Destroy Me (Crystal Gulf Book 1)

by Shana Vanterpool

  “Mhm.”

  Jona finishes rolling the joint and jumps into bed with us next to Brittney. He fires up the joint and takes a long toke. Then he hands it to me. I put the joint between my lips and inhale deeply. I ignore the need to cough and leave the smoke in my lungs, letting the drugs fill as much of me as they can. Then I lean over and kiss Brittney’s lips. She opens her mouth as I fill hers with my smoke. Handing her the joint I lay down and pretend this is what perfection is. This is what I want. Used girls with perky tits and drugs laced with more drugs. Kisses, naked skin, and forgetfulness.

  I don’t stop her when she reaches for my zipper. Or when she reaches for Jona’s. She goes back and forth, satisfying us both until we take turns satisfying her. The party hasn’t even started and already I’m forgetting. When all three of us are done Brittney and I keep going. Jona disappears for a good hour while she and I smoke another laced joint and show each other which is more fucked up. I think I win.

  “Justine was right,” she gasps, falling onto her back. Sweat coats her chest. “You’re a good lay.”

  I’m crawling out of my skin again. This time I can see my skin moving. It’s the dope. It has to be. I shake my head and blink my eyes. “You bit the shit out of me.” I touch my hip where her teeth marked me. When I look at her she isn’t Harley anymore. The only way I could finish was by pretending it was her hips grinding against mine.

  She laughs. “You loved it.”

  Only because Harley did it. “You want a ride home? I’m leaving anyway.” I have to get the hell out of here.

  “No, I’m good.” She jumps up and looks around the room for her clothes. As she hops into her skirt she spots me watching. “You cool? You’re pupils are dilated and you’re looking at me funny.”

  “Can I get your phone number?” I don’t know why I ask. This one doesn’t want strings. She’s my new Justine. “In case I want another bite to match this one.”

  “You want my number?” Her cute mouth opens wide. “Really?”

  No. Not really. “Yeah. Why not?”

  She laughs in disbelief. “Not happening. I don’t do seconds. One and done. Sorry.”

  I put my hands up, secretly relieved she turned me down. “Just thought I’d ask.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you at Justine’s party next week though. Her old man is going out of town. It’s on Saturday. Bring some more of that laced shit and we’ll see.” She snaps her bra in place and then her shirt. She looks like she just walked off a runway. “I had fun.” She hops into her black heels and then glances at me once before waltzing her ass out of Jona’s room, leaving me the way I’ve left so many.

  She’s the girl version of me.

  I’m impressed and I feel slightly used at the same time. The feeling is not something I’m used to.

  I also get dressed. I feel slimy again, covered in sex and sweat, and some of it’s Jona’s.

  Rock bottom is fucking disgusting.

  I struggle down the stairs. They’re moving, trying to keep me up instead of letting me go down. When I finally make it, Jona steps out of the kitchen dressed in a sleek black suit holding three shots.

  “Where’s Brittney?”

  “She left.” I take her shot and mine, tossing both back. My dress shirt is wrinkled now. So are my slacks. “How do I look?”

  “Like you just had a threesome.” He laughs at my face. “Don’t worry. I’m not ashamed of my dick now after seeing yours. But do you really need a dick that big though? It doesn’t seem fair.”

  I shove past him for the kitchen. More. I need more.

  “I smell like you,” he continues, rubbing it in. “Thanks for the cologne.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “She’s even dirty for us, huh?” He can’t breathe, he’s laughing so hard. “You going to puke?”

  I nod.

  “There’s a garbage can in the corner.”

  I barely make it there in time. After the last few pieces of orange chicken and tequila shoot out of my mouth I slide to the floor.

  Rock bottom is fucking uncomfortable.

  “Here,” he says, offering me a piece of gum and another shot. What are friends for? “I’ll meet you in the car.”

  I drag my disgusting, filthy, Jona covered body out to his truck. “I can’t do this anymore,” I sob. “I don’t want to be like this.”

  He starts his car and turns the radio up. “Too bad. We don’t have a choice, Bach. This is our lives. This is who we’ll always be. Forever,” he adds solemnly.

  I roll my window down and puke over the side.

  Rock bottom is fucking puking into the wind.

  Harley

  Back is lying.

  I repeat this mantra over and over again. He’ll come around. He’s running. When he gets tired he’ll come back and apologize the way he has since Dylan left. He’ll show up on my doorstep and whisper my name. I’ll pick up the pieces like I promised I would.

  But Bach doesn’t come back.

  He doesn’t apologize.

  Maybe Bach wasn’t lying.

  I roll over in bed and force my body to move, breathe, and exist. If I don’t Mom will come and get me. She’ll give me that a mom’s gotta do what a mom’s gotta do look again. I can’t stand that look. It’s her fault he ran.

  After I take a long shower, I stand in front of the mirror in my towel, staring at my reflection in the steamed up glass. I don’t know who this girl is anymore. She looks like me. We still look the same. But I can’t recognize her in my eyes. There’s an ugly sadness in them that didn’t used to be there. It’s Dad’s fault, Dylan’s fault, and now it’s Bach’s fault. Men hurt. They pave the way with hopes of love and dangle the connection in front of us, and then take it with them when you follow their path. They give so much and take even more. They leave you lost.

  “Knock knock.” Mom pokes her head in the bathroom. “Oh good. You’re up.”

  I give her a forced smile. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. Unless you think I can pull off being naked at the breakfast table?”

  “Not this morning.” She glares at me and closes the bathroom door.

  I have to remind myself that Bach never promised me anything. We weren’t together. He wasn’t mine. I threw myself at him. He didn’t want me. I was just a promise to Dylan.

  “Bastard!” I shout, smearing my face on the mirror.

  I want to slap him again. My hand aches to leave another mark on his face. I stomp back to my bedroom and get dressed, seething. I pull my skinny jeans on and plunge a camisole over my head, sweeping my brush through my hair before heading downstairs. Being mad is a lot better than being sad. That’s all Bach elicits is anger. Anything else is wasted on him.

  I wasted something on him.

  When I get to the breakfast table no one waited for me. Grams’s helping cut Stacey’s French toast while Grandpa and Froy read newspapers. I sit at the only free spot with a plate of food in front of it. I miss him. I don’t want to miss him. We barely know each other. So what if he’s gone? He was never here to begin with.

  I take a sip of my cold black coffee. I can’t stand the images of him face down, suffocating in his puke like he almost did at my apartment. What if no one’s there to help him this time? What if there is and she’s better than me? I can picture just about anything when it comes to him and other women. It drives me insane.

  I cut into my sausage and shove it into my mouth, chewing through it. Carolyn catches my eye and winks, knowing damn well I’ve been pissed ever since Bach left. I wink back, mouthing the word “bitch” right at her. She laughs quietly to herself as if my troubles amuse her.

  “How’s breakfast, baby?” She runs her fingers through her husband’s hair, throwing her happy marriage at me. Froy nods, smiling at her with his mouth full. “Good. Eat up.”

  Briefly, I wonder what Carolyn would do. She’s married to a handsome man, she’s rich, and she’s got the body of a well-practiced surgeon. And she’s a cold-hearted cunt. What
if the reason Dylan and Bach did this to me was because I let them? I practically begged them for it. They’d never do it to Carolyn. But they did it to me.

  I promise myself right then and there that they won’t do it again. No man will. The fact that I can’t recognize myself makes sense now. I don’t want to remember or be her. She’s a trusting idiot who only wanted to believe there was good in people. There isn’t. Not the people who killed my father when they planted that bomb. Not Dylan when he lied and cheated. And not Bach when he promised I’d be first.

  Carolyn frowns at me when I don’t go for her bait. She drops her hand and continues to eat.

  After I’m done eating I excuse myself and leave the table. What I really want to do is destroy it. Knock the dishes down, scar the wood, and step on the things that manage to escape my wrath. Maybe then I’ll feel better. I throw on my bathing suit and go take my anger out on the pool. I refuse to remember Bach when he was back here. I won’t think about how beautiful he was playing with Carolyn’s kids. How much I wanted him in that moment. It was like seeing a Bach I never knew existed. He was happy and patient, doing everything he could to make them happy. I can’t have him. He never wanted me.

  He isn’t lying.

  Thinking about all of times I threw myself at him makes me sick to my stomach. He wasn’t turning me down because he was trying to be a good guy. He turned me down because he didn’t want me. I swim harder, forgetting his lips, his eyes, and his hands on my body. I sucked his dick. His dick! And the bastard let me. Let me knowing he wanted nothing to do with me. I want to cut my tongue out. Forget the feel of his thickness, his heat, and his moans. They were lies.

  I push my arms and legs, diving under the water. Was this a game to them both? When Dylan asked Bach to watch out for me was he doing it knowing I’d bite? I can envision them laughing, sharing texts about how pathetic I am. Anger, hot and unflinching, burns in my chest. I want to make them both pay.

  As the sun dips in the sky that night its heat doesn’t leave me. There is a burning in my soul now. Every time I think of Dylan or Bach it sears. When I think of them together it blisters. When I think of cutting their dicks off it rejoices. They’re lying, unfaithful excuses of men and I can’t believe I fell for both of them. But it was so hard not to. Dylan pulled me out of my depression and Bach saved me from the one Dylan left behind. How could the time Bach and I shared be a lie after I swore it was the only truth around?

  “Do you really have to leave?” Mom begs the next afternoon, following me out to the taxi I called.

  “Yes, Mom. I have things to do at home.”

  “Like what?”

  “Boring college stuff.”

  “Can’t you do them here?” She grabs my arm, stopping me from putting my stuff in the back of the taxi. “I don’t understand why you keep leaving me.”

  I sigh. Great, keep piling on the guilt. “I’m not leaving you. I’m going home. That’s all. I’ll be back in a couple weeks. I promise.”

  If I stay here any longer I’m going to explode. Everyone’s eyes are daring me to tell the truth. But I’m not telling anyone the truth when even I can’t handle it.

  “Two weeks.” She smiles, pleased, and wraps her arms around me. “You need cab money?”

  “No thank you. I got it. I’ll call as soon as I get home.”

  “You’d better. And tell Bach I said it was a pleasure having him. He left so fast I didn’t get a chance to tell him how good his steaks were.”

  I grind my teeth together. A pleasure? Were we at the same lunch? “I’ll tell him.”

  “You two okay? You’ve been a raging bitch these past few days and he’s MIA. Anything happen that I should know about?”

  My laugh rushes out of me in surprise. “I’m sorry. I promise. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at … other things. Bach and I are fine. He just had to get home.”

  “Hmm,” she mutters.

  I don’t even know why I still bother trying to lie. She sees inside of my brain as if it’s translucent. I lean over and kiss her cheek. “I gotta go.”

  “You know,” she says, not letting me leave quite yet. “Sometimes the ones that make us hurt make us hurt because we let them. Sometimes they make us hurt because we can’t stop them. And other times they make us hurt because we want them to.” Then she turns on her heel and heads for the front door, as if everything I ever needed to know existed within that cryptic mom message.

  I stare after her with a frown. “Thanks, I guess.”

  I grumble expletives under my breath as soon as the cab door closes after me. The drive back to Crystal Gulf doesn’t comfort me. I have a feeling nothing will for a long time. It isn’t even because of Bach. Or his lying, cheating, evil best friend. But they damn sure didn’t help. This feeling of anger and resentment will grow before it lessens. When I get dropped off at my apartment I walk numbly up the stairs and wait until the door closes to let it out. I’m safe here. In my apartment I am the girl Dylan betrayed and the girl Bach didn’t want. When I leave here I’m the girl they never should have messed with.

  She’s scary.

  I try to ignore the aftermath of Bach, but he’s still in my apartment. The smell of his puke still clings to the air. His sweat and moans are still in my sheets. I rip my bedding off and march it down to the laundry room. Then I grab a bottle of air freshener and spray my apartment, opening the windows so it can air out. When he’s finally gone I don’t feel better. I should. Once again this is my chance. He gave it to me on a silver platter. I can leave Dylan and Bach behind for good this time. Move on, figure out where I’m going, and just go there already.

  But then they’d never know what they did to me. They’d never understand that you can’t go around screwing with people’s emotions, with their hearts. Hearts break. I want their hearts to break, want them both to have fissures so wide they oozed, got infected, and never healed.

  It looks like the new Harley was back. She paces her apartment, a lioness caught in a cage. Her teeth want to taste flesh and her claws want blood.

  Before I lose myself completely I call my mom to let her know I got home safely. She tries to persuade me to come back home but I quickly belt out a lame excuse about laundry. When she attempts to remind me how frail Grams is I remind her I’d seen Grams playing hopscotch with Stacey this morning. Then I hung up, because there was a reason Dad never won an argument.

  As I’m passing by the bathroom door something catches my eyes. Bach’s clothes are still on the bathroom floor. I sigh sadly staring at them. How could that man have been lying? He came to my apartment, whispered my name in his sleep, and fell apart in my arms. How could all of that mean nothing to him? As I reach for his jeans I wonder if there’s a slight chance he might actually be lying. Why would he run from me when I only wanted him to come to me first? He could be lying. Or, I think bitterly, you’re just a pathetic whore and he used you like he used every girl before you, how he’ll use the ones after.

  When I snatch his puke covered jeans up something falls out of his pocket. A couple twenties folded together. I stuff those in my pocket. He’s not getting it back this time. He’s also not getting back the orange pills. I put those in my other pocket. Then I take all of his clothes and put them in my hamper. I want them. I’m not going to explain myself to New Harley. She doesn’t know everything.

  I march his clothes and some of mine down to the laundry room and switch over loads.

  “You almost done?”

  I look up at a hottie. Washboard abs, wavy ash blond hair, and sky blue eyes. I immediately wish his eyes were sea green, that his hair was brown and sexy, and that his abs were normal. Bach’s abs are normal. This guy worked out to work out. New Harley smacks me in the back of my head. She forces me to rise, smile flirtatiously, and grin. “No, I just started.”

  Don’t be yourself, she orders. Not unless you want a few more holes in your heart.

  He smiles back cockily, leaning against the washer. “How long are you going to b
e?” His eyes slide over my body. He starts with my face, staying a long time on my eyes the way Bach does. I like that part. Then he goes down to my breasts, my stomach, and then my legs. He likes my legs the most. Bach liked my ass. I’m slightly disappointed. When his eyes return to mine he is unashamed of his assessment.

  “What’s the verdict?” I ask. I can’t help myself. “Do I pass inspection?”

  He laughs. “You pass.”

  Jerk. “I’m so pleased.” New Harley controls my tongue. “I just started here. If you leave your clothes here I’ll put them in for you.”

  “How nice of you. What if I leave my number too? You can call me when you do.”

  I’m sure that’s what he wants me to have his number for. Laundry. I was Laundry Harley. Boring Harley. New Harley begs to be set free. To show him he couldn’t possibly handle me. “Yeah, sure. What is it?”

  “Dean!” someone shouts.

  He rolls his eyes. “In here,” he shouts back.

  “Busted,” I mumble, bending over to shove the last of my Bach free bedding into the dryer.

  Men lie. They are liars.

  “She’s just some bitch I met last night at a party. We can still talk.”

  I glance at him in shock. “You mean so I can be the bitch you met at the laundry room? No thanks, dickhead.”

  The bitch he met at the party comes into the laundry room. When she spots me her eyes widen and when I put her face with the smell of cheap flowers and sugar so do mine.

  “Harley?”

  “Hey,” I respond. I don’t know what else to say. We’re both side effects of Bach.

  “You two know each other?” Dickhead wonders, backing away from me like I’m diseased.