Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  “Forget it,” he says, leaning back in the gaming chair. “You want to play?”

  “How’s Harley?” I ask instead. I don’t know why I ask. It’s just that I can still see the pain in her scotch-colored eyes. I can’t shake the image.

  He sighs way too hard. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this. I want to ask you to do me a favor.”

  Uh-oh. Favor and Harley don’t go together. “What … ?”

  “Take care of her for me? I tried to get her to go back to Houston for summer break but she doesn’t want to lose her apartment. She’s staying in Crystal Gulf all by herself. She doesn’t really know anyone here. She’s kind of … ”

  “Stuck up?” I supply, annoyed because of what he’s asking me.

  “She isn’t stuck up. She was raised different than us. She was shown so much good that when she sees something bad it’s like an alarm for her. She doesn’t want anything to do with it. She’s not a bad person. She’s just a good girl.”

  “Why do you care what she does if she broke up with you?”

  “Because I love her. That’s why. I love her with all my heart, man. All I need is for her to get through the next six months. When I come back from leave she’ll have had enough time to get over it. She’ll see. This is good for us.”

  I don’t get it. Dylan wants to give Whitney a better life or Harley? This hangover is screwing with my brain. I sit up, sway a little, and my stomach rolls. I force it all down. “What exactly do you want me to do?”

  He looks me in the eye. “Get her through the next six months. When I get back I’ll explain everything to her.”

  “Why should I? She’s a snob, man.”

  He gave me a hard look. “She isn’t a snob. She’s amazing, Bach. So good and pure. She’s like everything we could never have.”

  That piques my interest. Either Dylan’s blind or I’m not seeing it. “She can’t stand me. We don’t even get along.”

  That makes him smile. “I know. That’s why I want you to watch out for her. This way I won’t have to worry about some other shithead making a move on my girl.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. This sounds like a headache I don’t need or want. What do I get out of it?”

  He thinks about it. “I’m not ashamed of you. I’m ashamed of myself. Because when I look at you, I see me. I see someone Harley will never want. I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve been avoiding myself.”

  I let that sink in for a long time. It feels damn good to finally hear him say it. “Say it. Come on.”

  He rolls his eyes. “We’re not ten anymore. It’s not cute.”

  “It was never cute, Dylan. Say it. Or I’ll forget about looking out for Harley. You know how crazy summers are here. You’re not really that good looking anyway, at least not compared to me. Imagine the men she could meet.”

  He groans. “Bach is the greatest thing on this planet since my Nerf gun, bubble gum, and the way little Olivia Roger’s overalls ride up. He’s cooler than a Tonka truck, the cherry ice cream on the pier, and spitting into fans. Man,” he finishes, laughing, “I can’t believe we used to force each other to say that.”

  I crack a smile. “You got it wrong. I’m cooler than a pickup truck. Remember? Old Man Greer had that badass truck. We used to imagine driving to our girlfriends houses and picking them up to take them to the arcade. You were so uncool. What would you have done without me?”

  “Honestly, Bach? I don’t know.”

  “Me either.” I sit back, staring at him. I see the boy he used to be. The boy I used to be. The boys who promised to always have each other’s backs when no else would. “I’ll do it. I’ll look out for Harley. Even though I’m sure she’s going to be a pain in my ass.”

  This crazy relief comforts him. His shoulders slouch with it. “Thank you, Bach.”

  “Yeah, yeah. We done here? I have to puke again.”

  For some strange reason it takes last night a while to catch up with me. When Dylan leaves I’m still on the bathroom floor. I have a feeling that E was weak , that’s why I had to take so much. It was probably half acid. That’s why I was hallucinating. Or maybe, just maybe, I drank too much. Took too much. Ran too hard. No, it was weak. My heart continues to race, my body sweats, yet my mouth is so dry my tongue feels like it might break off.

  I think a shot might make me feel better. Fight fire with fire. I crawl to the kitchen. There’s an ice-cold bottle of vodka in the fridge. I sit with my back to it, unscrew the cap, and right as I put the bottle to my lips I catch sight of myself in the glass on the DVD cabinet. My hair is crazy, my skin is disgustingly pale, and my eyes look back at me in disgust.

  When did Bach Bachmen become disgusting?

  Harley

  The only comfort I find is the darkness beneath my eyelids.

  The only strength I have within the next week is dragging my body out of bed for my exams. I convinced my professor to let me take the one I missed. I think he could tell I was desperate. My appearance looked how my insides felt. Disheveled, forgotten, and broken. I probably failed anyway. All I could see when I tried to concentrate was Dylan’s face. His eyes. His pain. And yet he didn’t change his mind. He was still leaving.

  He left me.

  When he called I silenced it. When he texted I deleted them without reading his messages. When he came over I demanded with promises of extreme punishment to Len that she better not let him in. Dylan was gone. I had to pretend that was true until I believed it. There was no working this out. I wasn’t going to change my mind. Dylan left me for himself. It was the most backward thing I’ve ever witnessed. If I filled my heart with possibilities he would just crush them the same way he crushed me.

  My heart didn’t accept this as easily as my brain. It replayed every moment we ever had together over and over again, picking them apart, analyzing each touch. Slowly each memory became a vicious lie. His kisses were beautiful fibs. My name whispered on his breath was an untruth. Dylan never loved me. There was no way he could. Love is strong. It could have shown him another path. Not the one path I couldn’t handle.

  The worst part of this was he knew before he met me. He knew from the moment I laid eyes on him and him me that he wasn’t going to stick around. How could you do that to someone? I would never do that to him. I couldn’t imagine keeping in lies so big, so huge, that when I set them lose they’d rip him apart. He ripped me apart. I wondered what he meant when he said I love you. Did he laugh at me when I said it back? What about when we made love? Was each moan another brick in his lie foundation? Was I just some stupid naïve lay?

  “Ahh!” I shove my pillow over my head just as someone knocks on my door. “What?”

  Len opens my door and peeks in, sighing when she sees my face. “Are you sure you’re okay with me going back home for the summer? You don’t have to stay here. It’s just an apartment. We can get another one.”

  “Bye.”

  She purses her lips, starts to say something, and then drops it. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m leaving in a couple hours. My dad’s coming to get me. I’d love to know that I’m not leaving you in bed for three months.”

  In answer, I pull the sheet over my head.

  “Come on, Harley. It’s just a guy. One guy. There’s so many of them out there it’s nauseating.”

  Oh, like that makes me feel better. “Just close my door, Len.”

  “What did he do?”

  “Have fun.”

  “What did he do?” she demands, coming to sit on the end of my bed. “Tell me.” When I don’t answer, she touches my foot over the covers. “Did he cheat on you? Hit you? Come out?”

  I roll my eyes. “As if Dylan’s gay.”

  “He could be. My brother’s gay. You’d never tell. He’s manlier than my werewolf alpha.”

  I look at her over my covers. “How manly?”

  “He can bench press his boyfriend.”

  “Hmm. That is manly.” I lay back down. “Bye-bye now.”

&nbs
p; “Tell me, Harley. We’re friends, right? I know we’re not running around tagging BFF in our pictures, but we’re still friends.”

  “We don’t take pictures together. And don’t act like Dylan didn’t tell you when he came over a hundred times.” Every time the doorbell rang I cringed.

  “He didn’t. I was afraid you were going to stab me if I let him in. I talked to him through the window. He was desperate. Poor guy. I thought he was going to cry last night. He made it sound like he wasn’t going to be able to come back.”

  I close my eyes as his absence ravages me. He left last night. Or this morning. Either way he was gone this time. Suddenly I feel sick. I didn’t get to say goodbye. Then I remember what goodbyes do to me. It isn’t like Dylan is going on a fun trip with his boys. He’s going to war. I grew up in a house where war wasn’t idolized, but being in the army was, and even if it had been, it wasn’t anymore. There’s no getting around Dylan’s choice without acknowledging my own. Without admitting I have to let him go.

  “He lied to me.” I tell her as quickly as I can. The faster I get it out the quicker I can forget.

  “Wow.” She leans back with wide eyes, stunned. “What a prick. How can he do that? I mean that’s pretty cool he’s in the army, but lying to you about it? He’s so not alpha material anymore.”

  “What would you do?” I don’t know why I ask. Second chances are on a plane with Dylan. I imagine him in his uniform. I bet he’s handsome in it. Just like my father.

  “Honestly?” she asks around a smile, and I know it’s going to be dirty. “I’d hop in the lap of that friend of his. What’s his name? Bach? He’s sex on top of sex on top of mount me please.”

  Honestly. “How do you know Bach?”

  “I was at one of the fraternity parties a few nights ago. There was a freaking rager going on at the end of the street in one of the non-frat houses. We all went. Bach was there.” She grins so wide I think her cheeks will crack. “Have you seen him shirtless? Even his chest hair has muscles. Seriously?” She leans in close as if to whisper a secret. “I wouldn’t mind letting him fang me.”

  Too much information. “What was Bach doing?”

  “You mean who?” She laughs at my disgusted expression. “Don’t think less of me, but I’d drool, lick, and kick him.”

  “I don’t get it though. How do you know Dylan’s his friend?”

  “At the end of the night Bach was messed up. I mean CPR messed up. A lot of people were actually. Someone must’ve called Dylan to come and get him. It was an Ecstasy party.”

  Ecstasy? I shake my head at Bach’s behavior. I don’t know what Dylan sees in him. “He isn’t that sexy, Len. Calm down.”

  She gives me a weird look, as if I have three heads and not one of them possesses a brain with a single thought she agrees with. “Yes he is. He’s way hotter than Dylan.”

  “How about this? Dylan was my kind of sexy. The non-STD having kind of sexy. Bach’s filthy.”

  “Maybe that’s your problem. You need to broaden your idea of sexy. Bach’s like an ice cream cone in the summer. Everyone wants to lick it up to the very last drop. Man, I could go for some ice cream right now … ”

  I imagine plenty of women had already made that a reality for Bach. “What’s Dylan like?” I ask, curious despite how uncomfortable she’s making me.

  “An ice cube at the North Pole. He’s boring.”

  I remind myself that Len wants a werewolf to mount her. Her opinion is just as rooted in fantasy. “I don’t see it. Sorry. I mean yeah Bach’s attractive, but I think having an ice cube at the North Pole is better. The ice cube would never melt. It would never leave. The ice cream will do both.”

  “That’s the whole point,” she says, getting up and tapping my foot once more. “And you can pretend you won’t, but you’d have one hell of a time licking his cream off your body.”

  She comes back once more later that night to inform me that she’s leaving. I wish her summer well and attempt to make my expression less devastated when she asks once again if I’m all right to be alone. I lie, because that’s what I want. When the front door slams I’m all alone. I roll over to face the wall and let the obnoxious wave of depression building inside of me slam against me. Eventually I manage to sleep. At least I think I do. When you lay in the same position for hours it all feels the same.

  Something wakes me up. It’s still dark outside. I sit up and listen carefully, pausing for a second to steady myself against a sudden rush of dizziness. I’m lightheaded from lying for so long.

  A deep pounding sounds through the apartment. Someone’s knocking on the door. For a second I wait, hoping Len will get it, and then recall she isn’t here. I wait a little longer. Maybe whoever it is will get the hint and leave. But they don’t. In fact, they knock harder.

  Grumbling, I get out of bed, shuffling and awkward after being in it for the past week, over to my robe. I put it on as I make my way through the living room.

  Whoever it is knocks again. Hard. Len’s paintings of Paris she bought last summer shake on the wall. “I’m coming!” I shout impatiently, unlocking the door and wrenching it open.

  “About damn time,” Bach says. “What were you doing?”

  I don’t have to answer him. His eyes rake over my body, taking in my disheveled hair, red eyes, and lack of proper clothing. I’m wearing Dylan’s boxers and a camisole. I never even tied my robe. I quickly tie it and duck my head.

  For some reason I’m ashamed of having Bach see me like this. “What do you want?” I growl.

  He raises his eyebrow at me. “You’re a fucking mess.”

  “Please, Bach. Don’t flatter me too much. I’m so weak and frail I might fall for it.” I roll my eyes.

  “In that case I won’t tell you how your unwashed hair makes your lack of overall pride far less noticeable.”

  “Good-bye, Bach.” I move to close my door. His bullshit is the last thing I want to deal with right now. Why is he even here?

  “Harley, wait.” His arm shoots out to stop me, easing the door back open. “I came by to see how you were doing.”

  He’s got to be kidding. “You just want to see me fall don’t you?”

  “No. Although knowing you don’t wake up perfect has oddly satisfied me. I love being satisfied.” His pale green eyes, made even brighter by the light over my apartment door, latch onto mine. His dark brown eyelashes seem to highlight them and the naughtiness that lurks within.

  “I heard.” I run my fingers self-consciously over my hair, smoothing down the mess I know it’s become. “If you’re not here to gloat then you can leave now. I’m fine.”

  He doesn’t leave. He puts his hands in the pockets of his tight blue jeans and looks down at his shoes. “Dylan left this morning. I drove him to the airport.”

  I swallow twice. I have to. Once to swallow my tears and another to keep them down. “He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

  When Bach looks up I glimpse of a side of him I’ve never seen before. Something akin to what I’m feeling. I realize that Bach misses Dylan too. He’ll probably never admit it. Even if I took a picture of his face and showed him the sadness hiding on the edge of his eyes, he’d probably tell me how defined his jaw is, or how when he smirks his cheekbones smirk too.

  “I guess so,” he says offhandedly, proving me right. “He wanted me to give you this.” He pulls a folded envelope out of his back pocket and hands it to me.

  I stare at the envelope feeling too much to simplify into one word. Hate, love, anger, heartache; the emotions swirl around me. I take it from him, smoothing out the wrinkles. My name is written on the front in Dylan’s handwriting.

  “Did you read it?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” I hold the letter in front of me, as if his lies will penetrate the wall I’ve built around them in five short seconds. I don’t want to read his words. Not now. They’re too late.

  “What are you doing?” Bach follows me inside, closing my front door behind h
im.

  In answer, I turn the gas stove on. Dylan’s letter goes up in blue flames. When there’s nothing left but a few black burnt pieces I turn to Bach.

  And burst into tears.

  “Shit,” he mumbles. “Don’t cry.” He reaches for me awkwardly not knowing what to do. When he touches girls they’re probably naked and horny, begging him for it. Not fully clothed and crying. His hand settles on my elbow. “It’s only six months.”

  I pull free of him, staring at his hand like it might bite me. “It’s not six months. We’re done.”

  “Not my problem. I’m just the messenger.” He stares at his hand too. Then he puts it back in his pocket.

  “Bach,” I whisper. I can see it again. Dylan in his uniform. Cold. Bloody. Being honored for something that took him from me. I can hear him screaming for help and none comes. I start to hyperventilate.

  Poor Bach watches me helplessly.

  “Why did you let him go?” I scream at him. He’s here. Dylan’s not. Who else am I supposed to scream at? “Couldn’t you have stopped him? Told him not to do it. Didn’t you want him to stay?”

  “I found out about it the same day you did!” he screams back. “What could I have done?”

  Dylan lied to him the same way he lied to me. For once Bach and I had something in common. “I’m scared for him.”

  “So am I. I know Dylan better than you. He’s tough, way more than most, but he’s not that tough. I keep thinking of all the things that can go wrong out there. This time I’m not going to be there to protect him.” He looks down at the ground and then back up into my eyes, giving his rough exterior a break.

  “We could have stopped him.”

  “No,” he says. “We couldn’t have. Because if we were enough then he would’ve stayed. He never would’ve left.”

  He’s so right it makes me want to burn something else. I wasn’t enough. Bach wasn’t enough. Dylan’s out there searching for something eight thousand miles away from home. From me.

  “We can’t think that way though, babe. We have to pretend he’s out doing something normal like buying groceries. It may take him a while to get back with the milk, and it might be spoiled, but he’s coming back with it.”