Everly After

by Rebecca Paula

  The door swings open, and two giggling girls fall into the hallway. They say hello in French and ask who I am, but I’m not in the mood to answer. I push inside and stand in the middle of another crazy crowd. I keep falling down this rabbit hole of insanity for the same girl. The same girl who wants nothing to do with me because I’m a giant asshole who can’t grow up and be a man and figure shit out.

  But that kiss. We had something. I’m not imagining that.

  I want to apologize. I want to kiss her again. I want her in my bed. I want to walk with her around Paris until we figure out the world and our place in it. I want her to be my friend again. I miss her.

  Cans of Red Bull are scattered everywhere, empty liquor bottles littered over the floor, people passed out amid the garbage. Others stand on the counter and jump on the couch. No one seems to notice I’m here, which is fine because I don’t fit in. Lines of cocaine stretch across the coffee table over faded maps circled and crossed out. I see syringes and bottles of pills spread around like Easter eggs.

  My stomach drops as a shriek comes from the bedroom. A girl races out, half-dressed, chased by a naked guy wearing body paint. Someone’s blowing bubbles in the corner as a captivated group sits on the floor and tries to pop them.

  This isn’t reality. None of this is real. I spent the past five years in fucking war zones and then there’s…this. The two don’t connect. My body starts to wind up again, my anxiety bubbling over as I survey the crowd for Everly. I think back on her slumped against my doorstep. I don’t want that to happen again.

  The crowd shifts and whirls around me until I spot long legs and bare feet on the small balcony off the living room. I tilt my head and tread closer, confused why I only see the bottom half of her. There’s another body blocking hers. A guy with one of those hats hipsters love and no shirt. They’re a foreboding shadow against the setting sun outside.

  It’s chaotic and noisy as fuck, but I still hear her soft laugh, a tempting song that hits me in the gut. One long leg kicks up, the perfect point of a compass marking home. The gold of her hair swings down by her feet, her hands curling behind the black bars as she’s bent in the perfect arch. The guy’s thumbs on her hipbones are the only pressure keeping her from toppling over and falling into the street below. He touches her as if he knows her, like they belong together. Maybe they do.

  I don’t think I belong here though. My stomach is so twisted in knots I might throw up on whoever comes at me next with a fucking animal mask or bubbles.

  Everly snaps up and peeks over the guy’s shoulder, her hands braced wide on the railing. We lock eyes, and my heart sinks. She stares back vacantly, as the guy whispers something into her ear. Her body rocks to the music as she blows out a stream of cigarette smoke, her lips drawn in a bored pout. She breaks away from the guy and steps around him, heading straight for me.

  The apartment implodes in on itself, crushing me in its wake. At least that’s what it feels like.

  “Beckett.”

  It sounds like she’s happy to see me—if she can even can see straight. Her eyes are so bloodshot they look like beets, and that sexy sway of hers is more of a wrecked stumble. She’s wearing this tiny black dress with bright red lips and smudged eyeliner. Her hair looks like she’s just freshly fucked. And I did leave a hickey on her neck. At least, I think it’s from me. She hasn’t bothered to cover it up.

  “You came.”

  I nod because there isn’t much to say.

  She grabs my hand and jumps up onto her tiptoes to kiss me on the cheek. I smell the stale cigarettes, the bitter but sweet perfume of partying wrapping around me from her closeness.

  “We’re going out soon.” Her words are a little slurred. Her breath smells like I’ve fallen into a gallon of Kool-Aid and blue curacao. “Come with me.”

  I’m still stuck on the word “we” as the guy she was with walks up to us. He looks like he could belong on the cover of some men’s magazine if it weren’t for the track marks up his left arm and the dark bags beneath his eyes.

  “Hudson, this is Beckett Reid.” She keeps her focus on me. “Beckett,” she says slowly, “Hudson Wilkes.”

  I don’t exist apparently, not when he’s standing beside Everly. He’s looking at her as if he’s going to take her right there on the floor, and it pisses me off because I’m pretty sure he already has.

  “Beckett’s coming with us,” she tells Hudson.

  He grabs her roughly, and that sick smile returns to her face as if she enjoys it. My hands fist at my sides. He whispers something while I take in the gold glitter smeared over one side of her face and down her neck, until it fades into the plunging neckline of her dress. He bites her earlobe, but she glances back to me, her features blank again.

  I wipe at the imprint of her lips burning on my cheek. I stare at my opened palm, not surprised to see that she’s covered me in glitter. Again. I wipe it off on my jeans, refusing to watch her and Hudson longer than necessary.

  She nods to whatever he says, then pushes him back toward her bedroom. “Get dressed,” she shouts over the music.

  She spins around, stumbling a step, before she grips my hand and steadies herself for the short walk to the kitchen. She grabs a plastic cup and sets it on the counter, but her aim is off so it rocks back and forth a few times before it settles. Grabbing a nearly empty handle of vodka, she pours the rest of it in the cup before adding a can of Red Bull. She misses the cup for half the pour, and it spills over the counter. She doesn’t notice or care. I’m stuck watching, afraid to move or clean it up. Dread is welling up inside me because I feel like I’ve pushed her to this.

  She shoves it into my chest, not reacting when it spills onto the front of my T-shirt. “I know you like your vodka.” She says it with a smile, but she’s glaring at me as though she wants to push me over the balcony.

  I snatch it from her and down it in a few gulps, ignoring the uncomfortable burn in my throat. She’s so distant, so broken. Damn. “I didn’t—”

  She starts screaming with another girl over some stupid party foul and leaves me alone in a kitchen full of fucking trashed strangers. I should leave. I should go right now. I doubt she’d even know. But I stay because I can’t leave her. Even after she left me.

  The crowd parts, and I spot her making out with the girl as others watch. She breaks the sloppy kiss and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing her lipstick. She never breaks my gaze. It kills me.

  Hudson and some others follow us out into the hall after a few minutes. I have no idea where we’re going, but they all look like they’ll never know if we even get there. I guess Hudson is loaded because they’re talking about a limo and a driver.

  He’s arguing with someone. I can’t really make out what they’re saying. It doesn’t really make sense. The rest are dancing around or yelling, pushing each other down the stairs as if there’s a fire. Everly is standing off to the side, a cigarette smoldering in her hand, her head tossed up to the ceiling. She wobbles around in a pair of black-studded high heels as she dances to the beat echoing from her place.

  I head down the stairs and turn around in time to catch Hudson and Everly kissing against her door. I watch like a freak because I can’t figure them out. She never told me about there being anyone else. I’d be a hypocrite to care.

  Hudson has his hand over her neck. He stoops down and draws his tongue up its length. “You’re mine.”

  I want to smash his face in for that—for touching her—even if I have no right do so.

  Everly ducks under his arms and takes two steps before she sinks to the floor. Her knees shield me from seeing her face, but her hands are buried in her hair. I’m expecting her to scream or yell, but it’s quieter. She’s falling apart, and it’s silent. One slow stitch at a time until she’s unwoven. A mess of a girl I won’t be able to clean up.

  Hudson storms over to her, but he doesn’t touch her like I would. I would be there with my hand on her shoulder. Hell, that’s a lie. I would be
scooping her up and taking her away from this asshole, but I can’t do that. I stand in the stairway instead, watching, because I don’t belong to Everly. I’m not sure anyone does.

  “Another?” he asks.

  There’s a painful gasp. She waves her arm and strikes his shin, then shoots up into the air on wobbly feet.

  “No,” she says, looking me directly in the eye. “I fucking hate you, Hudson.”

  She wipes at her eyes and stumbles toward the stairs, but I start down without her. I know she hates me, too.

  Everly

  Beckett looks as if he’s going to throw up when we step into the club. My knees are weak, my whole body burning alive, but for one brave moment, I reach back and grab his hand. The world is spinning around me. Lights and lasers blink and flash across the dark room as the music mimics the thumping of my racing heart. After two days of being awake, I don’t really know if I’m standing or floating. At least, I think it’s been two days. I’m trying to keep track this time so I don’t lose myself.

  Hudson has reserved a small lounge area overlooking the dance floor, and it’s stocked with enough booze to put down a small nation. I’m not sure how he’s even standing honestly. I try to catch up, but you can’t catch something so impervious. He’s hell-bent on fucking killing himself. I’m just along for the ride. I don’t know if I care enough to make it all stop.

  Some girl is chatting up Beckett, but he isn’t saying much back. I can’t hear over the music. When he looks over at me, I scramble away from the couch and rest against the railing, shame pooling in my stomach. I don’t know why I asked him to come. I don’t know why he came to find me.

  I don’t know anything.

  I draw in a shaky breath, cold sweat beading over my forehead. I press my lips together, trying to keep the air inside me. I’m afraid if I let it out, I’ll stop breathing and collapse to the floor. Everything sways around me, the lights sucking me in as they dart around the room. I think I might be floating. My chest hurts so much I think my heart might be about to burst. I gasp for another breath and then whirl around with a calm face on. At least I think so.

  Hudson is sitting on the couch, his legs spread wide, his head slung across the back. I think he might have finally passed out, but he grabs my hand and hauls me to sit between him and Beckett. I rip my hand out of his and tug down the hem of my short dress, sneaking a glance at Beckett. I see the question in his eyes, but my answer is obvious.

  This my reality. I’m a fuckup. That’s your answer.

  Hudson’s hand grabs my waist again, pulling me almost onto his lap, but he’s too far gone to be strong enough to lift me. “Is he it, Ev? The one you’re seeing?”

  I shake my head, unable to say the lie out loud.

  “How’d you meet her, Reid?” Hudson shouts, but it’s more slurred than anything. He looks up, and there’s blood streaming from his nose. “Fuck.” He wipes it away with the back of his hand, motioning for the waitress to come over. As if table service isn’t enough, he needs a nurse now, too.

  I coil back, edging closer to Beckett. I want a shower. I want to scrub myself raw until there’s no trace of Hudson on me. I want to be anywhere other than here. I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth, my throat raw. I think my eyes are burning. Or maybe I’m crying.

  ‘What’s that?” Hudson asks.

  “A party,” Beckett says. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, staring out onto the dance floor.

  “We grew up together,” Hudson shouts back.

  An obvious male power grab—as if he owns me. He had me first, so I can’t be with anyone else, right?

  I shoot up from the couch and find Hudson’s jacket, reaching in and grabbing some pills he has stashed in the inside pocket. I’m not even sure what they are, but I chase them back with the open bottle of tequila from the table.

  “She’s got commitment issues,” Hudson says behind me.

  I glare at him over my shoulder and flip him off. I’m so tired of his shit. I wish he’d just leave me alone.

  I vault over the railing, stumbling onto the dance floor and probably spraining my ankle. Everything feels numb, but I bet there’d be pain after that jump. God, I’m just desperate for air and space. For clarity and love. For the ability to erase all the bad and the wrong. To redo last spring and stand up to Michael and his selfish demands instead of being so desperate. To believe that someone could love me and I’m not a fucking idiot for believing someone finally had.

  The room fades in and out between bright bursts of color. My body moves and I’m burning, but suddenly I feel like I’ve found my center. The bass draws out another breath and another until I think I’m going to be fine if I keep dancing. Things slow down around me as I close my eyes and toss my hands into the air. I sway back and forth, my heart tripping as my body burns, burns.

  Fuck. I could burst right here.

  Hands reach for my hips and pull me back against a body. I tilt my head, and between the strobing blue and green lights, I see bright blue eyes. Beckett’s mouth moves, but I can’t hear him over everything. I don’t want to, either. I just want him here, and I want to not feel guilty for once that we’re together. I dip lower to the ground, then sway back up, rubbing against his body. He says something again, but I can’t understand. He sounds so far away. I think I might be crashing, but I don’t stop moving. I can’t stop.

  He spins me so we face one another as the beat climbs and climbs. The synth winds around me until I feel like I’m flying. I twist against his body as he dances with me. Maybe I’m moving too fast, but it seems like he’s trying to catch up. His T-shirt is soaked, and he’s staring at me, his blue eyes intense. I close mine and melt into his hands as they run over my bare back and tangle in my hair.

  I get lost in us, the possibility of us. I don’t realize he’s righted me. It’s hard to tell upside down and right side up and in between right now.

  His lips press against my ear, and at first I only feel his hot breath there. Then his lips are on my cheek. I turn my head and kiss him because I’m greedy. I want to be pulled into the black hole that’s Beckett Reid and his ever-present calm. His mouth is hungry like the other day. His tongue flicks against mine as I sigh. It’s all lost in the drumming beat of the savage bass. It’s drumming me alive—so fucking alive as I kiss Beckett in the middle of the blinding lights and alternating blackness. I think I have a leg curled around him as his hand slides up my back. I swear he’s saying something, but I only kiss him back.

  He’s nothing like Hudson. I only feel numb with that asshole. I thought he made me feel, but my body against Beckett’s, his lips caressing mine are what make me feel. I feel fucking everything, and I want more.

  I try to say something, but my words are stubborn, too slow to get out of my mouth as my mind races ahead.

  “Come home with me,” he yells against my ear.

  I reach underneath his T-shirt and rake my fingers over his skin, trying to get closer. I feel myself climb higher, if that’s even possible, and the sensations swell inside me until I want throw my head back and scream into a room that will swallow me up.

  “Everly,” he yells again.

  I open my eyes, and he’s blurry under the lights flashing around us. The whole room is ebbing—one giant, loud heartbeat. If I leave, I’ll wreck all of this. I don’t want to feel so alone. I don’t want this to end.

  I shake my head and pull him closer. At least we have this. If we leave, we might go back to what happened before, and we’ll fall apart. I don’t want us to fall apart.

  “I have to go,” he yells.

  I shake my head. He’s trying to pull me off of him, but I’m not sure if I’m moving. I can’t feel much except the empty thrumming in my body and his heat against my skin.

  “I can’t,” he mouths, shaking his head.

  I blink, unsure of what he can’t do. He can’t be here? He can’t be here with me? He can’t be with me?

  When I blink again, he’s lost in the crush and I’m lost i
n the music. Except it was never the music that made me feel so alive. I close my eyes and sink back into the darkness, hoping that if I keep them shut long enough, I’ll wake up and be someone different.

  Beckett

  The sun beats down, baking me alive in my flak jacket. Gunshots and shouting echo around me, and my ears won’t stop ringing. Dust rains down in the aftermath of the blast, and I smell seared flesh. I try to move, but everything feels so heavy, crushing me down to the ground.

  I turn my head and see lifeless eyes staring back. I reach out my hand, but it’s too late. A foot kicks me and then the butt of a gun strikes my back. I reach out for the solider in front of me because I don’t want to believe he’s dead. I know he is, but I can’t…

  Hands flip me over, and a shadow yells at me in Arabic. I pretend not to understand. I think I motion to my reporter sleeve, but that doesn’t matter. I’m tied up, duct tape is stretched over my eyes and mouth, and then I’m shoved into the back of a truck.

  I startle awake in the middle of the living room with one of my Chucks still on and a brown paper bag stuck to the side of my sweaty face. I prop myself up on my elbows as my stomach rolls and almost revolts.

  Fuck me.

  “Didn’t make it to your bed, tosser?” Ollie asks with a laugh from above. If I wasn’t lying on my stomach, I’d kick him. Instead, I lower my head back onto the floor and close my eyes. A little more sleep and I’ll be fine. I keep telling myself that, and one day, it might be true.

  “You were screaming again.” He shoves his boot into my ribs, and I swear to God I’m going to rip his head off when I finally stand. “How much longer are we staying in Paris?” I roll over and stare up at the ceiling as Ollie leans over me. “I mean, it’s been fun hanging around, but…” I raise my eyebrows. It’s as though he wants me to kick the shit of him. He might be a Royal Marine, but I’m in no mood to be crossed. “Well, besides the funeral mess.”

  “Yes,” I say bitterly, “the whole funeral mess.”