“He isn’t here. Is his car out front?”
I hadn’t even checked. “I guess not.” He said he was going home though. “Was he here at all?”
“He was here,” Bach answers, his eyes narrowing. “But he left this morning.” He leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his bare chest, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans that hang dangerously low and unbuttoned on his hips. One wrong move and the zipper will give way.
It’s almost three in the afternoon. Where has Dylan been since he left my apartment this morning? I picture him with someone else, mounting her. I get so pissed off I want to hit something. Or someone. Especially when Bach laughs quietly. His sea green eyes narrow, baiting me, like he can practically see what I’m thinking.
I gasp. “You know!”
“Know what?” he answers innocently, his deep voice mocking. “What Dylan’s probably too chicken shit to tell you himself?”
I fell down a flight of stairs once. I had my hands full of moving boxes and I couldn’t see where the next step was. My heel caught and I knew when I missed that step I was falling. My stomach drops now the same way it did then, like I am losing my balance and no one can catch me.
“Dylan,” I hear myself whisper. I’m breathing too hard. How could he?
Bach’s smile fades. He doesn’t find it funny anymore. Is it so bad that even Bach doesn’t want to know about it?
“Don’t cry,” he begs. “Please don’t cry, Harley. I’ll close the door on you if you cry.”
“Is he cheating on me?” I suck in a breath, but I don’t like the way it feels. There’s not enough oxygen around me right now.
Bach rakes his fingers through his dark brown hair and then moves aside. “Come in. You’re going to freak out my neighbors.”
I look around. His neighbors are outside funneling beer. “They don’t look freaked out.”
“Trust me. That’s a sure sign they’re freaked out.”
I stand there awkwardly as he closes the door behind me. When I come here with Dylan he takes me straight to his bedroom. He doesn’t give me a chance to see anything but him. I don’t normally wander around the apartment. Even when I go to the bathroom he acts like I’m going to lock myself in Bach’s room and let him have his way with me. And something tells me Bach would most certainly be up for it.
Pig.
“Let’s go in the living room,” he suggests, striding in front to lead. He reaches behind him and scratches his shoulder, highlighting the muscles in his back and arms. “Have a seat.” He sits on the arm of the couch with his feet on the cushion.
I push a single pink high heel off the couch and then sit down, momentarily scanning the area for a used condom. I know it’s here. The wrapper’s on the floor near the video games. “Where’s the other one?” I ask, bending to pick up the heel. I can’t keep the disgust from curling my lips.
He eyes the heel, his gaze heating up, and shrugs like it’s no big deal to have strange women’s shoes in his living room. This is why I insist Dylan sleeps at my place. Bach’s disgusting.
“In my bedroom probably.”
“You actually made it that far?”
His eyebrows rise. It makes me feel stupid for asking. Of course he made it that far.
“Dylan lives here too,” he reminds me. “That could be his heel.”
I drop the heel and sit uncomfortably on the end of his couch. “Tell me, Bach. Is he cheating on me?”
“Would you be so shocked if he was?”
“Yes!” What kind of question is that? “Dylan isn’t like you. Of course I’d be shocked.”
His expression sours. My comment bothers him. “Dylan is me. I am Dylan. We’re the same fucking person.”
It’s my turn to laugh mockingly. “You could never be Dylan.”
“Why? Because I don’t run from who I am?”
“No. Because Dylan recognizes he wants to be better than his past.”
He throws his head back and chortles. “Oh brother. I knew you were where he was getting that shit from.”
“It isn’t shit. This is shit.” I point at the empty beer bottles on the table, the one heel on the floor, the condom wrapper by the games. “Dylan doesn’t want this anymore.”
“What does he want then? You, Harley?”
I glare at him, seething. “Is it that hard to believe that someone might want something better?”
“Something better suggests that there’s something wrong with what I have currently. What’s wrong with what I’m doing? What if I think who you are is wrong?”
“There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not perfect, not by any means, but I’m damn sure not you.”
“What does Dylan see in you? I mean yeah you’re hot, and you have those light brown eyes, but come on. There are millions of other girls out there with much less of an opinion. Why you?” He examines me intently. “I don’t see it. I don’t get why he’s throwing his life away for you.”
“He isn’t throwing his life away!” I no longer want to defend Dylan’s desire to better his life.
“Then why did he enlist in the army? Why is he being deployed to Afghanistan in a week? And,” he adds evilly, watching me break and knowing he’s destroying me, “why didn’t he tell you about it?”
Army?
Deployed?
Afghanistan?
I almost wish he was cheating on me. I feel terrible for thinking it, but this feels like a pallet of bricks crashing down on me, so much worse. Some of them just scratch me, some of them rip me in half, but the bricks that find the perfect spot crush me.
I don’t say anything more to him. Bach doesn’t care anyway. He knew before me. He knew Dylan was leaving.
I leave without looking back. I have to find Dylan. Bach’s lying. That’s what guys like him do. They take something beautiful like Dylan’s and my relationship and smear their taint all over it until it’s just as ruined as they are.
I find my phone and text one word.
Harley: Why?
Chapter Two
Bach
I think I went too far this time.
Even for me.
I consider warning Dylan about what I did, and then decide not to. He lied to me too. He’s not perfect. He’s still an asshole like me. You can put the asshole in a suit and comb his hair, but he’s still an asshole. I’ve never claimed to be a poet, but if I were I’d be damn good at it.
I return to my bedroom and try to sleep, but Harley’s face keeps interrupting me.
I went too far. Even for me.
She actually loves him. I could see it in her eyes. The pain there makes me even more pissed at Dylan. Why would he leave a girl like that? I’m not saying he has to stay with her forever, but for a brief second I wonder if any girl has ever loved me. And if they do love me like I saw in Harley’s eyes, would I have the balls to leave them? I know for a fact that girls want me. Bad. Panty twisting, bite their lip, touch themselves bad. But I also know they don’t love me, because I don’t love them. My kinds of girls don’t want love. They want Bach.
But if one of them did, if for some odd, incredibly unbelievable reason someone did love me, would I ditch them?
I don’t understand why the question bothers me. I guess it’s because I don’t have an answer. I can’t even write it off. And apparently I can’t forget about it either. I toss my pillow away in aggravation and get out of bed. I wanted to sleep before Jona’s party tonight, but thanks to Harley I can’t.
He broke her heart. All those girls I let go of and the girls who swore up and down I broke them, had lied to me. I wasn’t surprised. The same kinds of girls that didn’t love also lied. It went hand in hand.
But Harley loved Dylan. I watched her eyes. I had already been looking at them because of their color. They reminded me of scotch. They were light brown, amber, and the warmest things in my apartment. They made me want a drink. I made a note to pick up some scotch.
I saw the pain slowly fill her eyes. She knew something
was wrong when she came over. I could see the possibilities hovering over her like a storm. I wanted to rub it in, to prove to her that Dylan wasn’t as perfect as he pretended to be. And then I saw her pain. For some reason rubbing salt in her wounds didn’t sound like nearly as much fun.
I shake Harley out of my mind. She’s not my problem anymore. When Dylan leaves so does she.
In the shower I make sure to wash Justine off my body. The girl left her mark. After I smell unused, all in preparation to be used again, I get out and dry my hair. I check out my body in the mirror as I do. I need to start paying more attention to my forearms. They’re lacking. I examine the rest of me while I’m at it. Too much partying has led to a decline in the definition of my abs and biceps. They’re still better than most guys, but I’m not most men. I’m Bach Bachmen. I need to be better.
Walking from the bathroom to my bedroom in my towel, I pass my cell on my dresser. Without thinking about it, because if I do my anger will stop me, I text Dylan.
Bach: She knows.
I set my phone back down and pull a pair of briefs out of my drawer and slip them on under my towel, letting it fall to my feet. As I bend to pick it up, I catch sight of the other pink heel. I can’t remember who it belongs to. I only remember taking it off her. But even that is blurry. I must’ve taken it off. If it’s in my bedroom who else would have?
Unless it was one of those kinds of nights …
I hold the heel for a long time struggling to remember her. She was blond, I think. Her smile was sweet as sugar and her voice was different. I must’ve been really loaded. Heather … Harmony … Hamond? Hell, I don’t know her name. I drop the heel and continue getting dressed, putting on a pair of black jeans and a black button down shirt. She probably doesn’t remember me, either. At least that’s what I tell myself as I style my hair. We don’t remember each other. Right before I leave the house I make sure to grab both heels.
As I’m pounding down the stairs to my car I spot two people making out on the beach. The sun glares off the water, painting the sand gold. My house is practically within pissing distance of the Gulf Coast. It’s never hot because the breeze coming off the ocean takes away all of the bullshit, and I’d sell my kidney to keep it. I throw the heels in my trunk and speed away.
Dylan’s a dick. How can I afford rent now? I don’t want some strange prick living in my house. I don’t even have to meet him to know he’s a prick. If Dylan knows him and I don’t then he met him recently and that means he’s a “changed man” too. I’m particular about who I live with. There’s only a handful of people I trust and that handful is me.
It’s always been this way. It used to be that way for Dylan too. When he came home from jail last year I knew something was off. Something about him was gone. This new self-righteous snob was in his place. Something pushed him over the edge. I try and recall his trip last summer. He told me he was going to SoCal. I wanted to come. Hook up with some beach babes, party in Tijuana, it sounded like fun. But he refused to take me with him, told me he had something to do. A few nights after he leaves I get a phone call to find out he got arrested for a DUI. He never asked for bail money, didn’t even sound that upset. He was down there all summer doing his time and when he came back he was different.
What happened, Dylan?
I slow down to a stop at a red light and listen to the sounds of the city. A group of college kids are crossing the street laughing and flirting. When the light turns green I press down on the pedal of my Corvette, missing the last dick by inches. It’s a crosswalk, not a dance floor.
When I get to Jona’s, I park in the driveway, navigating around the maze of cars. Jona lives in the only non-frat house near frat house alley. Row after row of houses occupy this strip of street. Greek letters adorn the houses who pledge and banners hang from those who wish they were. The beach’s a five minute walk and there’s a bar not too far away. Shirtless men and bikini-clad girls fill the street, cups in hand, sin in the air. I get out and take a deep breath.
“Bach!”
I follow the sound of my name and connect it to a short girl with equally short brown hair. She bounces up to me, grinning. I smile lazily at her. “Hey.” I don’t know her name. Are those her heels in the back? “Long time no see,” I lie.
“I know, right? It’s been like forever!” She’s drunk already. She trips over her feet and falls into me. I catch her waist and steady her. “Sorry,” she slurs. “Free shots at the frat.”
“When are they not free?”
She giggles. “Oh come on. You don’t know? They charge for them. Somehow,” she purrs, grabbing my hand.
“Really? I’ve never heard of the frat guys charging for drinks with sex.”
“Of course not. Why would you have to bribe someone to sleep with you?” She blinks one eye as the other remains open. I assume she’s trying to wink, but really she looks like she has something in her eye.
She has a point. I’ve never had to beg women for much. “Hey, what size shoes do you wear?”
She blinks. This time she nails it. “Six. Why?”
Those aren’t her heels. “Come on, beautiful. I’m thinking of opening a tab tonight. You feel like paying up?”
She giggles, burps, and then giggles even harder. She’s still giggling as I walk away. I’m not into chicks and their bodily functions. I know they have to burp, they’re human too, but I don’t have to be there when they do it. Fart when I’m not around, please. Burp when I’m not putting the moves on you. And please, please, don’t pee with the door open. I have a thing about pee. It’s fucking disgusting.
I push open Jona’s front door and step into mayhem. The party doesn’t start until nine, yet the living room’s already full of rap music and girls with their asses in the air. As I pass by I wave at them. “Don’t be shy,” I tell them, when they stop dancing. “I hear twerking is a fine art.” I continue past, my sentiments delivered and head upstairs, past the bathroom I avoid at all cost, and down the west hall. I pause at Jona’s door, listening for moaning.
No moans. I push his door open. “Whoa, dude.” I shield my eyes and laugh. “Put that thing away.”
He turns around in his towel, his hard dick standing at attention as he quickly tightens his towel. “Knock, Bach.”
“Hey, at least I listened before I came in. I don’t ever want to see what I saw the last time I barged in here.”
He grins, remembering. “It was her idea, bro.”
“So if she asked you rob a bank are you going to partake?”
“I can’t rob a bank, I’m way too out of shape.” He picks up a beer and guzzles it down. “What’s up?”
I sit down on his computer chair, spinning it around to look at him. “Dylan’s leaving.”
“Where’s he going?” Jona drops his towel. He’s clearly unashamed of his birthday suit, even though I don’t remember asking for an invitation to this particular party. Thankfully he hops into a pair of jeans.
“Afghanistan.”
He starts drying his hair, but pauses to gawk at me. “Like the Afghanistan?”
“No, Jona, the one right next to Galveston. Of course that’s the one I meant. Apparently he enlisted behind everyone’s back. Went to PT. Passed. Did it all without even telling anyone.”
“Even his girlfriend? What’s her name, Little Miss Perfect?”
I laugh at his name for Harley. “He told me before he told her. This morning,” I supply. I don’t gossip, I stealthily supply information for effect.
“Wow. He just told her this morning? I told you he was a dick, man. Ditched out on us and now his girlfriend? What’s he running from?”
“Good question. You notice anything different about him before he left last year?”
“Umm … ” He grabs his deodorant, thinking as he rubs it on his pits. “You remember Whitney? He was hanging out around her for a while.”
That’s news to me. But then again Dylan used to hang out around a lot of girls. How am I supposed to know
them all by name and still remember them when they were gone? “So?”
“You asked if I noticed anything weird. That’s weird. Dylan never has a girlfriend. Before Little Miss Perfect I think Whitney was kind of the same thing.”
His example leaves me more confused than I want to be. I’m probably looking too much into this. Dylan’s in the army. He lied. He’s a liar. That should be enough. Normally it would be. Yet there is something nagging me I can’t place my finger on. Though Dylan likes to pretend our pasts aren’t intertwined, they are. It’s second nature for me to want to help him the same way he used to help me.
Forget it. “You ready?” I stand up. “Let’s go party.”
“Come see what I got. I have something special for you.” He opens his top drawer. I walk over and look inside hesitantly. Who knows with Jona? Resting on top of his underwear is a huge bag of orange pills. “I bought them in Galveston. Some big roller was in town from Mexico. I lucked out and bought this E for half of what I would’ve scored it for in Crystal Gulf. We’re going to make a killing tonight. Ten a head to get in and fifteen for a pill. I’ll take your cut for the pills before I split the pot tonight. Cool?”
“Cool.” I pick up the bag of E, a strange excitement burning in my stomach. All of those little orange pills call to me, offering me an escape. I rip open the bag and pull two out. “Here. On me.” He swallows one with his beer then hands the can to me so I can do the same.
“Ahh,” I growl, grinning. “Now let’s party.”
Harley
I park my car near Crystal Beach, the town’s namesake, and spot Dylan’s jeep a few cars over. I don’t want to get out. I don’t even want to think about what Dylan is going to say. I read his text again. I got it on my way to the university and immediately turned around.
Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1) Page 2