Wreck Me (Nova #4)

by Jessica Sorensen

  But maybe they were wrong.

  My thoughts sink deep into my bones as the night goes on. The police never catch Conner; he took off the moment he heard the sirens. We file a report, and by the time Nova shows up, Avery looks exhausted. I get her in the car and then hop into the backseat with her. Nova has questions in her eyes as to why there are cop cars everywhere, but I quickly shake my head, warning her not to ask them.

  We drive in silence through the faintly lit town, past dark houses and closed stores, up a few narrow side streets, finally arriving at the house Nova and I helped build for Avery. It’s in a small, quiet subdivision, and looks peaceful in the darkness of the night.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” I ask Avery after Nova pulls up in the driveway. All the interior lights are off and no one looks like they’re home. I painfully become aware that I still have no clue who Avery lives with, if anyone.

  She nods as I open the door and flip the seat forward to get out of the car. “I’m good… I don’t live alone.”

  “Oh.” I step back so she can get out. “Who do you live with?”

  “Family,” she vaguely replies as she ducks out, clutching her purse.

  I want to press her more, but the desperate look she gives me, as if she’s silently pleading for me to let her be, silences my questions.

  “So you can call me at any time if you need anything,” I say.

  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” She hurries up the driveway.

  I feel the strangest pull to beg her to come back to the motel with me where I know she’ll be safe. Instead, I watch as she unlocks the door and rushes inside, flipping on the lights. Then I get back into the car and sigh heavily as Nova backs down the driveway.

  “What in the hell happened?” she asks as she drives down the isolated road toward the extended highway that stretches between towns.

  “Just a bunch of stuff,” I say, strapping on my seatbelt.

  “Stuff you can’t talk to me about?”

  “I’m not sure. And until I am, I’m not going to.”

  “All right, I get it.” She flips on the brights as she changes the topic. “Do you want to go over to the neighbor’s tonight or in the morning?”

  I check the clock on the dash. “It’s kind of late.”

  “Quinton said they were awake and being obnoxious outside about an hour ago. If they’re awake, it’d be good to get it over with.”

  She’s right, so I agree to take care of it if they’re still outside when we arrive back to the motel.

  For the rest of the drive, the conversation is light. We chat about the documentary she’s making and how my classes are going. She asks me about my job, and I ask her the same thing. But the entire time, I’m thinking about Avery.

  Avery.

  Avery.

  Avery.

  An echo in my head.

  Is she okay after what happened?

  God, I hope she’s okay.

  I feel so different, as if something has altered my life. What makes Avery so different? It’s not the same as how I felt with Nova. Yeah, Nova tried to change me, but I half-assed my transformation because I honestly didn’t care. With Avery, I want to change, to protect her, to be a better person. But why?

  Why?

  Why?

  Why?

  “Oh, good, they’re awake,” Nova announces with a weary sigh as we park in front of our motel room.

  Only a few of the room lights are on, along with the bright green vacancy sign on the billboard next to the main office. Five doors down from ours, the neighbor and his girlfriend are outside, smoking and laughing on the porch. Their room door is open and music and the glow from their lamps filters out into the night.

  “Well, at least we can get this over with.” When I push open the door to get out, the neighbors instantly look over at me and then frantically start whispering to each other.

  I’m a little irked about giving them any money at all because it’s just going to go toward drugs and shit. But I don’t want to deal with the drama.

  I go inside and find Quinton lying in bed, still dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but his shoes are off and he’s drawing in his sketchbook.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?” I ask when he sets his pencil down and sits up on the bed, rubbing his eyes.

  He nods, understanding my meaning. “What about you?”

  “Maybe.” I dump the contents of my pockets out onto the table. “You know he’s going to be a pain in the ass.”

  “Yeah, we all were when we were on drugs.” He stands up and slips on his shoes then hands me a small stack of money.

  “I’m going to pay you guys back,” I say lamely as I add my own forty dollars to the stack to make it an even hundred.

  “Whatever.” He brushes me off. “Let’s go deal with the drama.”

  Quinton tells Nova to stay inside, then we head outside and start toward the neighbors who are still rambling about something in front of their open door.

  “I don’t even fucking know his name,” I mutter as we approach them.

  “I think it’s Zedd,” Quinton replies as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

  “How’d you find that out?”

  “I heard his girlfriend screaming at him.”

  I shake my head. God, it’s like I’ve crossed back into the past. The feeling only amplifies when we reach Zedd and his girlfriend and I hand him the money.

  He counts it out then scowls. “This is only a hundred,” he tells me with a tick in his jaw.

  “Like I told you I was going to pay you,” I say, wondering if I was this big of an idiot when I was spun.

  Probably more.

  Shaking his head, he hands the bills to his girlfriend then crosses his thin arms and stares me down, attempting to be intimidating. “Well, I guess I’m going to have to get Skullman involved.”

  “Yeah, I have a theory that this Skullman might be a figment of your imagination,” Quinton says from beside me.

  Zedd’s gaze cuts to Quinton. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “His backup.” Quinton nods his head at me while carrying Zedd’s gaze.

  “Fuck you both,” he says, eyeing us over. Worry flashes across his sunken in face when he notices we’re in shape and not strung out, that we could easily beat his ass. “You’re going to pay for this. You’ll see. Skullman is real.” Then he scampers inside and slams the door.

  “God, were we that stupid?” I ask as Quinton and I make our way back to our room.

  Quinton erupts with laughter. “Oh, yeah. Remember that whole ordeal with Trace?”

  “Yeah, but that was caused by my stupidity, not yours.” I gaze up at the stars as I reach for my cigarettes in my shirt pocket.

  “We both dealt for him,” he responds.

  I offer him a cigarette and he takes one. We stand out in front of the door in the dark, the night air warm and quiet.

  “It seems like such a long time ago,” he remarks as he flicks the ash from the cigarette.

  I take a drag. “What does?”

  He shrugs. “That life. Drugs. All the shittiness.”

  “Not for me. It seems pretty recent. Although, that feeling has kind of faded over the last couple of weeks.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs then relaxes against the door, staring down at the cigarette in his hand. “You seem different lately.”

  “Yeah, right,” I say sarcastically. “Remember, it was just a couple of weeks ago when you had to babysit my drunk ass.”

  “Yeah, and I also remember how you dumped meth down the toilet instead of snorting it.”

  “Well, I was confused.”

  “Are you confused now?” he wonders as he moves the cigarette toward his mouth.

  “All the damn time.” I stare at the road while cigarette smoke circles my face. “But I do feel different.”

  “I can tell.” He pauses. “And I think I know why.”

&nbs
p; “If you go there, man, you’ll sound just like Nova,” I warn as I graze my thumb along the bottom of the cigarette, sprinkling ash everywhere.

  “That’s a compliment.” He flicks the butt to the ground then turns to go inside, but pauses in the doorway. “I don’t miss it at all. That life. I think about what we could have been—how Dylan and Delilah turned out—and I’m glad… that I didn’t end up like either of them.”

  I hesitate. He’s said this to me before. Usually, I just brush him off, but now, the need to say something back burns at my tongue. Before I can even comprehend what I’m doing, I’m opening my mouth.

  “You know what? I’m glad I didn’t, either.”

  Two years and seven months earlier…

  Chapter 27

  I want to give up.

  Avery

  I want to give up. That’s all I can think anymore. Surrender. Stop breathing. Give Conner what he wants every time he raises his fist.

  The kicking.

  The yelling.

  Getting beaten down.

  Sinking into the ground.

  Vanishing into a ghost.

  Soon, all there’ll be left of me is bones.

  “I fucking hate you.” Conner bashes his fist against my cheek. I almost feel the pain through the alcohol in my system, but not quite. “You are so fucking worthless.” Hate burns in his eyes, and his venomous tone conveys the truth. He does loathe me. Blames me.

  And now he wants to destroy me.

  I used to fight. Used to feel. Used to want to live.

  But now…

  I can’t find the will to care.

  So I let him beat me until I’m bloody and battered and curled up on the floor. Only then does he feel satisfied enough to step away and lower his fists.

  He takes a good look at me and shakes his head as he wipes my blood from his face. “See what you make me do!” he shouts.

  I start to cry, not for myself, but because Mason calls out from his bedroom.

  “Great! And now you’ve woken him up.”

  I don’t utter a word, even as he waits for me to speak. My silence seems to enrage him, and he starts pacing the small space of the living room between the sofa and the bookshelf.

  “You are so goddamn annoying. Seriously, I bust my balls for you, trying to give you more money like you asked, but nothing is ever good enough for you.” He stops and stares down at me with his bloodshot eyes.

  I don’t move. Don’t breathe. I listen to the sound of my heart thrashing in my chest, hating it.

  “Why can’t you be grateful?” As he crouches down beside me, I close my eyes. “I’m dealing drugs so you can be happy. Do you know how many husbands will do that?”

  I don’t answer him. Yes, I hate that he deals drugs, have told him so. But every time I open my mouth, I anger him. And then he hits me and paints his knuckles with my blood. Somehow, it makes him feel better until the next time I open my mouth.

  “Fuck you,” he finally says, standing back up. “I’m out of here. You’re worthless.” He storms out the door, and I hear glass shatter, but I don’t move—can’t move—because I know he’s right. I am worthless. I’m broken.

  And I don’t really care.

  About anything anymore.

  Chapter 28

  I don’t care about anything.

  Tristan

  I’m curled up on the ground with my arms over my head. With each kick, I become more broken. With each hit, I die a little bit more on the inside. The drugs numb the pain, make it easier to take the beating I knew was coming. And this isn’t even the worst of it.

  “If you don’t come up with the money, this is going to be a lot worse,” Trace says with another kick to my gut, knocking the wind out of me. “I mean it, Tristan. Tell me you get it, or else I’m going to have to keep beating your dumb ass.”

  “I get it,” I croak, rolling onto my back as blood fills my mouth. I don’t focus on him, but the sky, and it makes it easier to pretend I’m somewhere else. But then his face moves into my line of vision and reality creeps back in.

  “You only have a few days left to get me the money you owe.” He leans over me, massaging his raw knuckles that are coated with my blood. “And if I were you, I’d try to clean up your act. You make a shitty druggie, Tristan.”

  “I make a shitty everything,” I mutter.

  He shakes his head before walking away.

  As fear surfaces, I realize the meth I did earlier is wearing off. I start to feel. And I hate feeling.

  It takes me forever to get up, and when I do, my legs ache so badly I can scarcely walk. Luckily, I’m close to the apartment that I live in and eventually make it there. I should go up to my place and clean up my act like Trace said, but I am a druggie, and I think with my addiction. It guides me to the bottom floor, to a door where I know I can get a hit.

  Cami opens the door after two knocks, looking high as a kite, just how I want to look right now, every day, every second, for the rest of my life.

  “I knew you’d take me up on my offer,” she says, not commenting on the fact that I’m bleeding from my mouth and chin.

  She’s wearing only a bra and shorts, her skin hanging loosely on her boney body. I’m not attracted to her at all, but then again, I haven’t been attracted to any of the women I’ve slept with. The only one I want is out of my league. Nova. Good, sweet Nova, who never wanted me back.

  “I need it first, though,” I say, cringing at what I’m about to do. Cami is a crack whore and sells her body for drugs. I’ve never judged her. I get that sometimes you have to do shameful things to feed the monster living inside you. And now I’m going to fuck Cami, all so I can get a taste of what my mind thinks it needs.

  No, I need it.

  I really do.

  She moves back from the doorway and lets me inside her small apartment that’s littered with garbage, pipes, and a few boxes. I stumble to the tattered sofa and anxiously wait as Cami kneels down in front of me, holding a mirror dotted with white powder. When she hands it to me along with a hollow pen, my nose drinks the toxic crystals up.

  Suddenly, I feel nothing. No pain. No worry. No shame that I’m here. It makes it easier when she kisses me and then takes off my clothes because I’ve done this before and it doesn’t really matter. As long as I’m high, nothing matters.

  Because I don’t really care.

  About anything anymore.

  Even being invisible.

  Present Day…

  Chapter 29

  What, oh what, have I gotten myself into?

  Avery

  “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Mommy, Avery, coolest person ever. Happy birthday to you.” Jax and Mason wake me up with a serenade.

  After they sing me the birthday song, I sit up in bed and get comfortable. Then Jax presents a tray with bacon, eggs, and toast, setting it on my lap while Mason plants a tiara on my head.

  “For your special day,” Mason says excitedly. He’s cleaned up and dressed, ready to do whatever the two of them have planned for my birthday “And you get to wear it all day.”

  “Yay!” I clap my hands, excited that he’s excited.

  Jax giggles like a mean schoolgirl under his breath. When Mason turns around, I flip him the middle finger.

  “Oh, my God, you look so adorable,” Jax says in a mocking cheerleader voice.

  I lean over in the bed and shove him. “Just you wait. I’m going to encourage him to have you wear it on your birthday.”

  “Good thing I can pull off the princess look,” he says with a grin as he ruffles his brown hair into place.

  “Whatever.” I pick up the fork from the tray. “Thanks for breakfast, though.”

  “You deserve it,” he says easily. “And there’s more planned for the day.”

  “Like what?”

  “It’s a surprise, so eat up and get dressed.”

  As he leaves the room, I dive into my breakfast, enjoying my food and the quiet
until my phone starts ringing. Then the quietness fills with noise of fires and yelling and shouting.