and they chat and laugh it up. But, this time, after he gets back to work and makes his way toward the front of the bar where I’ve set up shop, his smile gets sheepish, as if he expects me to comment on how he’s moved from one friend to another. All I have to do is give him a thumbs-up, though, and he looks happy again.
Everyone looks so happy.
Even if I’m not quite there with them, I feel like I’m on my way. I’ll get out of this black hole soon, even if every once in a while it drags me down. I’ll stop finding myself checking the crowd for a glance of Tristan’s bad-boy brown hair and broad shoulders. I’ll stop looking for a pair of gorgeous green eyes that can either be playful or…
I sigh. Or haunted.
I push through the next hour, go on my break, then come back for more: take orders, splash booze into glasses, serve, then repeat. A drunk redheaded girl throws me a curveball and tells me to create a cocktail for her on the spot, so I mix some St.-Germain, gin, and club soda and garnish it with mint. I don’t think it’s original, but it’ll do.
The girl takes a sip and toasts me. “Sad Bartender Chick!”
I frown because I don’t think I’ve heard her right.
“I’m naming this drink Sad Bartender Chick!” she says, pointing at me, then fishi
ng out a wad of bills that she slides over the bar.
She wanders off, parting the crowd, and I take the money. I’m trying so hard to be breezy, but I guess I’m not fooling anyone—even Drunk Club Chick. But I’m not going to let that get me down, and I’m sure not going to go back to thinking about Tristan. I throw myself into my job double time, waiting on attractive guys and dolled-up girls, going, going, and going until I don’t have time to think.
I close out another transaction and barely look up at my next customer as I grab a rag to wipe off my hands. “What’s your pleasure tonight?” I ask.
There’s no answer, and when I look up, I at first think that my mind has betrayed me and slipped into a fantasy that I want nothing to do with.
I see Tristan there, his hands braced on the bar, his gaze burning with an emotion so hot that I feel scorched. He has a new cut on his face, most likely from the fight he went to after screwing me for the last and final time.
The music beats between us, and I take a slow step back.
“Sosie,” he finally says.
I won’t let him get to me, not when I’ve been doing everything within my power to forget him. But last night is still fresh on my mind and on my skin. I can still feel his kisses on me, can still feel him filling me up inside.
I shake my head as he speaks again.
“I can’t get through on your phone, Sosie—”
“Ever hear of being blocked?”
“You fucking blocked me?”
“You shouldn’t be here, Tristan.”
When I walk away from him, he follows as if he didn’t hear me, tracking me to the other side of the bar.
“Don’t do this,” he says over the music, his voice hoarse. “Don’t walk away from me.”
It strikes me that I’m the one doing the leaving now, and it’s for the best. “I mean it, Tristan. Leave me alone!”
Someone comes to stand in front of me, and it’s Brent. I can tell by his wired stance that facing Tristan is the last thing he wants to be doing.
“Tristan,” he says, “if you don’t leave right now, I’m calling the cops.”
I’m sure Tristan’s heard that before, and he ignores Brent, focusing on only me.
“Come on, Sosie,” he says. “Stop playing around.”
He has to see how I still feel about him on my face, even though I don’t want anything to do with him.
When Brent calls the bouncers over to the bar, my adrenaline kicks in.
“Tristan,” I say, “just go.”
“I’m not leaving until you listen to me.”
And I’m not going to give in to him, not this time. Luckily, two bouncers are flanking Tristan now, and they’re just as rocked with muscle as the guy Tristan fought when I went to that underground fight.
Tristan gives both of them cursory glances, and he’s not afraid. In fact, he looks like he’s itching to punch someone’s lights out.
The bouncers exchange their own glances.
“What’re you waiting for?” Brent asks his crew.
One bouncer, a guy they call “Beef,” laughs uncomfortably. “You know who this is, boss?”
“Unfortunately.”
Beef sticks his hands under his arms and looks at his partner again, then back at Brent. “I guess you’ve never been to an underground fight.”
Seriously? These steroid fanboys go to those things? But of course.
Tristan is still acting as if the two nervous bouncers haven’t been called over to kick him out. “Sosie, this is ridiculous.”
“Yes, it is.” It’s ridiculous that this situation between us keeps playing over and over again, like a corrupted recording. It’s ridiculous that my body is crying out for him even though my brain is telling me that I’m doing the right thing by staying away.
Think of how you’re always getting hurt by him. You need to do this.
I don’t know how I do it, but I use all my willpower to gaze at Tristan with stone-cold calm. “Call the police, Brent,” I say loudly. “Do it now.”
I’m not sure how Brent responds, because all I can see is Tristan’s gaze and how it goes from heated to defeated as he realizes that I’m willing to have him arrested. He’s gradually absorbing the fact that I’m truly done with him, and his expression becomes as unreadable as ever.
It’s as if I’ve stabbed him in the gut, or even worse, in the back.
As if he’s numb, he turns around and walks away. It’s as simple as that…and as awful.
The bouncers follow him, and the customers around the bar buzz. My lungs are tight, and I know if I say anything, I’m going to crack.
Tristan and me, me and Tristan. Officially over.
Brent is leading me out of the bar area by the arm. “Take a break in the office, okay?”
I nod.
Then Julia is in front of me, confusion in her gaze. “What was that about?”
I hate that she has no idea about this secret life of mine. I hate that I’m a different person than I was when the summer started. I hate the look in Tristan’s eyes because of how I treated him. I hate that this needed to be done.
I burst into tears.
“I’ve got this,” I hear Brent say to Julia.
Everything blurs together as he rushes me out of the club’s madness and into his office, where he closes the door. The muted music seems like it belongs to another world as I sink to a chair, wracked with tears.
“You did what you had to do, Sosie,” Brent says.
“I know.” I can barely get the words out. “Thank you, Brent…for being there again.”
“Don’t worry—things will get better.” He puts his arm around me and pats my shoulder. “You’ll see.”
I shake my head and stutter around my crying. “I still love him, deep down, even after everything. How sick is that?”
He exhales. “I can see that you both care strongly for one another. Maybe there’s still hope—”
“Hope?” I might be upset, but I’m clearheaded enough to scoff. “I don’t think so. Tristan’s proven over and over again that he’s incapable of being loving, dependable, kind, or honest. And I’m never putting myself in the position to be hurt by him. Never.”
Brent nods.
As I offer him a weepy smile, I start crying again, even though I will get better…someday.
Just not tonight.
9
“I haven’t seen you in ages,” Julia says on my computer screen. She’s putting on mascara while talking to me, multitasking before going out to a nice dinner with Brent. “The summer’s flown by and we’ve barely had any quality time together.”
I’m going through the clothes I’ve tossed on my bed, choosing which ones to pack for my return to school soon. Even after all these weeks—and even after Julia asked about my freak out at Shady’s—I still haven’t told my friend the truth about what happened that night. I made up some story about a vague disagreement with Tristan then put it behind me, right along with all the tears I’ve cried. I’m out of tears and ready for the rest of my life. Truly.
“I’ve been MIA?” I ask. “You’re the one who’s been holing up with your boyfriend, Jules.”
“And you’re the one who’s been taking on extra shifts all summer so that we can’t hang out.” She puts down her mascara wand. “We’ve got to have a Girls Night before school starts in a couple weeks, Sos. How does this weekend look for you?”
“I’ve got Sunday off.” It’s not as if I have to check my social calendar since my life has been the same routine day in and out: work, lounge by the pool with Cleo, work, spend time with my parents, work.
I’ve been doing everything I can to move on from that night when Tristan left for good. It’s only when I slow down enough to get time to think that my heart aches. Honestly, that happens about every hour or so, but I’ve become really great at staying positive.
Julia’s been fiddling with her phone screen, and she gives me the okay sign. “Perfect! Sunday it is then.”
“How about we do some pool time with Cleo, then we’ll see where the day leads us?”
“Perfect times two.” She puts down her phone. “But before I go, wish me hugs and kisses? Tonight could be it with Brent.”
“It? As in…”
“Yes. I’ve got on my sexy underwear and everything.”
She’s blushing, and it’s sweet how she’s slowed down her serial-dating ways for Brent, who’s been taking it slow with her.
Slow and sure.
While wiping away any more thoughts of Tristan, I wish Julia a good time and good luck, then disconnect. It’s time to get ready for work, so I move my pile of clothes from the bed to a nearby chair to deal with later, then head for the bathroom.
Not too long afterward, I open the bar at Shady’s, where a few people trickle in to start their Thursday night with beer and well drink happy hour specials. A few regulars camp out near the bar to wait for the music and lights to rev up, but there’re a few new guys in the corner. One has a crew cut, and he’s got an athletic look about him that reminds me of high-end gyms and Wall Street day jobs. He keeps glancing at me, and he looks familiar.
I don’t think I know him, but I smile back in a professional way, knowing where my tips come from.
When there’s a lull in business, I clean some glasses. The next time I peer up, he’s in front of me.
“Sosie, right?” he says with a friendly smile.
I try to be just as amiable, but I hope he doesn’t plan to hit on me. Some guys have a thing for a girl who can wield a booze bottle. “That’s what the name badge says.”
He laughs. “You don’t remember me.”
I shrug innocently.
“Of course you wouldn’t. Last time I saw you was years ago, when I picked up Tristan during college spring break for a road trip. And I’ve got the very generic name of Jack. I’m sure you know a thousand of those.”
It’s as if I’ve accidently crossed into another dimension, one in which some guy is standing here casually talking about Tristan to me. I try not to let his name affect me, but it does. It burrows deep down into the center of me as if it’s just returned to a safe place and never wants to leave.