Indecent Exposure_The Academy

by Tessa Bailey

  They’re still wearing the same perfume. It burns the insides of my nostrils and I resent the hell out of the smell, because it’s marring the mint Katie left on me. Just having their bodies pressed to mine makes me want to rip my skin off and grow a fresh layer. My mother is looking at me strangely over their heads, so I force a smile onto my face and pat the women on the backs a few times, before extricating myself.

  Sucking in a few deep breaths, I pray my voice sounds normal. “Listen, Ma, the water should be hot now.” I back towards the hallway. “Call me if it goes cold again.”

  My mother takes a step in my direction. “Is everything okay, Jack?”

  She didn’t use my nickname, meaning she’s genuinely worried. My gut grows even sicker knowing I can’t stick around and reassure her. What the fuck would I say anyway? Eight years later, there’s nothing she can do about what happened. She feels enough guilt for raising me in a cat house—I’m not adding to it. “Yeah, Ma. You’re such a worrier. Call you later.”

  One of the women blatantly checks me out behind my mother’s back, the other throwing me a secretive wink. I barely manage not to hurl as I escape into the hallway, snatching up my backpack and burning shoe rubber out of the apartment. I’m down the stairs in seconds, moving at breakneck speed, throwing myself out into the cool afternoon air. Dragging it into my lungs. A cab slows at the curb, the driver probably sensing I want to get the fuck out of Dodge. I do. I do. I want to get to Katie and wrap myself around her.

  The smell of floral perfume reaches up and smacks me in the face. Christ, I can’t go to Katie like this. Not only with this smell on me, but with the deceitful touch lingering on my skin, this bile clogging my throat. I’d take one look at her and confess everything, but I would regret it. Yes, I would. Because she would never see me the same way again. Katie already has too many reasons to be ashamed of me. My history with girls, the fact that I have nothing to offer her, professionally or economically. And those are just the things she’s aware of.

  I won’t give her more.

  Banishing the image of her laying naked in the hotel bed, smiling at me, I wave off the still-waiting cab and start walking. There’s a piercing howl in my ear, telling me to turn around or get an Uber back to the East Side, but I can see the familiar, fading sign up ahead and know. I know as soon as that liquid burn hits my throat, I’ll be closer to forgetting.

  Need to forget. Need to.

  I’m so sorry, Katie.

  Before I enter the bar, I dig my cell phone out of my pocket and call Danika. She answers on the second ring, her voice wary. “What’s wrong, huh?” I croak. “You’ve been waiting for the goddamn shoe to drop?”

  Silence. “It doesn’t have to. You sound fine.” She reverses directions and tries to be casual, but can’t pull it off. “Where are you? I’ll come hang out.”

  My snort probably has her bristling. I’m too desperate to get inside the bar to smooth her feathers, though. “I need you to do me a favor.” The door handle bites into my palm. “I’m going to text you Katie’s hotel and room number.” Saying her name, knowing I’m disappointing her, makes me want to lie down on the curb. “Will you go over there tonight? I don’t want her going out alone. Just . . . show her a good time. No guys. Don’t let other guys talk to her. Don’t let them look at her. Please, D. I’ll fucking owe you for the rest of my life.”

  “You already owe me.” She curses. “I didn’t mean that, all right? We’re even. Just come home and we’ll go see Katie together.”

  Yearning twist in my belly. “Can’t see her like this.”

  “Like what?”

  I punch the door, scaring the dog walker passing by on the sidewalk. The dryness in my throat is getting more intense by the second, my back muscles straining. Maybe I should have seen this coming after denying myself too much too quick. Keeping the difficulty of stopping my vice on a dime to myself, locked up. Now it’s breaking out and thirsty for blood. “Look, I have to go. Are you going to help me out or not?”

  “Jack.” I don’t answer, just wait, my jaw ticking. “Fine. I’ll go.”

  “Thank you.”

  I hang up and walk into a perfect combination of heaven and hell.

  Chapter 16

  Katie

  Jack reaches out for me.

  But then his hand pauses in midair and drops to his side.

  There’s a sharp object lancing my ribs, twisting, pushing deeper as he searches my face. Does he see my indecision? Can he tell I want to run, but the gravity of him is holding me in thrall? Even intoxicated, he’s magnetic and beautiful. God, he’s so beautiful. There’s sadness swirling in the green of his eyes, taking the place of his usual mischief. His tall, muscled frame is somewhat hunched in on itself, but there’s no doubt of his strength, even in this moment of utter weakness. Or maybe I’m the only one seeing it as weakness, because Jack’s sensual mouth suddenly lifts into a devastating smile. It doesn’t banish the lurking sadness, but I can see he’s made a decision. A decision to brazen out the situation, instead of talking to me. Instead of making me understand.

  Danika droops a little to my left, her arm unhooking from mine, as if she was hoping for something different. So was I. But what? I have no idea what I expect from Jack anymore. Maybe I was naive to expect anything in the first place, when I had a feeling all along there was a monster swimming beneath the surface. Waiting to rear its head.

  Here is what I’m sure about. I’m not leaving Jack tonight. Tomorrow will be a time for hard decisions and even more difficult execution of those decisions, but with him standing right in front of me, I remember last night. Remember the care he took with me, how he put me at ease. Before we part ways, I can try to do the same for him.

  “I know you don’t do bars, Snaps. But, look. Honey. It’s going to be fine, right?” He realizes there’s still a cigar clamped in the side of his mouth and tosses it away. Then he goes searching for two stools, giving some male customers a hard time about not giving up their seats for ladies. They grumble about having to stand, but eventually gain their feet and Jack drags the stools over. Danika hops onto her seat, arms crisscrossed over her middle, but before I can do the same, Jack lifts me onto the creaky wood, smoothing hands over my clothes and running his fingers over my face, like he’s unsure if I’m really there. “I’ll play you a song, huh? Anything you want to hear. It’ll be fine.”

  “Jack—”

  “Van Morrison. He’s Irish, right?” I start to protest again, but his expression turns imploring and I’m convinced there isn’t a person alive who can deny Jack when he’s like this. All cajoling and sweet and apologizing with his hands, his eyes. He’s not an angry drunk. Not a belligerent one. He’s the sad, soulful kind. A single nod is all I can manage, otherwise I might begin sobbing, and his head bows with relief. His gaze falls to my mouth like he’s thinking of kissing me, wanting it badly, but he swallows, turns away and returns to the piano.

  “Thanks for staying.” Danika voice is rusted smoke. “I know you wanted to bail.”

  “I won’t. Not until tomorrow.”

  She sucks in a breath. “It was a mistake to bring you here.”

  There’s no answer for that, so I stay silent. Danika doesn’t know about my brother. If she did, maybe she would sympathize. But I’m too rubbed raw to explain how much it hurts to be around Jack like this. How much it reminds me of what I’ve lost. Nothing good comes from drinking to excess, only bad decisions and pain. I won’t subject myself to a fresh, daily delivery of mine.

  As soon as Jack plays the opening notes of the song, I recognize Astral Weeks and I’m transported back to my parents’ living room in Dublin. Watching them slow dance in front of the fireplace on Christmas Eve. Sharing an eye roll with Sean, even though both of us were secretly loving watching them behave like two lovesick fools. For a beat of time, the memory comforts me, but I don’t want to be comforted. Not in a place like this. And not by Jack who is watching me closely over the top of the piano, half of his
face obscured by the vodka bottle. It’s too tempting to forgive his faults. To excuse his lie.

  Suddenly I’m restless with the need to prove a point, even if the reasons are murky. I’m sad, I’m hurt, I feel like I’ve been duped into betraying my brother’s memory. The only method I had for so long to keep Sean alive was staying away from alcohol. Keeping away from bars and drinking and reminders of people losing control of themselves. That abstinence was meant to honor him. As was this trip. Maybe what I decide to do next is completely arse backwards, but I need someone to understand the hurt. Need Jack to understand.

  Taking a deep breath for courage, I turn to face the bar, happening to catch the bartender as he passes. “Excuse me. I’d like . . . a shot. Whiskey, please.”

  “She doesn’t mean that,” Danika says, having spun around at record speed. “We’ll both have a Sprite.”

  “No,” I say patiently. Sort of. “I’ll have whiskey.”

  Danika pinches the bridge of her nose as the bartender whistles under his breath and trundles a few feet away to fetch a glass. “Look, I get that I’m missing something here, but I know damn well that two drunk people are never better than one.”

  “What’s going on?” Jack appears between us, his face turning the color of ash when the bartender sets down the shot of golden liquid in front of me. “Who is that for?”

  “Me.”

  “Katie,” he breathes, gripping the edges of the bar for balance. “Please, don’t.”

  He makes a tortured noise as I drain the shot.

  It’s horrible. My eyes tear up and my throat screams like its scorched. There’s also a gong of victory in the back of my mind that I hate. The hate doesn’t stop me from wanting to hear it again. This is the ripple effect of bad decisions, isn’t it? Jack lied to me, I went along with it like a besotted idiot, ignoring the warning signs. Am I drinking to punish myself for being stupid? That’s part of it, yeah. I’m also punishing him for lying by making him watch the consequences with his own two eyes. I need him to understand pain. My pain.

  It’s more than Jack’s lying that has me angry, though. His good time isn’t always a good time for the people that care about him. Danika, me, his friends, his potential. Jesus, his potential is through the stupid roof and he’s throwing it away. For what?

  “Another one, please,” I call to the amused barman.

  “No. No more. Katie.” Jack wraps his arms around my waist, burrowing his face into the crook of my neck and sawing his forehead back and forth. “I get it. I get it. Please, stop.”

  “Why? Why should I stop?”

  “Because you’re killing me.”

  A hole is punched in my defense, but I plug it with determination. “No, you’re killing yourself. This is what it looks like from the other side.”

  Needing to distract myself from the colossal urge to hug him back, I dig American money out of my purse and lay it on the bar, exchanging it for the shot in front of me, plus the one I drank before. As soon as the man leaves with my bills in his hand, I toss back the second shot, my entire body vibrating with Jack’s agonized shout. It echoes in my skull, making me wish I’d stopped after one. Even though he lied, even though he kept his problem from me, my whole body aches with his pain and I know. I know tomorrow is going to be excruciating.

  I can’t see Jack’s face because it’s turned into my neck, but my gaze catches Danika’s and her leveled expression tells me I’ve done enough. Unshed tears shine in her eyes and it looks as if she wants to vanish through the floor.

  “Let’s go home,” I say softly.

  Jack yanks me off the stool into his arms, staggering some before getting his feet planted. I remain there limp, like a rag doll, being squeezed and admonished and apologized to, over and over, his hoarse voice making my throat hurt. There’s a slight buzz moving along my blood, but I’m still stone-cold sober and I’m grateful for that. I’m even more grateful when we walk out of the bar, Jack’s arm still keeping me plastered to his side, and hail the first cab we see.

  Over. It’s over, I think.

  But the night is far from finished.

  Jack

  I can’t go to sleep. Can’t.

  If I go to sleep with this much vodka in my system, I’ll be passed out. Not sleeping.

  Which means I won’t wake up when Katie tries to leave.

  She’s going to leave, too. Even now, she’s thinking about it. There’s not a fucking doubt in my mind. And I’m not too drunk to be scared about waking up alone.

  Danika escaped into her room the second we entered the apartment, leaving me to follow Katie through my kitchen like a scolded puppy. Ever since she took those shots of whiskey in the bar, I’ve been walking around with electrocuted bones. My brain hurts. Don’t even get me started on the organ in my chest. It’s beating like it already gave up on me, too.

  Katie doesn’t drink because of her brother. The way he died. But I drove her to break that personal code tonight. I reached into her life, her beautiful, noble convictions and turned the switches until they pointed at something negative. Destructive.

  This incredible girl subjecting herself to the same vulnerability I have was unacceptable. I know alcohol abuse is an ugly thing. It blurs something ugly inside me, but watching it potentially blur the beauty in Katie? It was like being slapped by a wave of ice. I’m blurring my ugly, but I’m erasing anything that could grow in its place, too. I’m robbing myself of a life.

  Too late, though. I’m seeing this all too goddamn late.

  The lack of communication between me and Katie has my pulse ebbing out like low tide, until she hands me Advil and a glass of water. Then it goes wild like the crowd at a Yankees game after a grand slam.

  I savor the action of taking the pills, knowing Katie gave them to me. “Thank you.”

  It’s a feat, keeping my voice steady. Not running my words together. Focusing and answering when I’m addressed. Not repeating myself or rambling. But I have a lot of experience being drunk around sober people, so I’ve grown adept at appearing normal. I don’t think Katie is buying it, though. She’s looking right through me with those eyes, those eyes, those fucking gorgeous eyes I just want to keep on me. Keep them on me.

  “Okay, Jack. I’ll keep them on you,” she murmurs, telling me I’d spoken out loud. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

  “Nope.” God, why do I do this to myself? I can hear myself sounding like an absolute moron and there’s no way to stop. “Nope, as soon as I’m asleep, you’re going to climb down the fire escape or join the circus and I won’t be able to find you.”

  Panic crashes in when she doesn’t make a joke or even answer me.

  We walk into my room and I attempt to see it through her eyes. Clothes draped over a single chair, full-sized IKEA bed with a red comforter, my Rat Pack bobbleheads. Nothing hanging up, apart from a picture of my mother, a couple of old street signs from Hell’s Kitchen, a cracked mirror I can’t remember breaking. An image of her perfectly packed suitcase of purses jumps to mind and I shake my head. “This isn’t how I pictured my room looking when I imagined you here.” I don’t realize I’ve been attempting to unzip my jacket without success until Katie stops in front of me and completes the job in one efficient movement, easing the leather off my shoulders. “Sometimes I imagine you in a field of flowers, which . . . I don’t even know what that looks like. I think my brain hijacked it from a Ralph Lauren commercial.”

  She flashes me a somber look from beneath that crowd of eyelashes. “Whenever I picture you, I think of the day we met. You’re walking away, telling me it’s going to take a long time to forget my eyes.”

  My heart wrenches sideways. “It would have taken a long time after five minutes, Katie,” I rasp. “Now it would take forever. Maybe longer.”

  “Can you sleep in this?” Katie says quickly, her attention on the ground. “In your jeans and shirt . . . ?”

  The way she ignores me throwing my soul at her feet makes the small talk pointless. A
waste of time when I need to be figuring out how to fix what I broke. If she’ll let me. She shouldn’t let me. I’m praying she does. “I’m so sorry about tonight.” I reach for her, but she steps away, wrecking me. “How bad have I fucked up?”

  “It’s not about fucking up, Jack.” She stops to glance at the picture of my mother, before swinging her quiet focus back to me. “It’s just that our broken parts only make the damage in one another worse.”

  “No.” I shake my head, kicking up a round of resented dizziness. “Jesus, Katie. You couldn’t damage me any more than I am. Not even if you tried.”

  “I tried to tonight.” Regret lines her pretty face. “I drank that whiskey to hurt you.”

  “Because I hurt you first.” Throbbing begins down the center of my skull, like it has cracked down the middle. “I lied to you. I broke my promise and no amount of shit in my head is an excuse for that.”

  “What shit?”

  My ears ring from shouting. I press my lips together tight to keep everything from spilling out. I breathe through my nose to calm myself down so we can have a conversation that doesn’t end in me making things worse, but it doesn’t work. How can I be calm when I’m losing this girl? My girl. A direct result of my actions. How long did I really think I could get away with lying to her? Lying to myself had been easy for so long, but with the ultimate failure staring me in the face, the full magnitude of what I could lose is pounding down on me like a violent storm.

  I can feel rationality slipping from my hands. The vodka’s heat is still kissing my insides, too, trying to give me the false sense that I’m dreaming. That this can’t be real. Blackness is starting to creep along my edges, like a siren’s song, luring me to close my eyes and forget everything until tomorrow. I’ve done it so many nights. It won’t work this time, though. As soon as I’m conscious, my reality will be without her. Hang on. Hang in there.