by J. L. Beck
Shit. I fucked up. I'm a horrible fucking friend.
“He’s cooling off in the backyard. You’re more than welcome to come back in when you are done with…whatever this is, and if you want to talk, well I’m all ears. I know what it’s like to be angry, boiling over with rage.”
“Fine.” I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the tension from my muscles. Remington gives me a hard look, as if he's psychoanalyzing me. I heard about what happened between him and Jules, the bet gone bad.
Maybe he thinks I’m like him, or the way he used to be. I don’t know, but I don’t like the way he’s looking at me right now. Like he can somehow fix this, me. As if he can hear my thoughts being projected onto him, he takes Jules’ hand and walks back into the house with Thomas.
Alone at last, I take a few deep breaths to clear the blender also known as my mind. I shouldn’t have punched him, I know that, but I was angry, hell, I still am. Even so, he didn’t deserve it. No one deserves to have to deal with my piss poor attitude tonight.
Swallowing my pride, I walk around the house and find Clark sitting in a lawn chair in the backyard. He frowns when he sees me coming toward him, but doesn’t say anything. He probably thinks I’m going to slug him again. Taking the chair closest to him, I ready myself to apologize, I open my mouth to speak when the sliding door to the backyard opens and Ava walks out, holding two ice packs in her hands.
She walks up, and this time I can’t help it, my eyes rake over her body, the skinny jeans that hug her ass and legs like a glove, the simple NWU t-shirt. Her mere presence breaks me, and I hate it. I hate that I’m weak for her, weak for the enemy. All I can think of is how tight her pussy squeezed my fingers the other night, how ready she was for me. I know she’s weak for me, just like I am for her, but it can’t happen, won’t happen, not ever again.
She hands each of us one, but I refuse to take it. I refuse to take anything from her. I wouldn’t have even punched Clark if it wasn't for her. She makes me insane with need, with jealousy, with rage. Clark has no trouble taking his ice pack and holds it to his jaw while leaning back in the chair, a void expression on his face.
The good thing about Clark is, unlike me, he doesn’t hold grudges.
“Vance, just take the damn bag of ice, your face is already swelling,” Ava scolds, holding the ice to my face like she actually cares. Pff, she doesn’t give a fuck. She’d love to see me fall, love to see me broken. Angrily, and like an immature bastard, I slap the bag out of her hand, watching it spill out on the patio. She gasps, taking a step back.
Jesus, I’m losing it.
I should just fuck her already, get her out of my system. Maybe if I fuck her hard enough, I can fuck her straight from my mind.
“You think just because I fingered you one time that suddenly were friends? That I want your help? What we did doesn’t mean shit…you don’t mean shit. Stay the fuck away from me, or I’ll make you stay away, and believe me you don’t want me to have to do that,” I yell, just wanting her to go away, far, far away.
Her cheeks turn a dark shade of pink and I know I’ve embarrassed her, sliced her deep. And for the second time today, I let her walk away from me when all I want to do is pull her in, keep her close. I shake my head before letting my face fall into my hands.
I’m the definition of a hot fucking mess right now.
“Shiitttt! I can’t believe I didn’t see this before.” Clark chuckles beside me, the noise shocking me. “You have a thing for her. Fuck, maybe even more than a thing, considering how crazy you’ve been acting. It makes sense now. You’ve never tried to punch me, and we’ve shared chicks plenty of times and we’ve never fought, not until her.” He pauses for a moment, having pieced my fucked up puzzle of a life together.
“You’ve got it bad for her.”
“I hate her,” I mumble into my hands, more to myself but Clark hears me.
“Are you sure about that? Do you really hate her or are you trying to hate her? It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself, even more than everyone else. It’s okay to want her. She’s attractive, funny, and super smart.”
Just hearing Clark talk about her like he knows her irritates me. It should be me who’s getting to know her, going on dates, holding her hand. But I’m too strung up on the past. She keeps telling me she doesn’t know what I’m talking about and I’m slowly starting to doubt what I think is the truth. No one can hold up a front that good, not even her. She might be an actress, but when she cries, her tears are real, when I hurt her with my words her hurt is real. Every single emotion she projects onto me is real.
“I don’t know anymore,” I sigh. Even if she is telling the truth and she didn’t accuse me that night. I still spent five years hating her. I can’t erase that time, neither can I erase how I’ve been treating her the last few weeks.
“Look, if I would have known you had a thing for her. I wouldn’t have tried to get into her panties, not that I think she would have let me anyway. She seems to be immune to my charm. It’s infuriating as hell, by the way. I’ve never met a woman I couldn’t get to take their panties off for me.” He laughs softly. “She doesn’t have eyes for me, Van. She has eyes for you. I see it, clear as day.”
I snort, turning to face him, grimacing at the purple bruise that’s developing on his cheek. “Then why are you still hanging out with her?” It’s not like Clark to hang out with a girl unless he’s getting a piece of ass. Even then, he fucks them and goes on his merry way. Women are expendable to Clark and he only goes for the easiest ones.
He’s a hit it and quit it guy, and he’s so serious about it, that he’s vowed never to fall in love. I mean I’m a dick, but even I know someday I’ll fall in love. It’s inevitable.
“Honestly, she’s really fun to hang out with. She’s the first girl I actually enjoy having a conversation with. And one of the few people who can see through my bullshit. She doesn’t care about her makeup or her hair, and she’s honest, like almost so honest it hurts. I like her…but I don’t like her. I see her more as one of the bros, ya know?”
I let my eyes drift closed momentarily. I would know these things if I pulled my head out of my ass, if I tried. Fuck, my heart seems to tense up inside my chest. The idea of letting go of the pain she caused me. It feels like I’m letting down my mother, letting down my father, even though he doesn’t deserve an ounce of my pity, not anymore. Yeah, we bounced back from it, but we had to lose it all to get here.
“I don’t think I can let this go, Clark.” My admission feels like a weight is being lifted off my shoulders, but it’s only one weight…there are still hundreds more.
“I think you need to. Holding onto that kind of anger, it eats at you. It’s been five years, it’s time to let it go. Plus, you should talk to her about it. Ask her what happened that night. Her version of it all. Maybe there’s more to the story that you don’t know about.”
My face deadpans. He makes it sound like he knows something I don’t know but he doesn’t. Whatever Ava told him, it’s a lie. My parents told me what she did, and they wouldn’t lie to me…would they?
36
Ava
Alan, a friend of Remington and Jules, hands me another shot and I down it just as fast as I did the last one. The liquor burns less this time, my body slowly numbing itself. Now I know why people drink their problems away, because the alcohol makes you forget. Which is all I want. To forget… to let go. This is what I need, to drink my troubles away with my friends like a normal college student. Forget Vance, my mother, and my seriously fucked up life.
“Are you okay?” Jules asks, placing a hand on my arm. Her touch is gentle, and I’ve come to see Jules as the mother hen. Always nurturing, caring, and being supportive. She’s the best friend I wish I had for the last five years.
“No, but I’m getting there,” I say, gesturing to Alan to get me another shot. The boy would make an excellent bartender.
“Just ignore him, he’s a man, and men are idiots sometimes.�
�
“Girl, I wish it was that easy. It’s hard to ignore someone who is living under the same roof as you, in fact, right across the hall, and then going to the same university.”
“I’m sorry, Ava.” Jules pouts. “You can always come hang out with me if you need to get away. Remington and I live right off campus. It’s literally a block or two away. We have a spare bedroom too.”
“Thank you. Really, we just met and you’re already such a good friend. For once, I’m grateful Vance did something stupid, because it led me to you.”
“Any time, and trust me.” She leans in, her voice a whisper, almost as if she doesn’t want anyone to hear her. “It might not seem like it’s going to get better right now, but last year I was kind of in your shoes. I had moved here after my dad and brother died in a car accident. I had no one. I was alone and needed a friend, and it didn’t help I had other issues going on.” Her eyes cut to her very protective boyfriend who is standing no less than five feet away at all times. “So yeah, believe it or not, I know how you feel.”
“Oh Jules, I’m so sorry.” I frown and pull her into a hug. Her embrace is warm, and I’m reminded why I miss hugs so much. They’re like the glue that holds you through the bad days.
“Another shot, miss?” Alan hollers from behind me and I release Jules and twist around, seconds away from telling him I’d better stop, since I feel the warmth creeping up into my cheeks already. But then I catch Vance staring ice daggers at me from across the room. I’ve been watching him too, and he hasn’t drunk a single drop of beer, or liquor. In fact, he hasn’t done anything but sit in the corner of the room brooding.
Asshole. As an act of defiance, I walk over to Alan, running a hand down his arm. The touch is innocent, but I still know it’s wrong. I don’t like Alan, he’s cute, yeah, but he’s not Vance. That doesn’t matter in my mind right at that moment. I still touch him, just to get a rise out of Vance, to show him there are other options out there for me.
“Sure, I’ll have one more,” I coo, beaming up at him. Taking the shot out of his hand, I bring it to my lips. The clear liquid sloshes against the rim and onto my bottom lip. Flicking my tongue out, I lick up the bitter liquid, a sour expression contouring my features.
Alan’s gaze turns molten following the movement of my tongue. I follow the shot with a huge gulp of beer from the cup in my hand. My legs sway, the alcohol sinking heavily in my stomach. I down the rest of the beer and consider getting another when Alan opens his mouth to say something.
“Want to dance?” he asks, extending his hand out to me. Usually I’d say no, but the three shots and all the beer I’ve drunk swirling around in my stomach are giving me a fuzzy, happy feeling and I just want to have fun and be carefree. I want to forget about the asshat across the room and if I can do that by dancing with someone else, then I will.
Taking his firm hand, I try to ignore the feel of Vance’s eyes on me as we walk to the makeshift dance floor in the center of the frat house living room. A pop song comes blaring through the speakers then. It’s not really slow dance material, but we make the most of it. Alan holds my hands while he dances with me. It feels nice, but it’s nothing like when I danced with Vance.
There’s no electricity between us, no spark, no fire. Alan doesn’t seem to notice or maybe he doesn’t care, I don’t know. He moves closer, pulling me into his chest, his hands moving to my hips as we dance. I want to have fun. I want to forget about Vance, and I want to like Alan, but I can’t. It doesn’t matter how nice or good looking he is, he is not Vance.
This feels like a mistake. Dancing with someone while thinking about someone else, it feels wrong, like I’m cheating, which is ridiculous since Vance and I are nothing but mortal enemies and as far from a couple as it gets. I’m about to politely excuse myself, shame blanketing me when Vance appears out of nowhere, his hand wrapping around my wrist gently.
“It’s time to go home,” he yells over the music, tugging me off the dance floor.
“Are you serious?” Alan asks the question that was lodged in my throat.
“Very. Now let’s go, Ava,” he orders, his green eyes piercing mine. He’s paying Alan no attention and I’m thankful for that. I don’t want another fight to break out.
“It’s fine,” I tell Alan, who’s giving me a weary look. “Really, it’s fine, I want to go home anyway,” I reassure him.
Alan frowns, but releases me, taking a few steps back before giving me a wave goodbye. Vance tugs on my arm, and I follow along behind him, not that I could do anything anyway. I feel bad for not saying bye to Jules, but I suppose I can always apologize later. As soon as we step outside and the fresh air hits me, my head starts to spin and I press a hand to my stomach to stop the contents inside from sloshing around.
Maybe three shots within ten minutes wasn’t such a great idea. Vance’s pace slows when he realizes my steps are becoming unsteady. Turning, he wraps an arm around my waist, hauling me against his side. It feels nice, nicer than I expect it to, especially after the way he acted earlier tonight. A smart girl would push him away, tell him to get bent, but I’m not smart. I’m broken, so horribly broken.
“What are you doing?” I ask him, realizing that I’m slurring my words a tad. I’ve been drunk maybe twice in my life. One other time back in high school with one of my friends, it also happened to be the night I lost my virginity.
“Helping you to the car.” His arm tightens around me and the familiar tingle I feel every time he touches me zings through me. I want him to keep touching me, to tell me everything is going to be okay. We’re not even halfway across the front yard when a familiar voice calls out my name.
“Ava!” The sound is deep, manly and it stops us dead in our tracks. Vance turns us so we’re facing toward the owner of said voice. My eyes light up when I see Jules and Remington walking toward us.
They seriously are the sweetest people ever.
“Where do you think you’re taking her?” Rem asks Vance, but it sounds more like an accusation than a question. Worry creases his forehead and I wonder if he thinks Vance is going to hurt me or something.
“Home,” is all Vance says. It’s obvious he doesn’t care to explain himself, and I suppose he shouldn’t have to. He might be a dick, a douchebag even, but he’s not the type to take advantage of a woman.
Turning away from them, he starts to walk again, tucking me in even closer to his side. I feel protected, secure, and for one single moment, I let myself lean into his touch. My nose pressed into his shirt. He smells like soap, and spices like clove and cinnamon.
“Yeah, I don’t think so, pretty boy. She’s not safe with you, need I remind you of your little outburst earlier. I can’t allow you to leave with her and maintain a clear conscience.” At Rem’s words, Vance stiffens, every muscle in his body tightening. He inhales a sharp breath, almost like he’s trying to calm himself.
Shit. This is bad. I brace myself for the fight that I’m certain is to come, only this time it’ll be against Remington and there won’t be anyone to break them up. Wincing, I start to pull away but am surprised when Vance does the polar opposite of what I’m expecting.
He calmly turns, and says, “She’ll always be safe with me. I would never let anything happen to her. I might say mean shit, cut her down, but I wouldn’t ever take advantage of her or lay a hand on her. I’m a fucking man, and men don’t take from women who don’t want it.”
Well fudgesicles, where is this guy all the time?
I’m not sure what I’m more shocked over, the words coming out of Vance’s mouth or that it sounded like he might actually care about me. There’s a strange kind of conviction to his tone that makes it impossible for me to deny that he is speaking the truth.
Hell, I must be drunker than I suspect if I’m thinking that Vance actually cares about me. I’m probably totally misreading the situation. What other explanation could there be for his caring behavior.
“I’ll hold you to that, Van. If I hear that you fu
cked with her, or hurt her in any way, I’ll rearrange your face with my fists. Got it?” Rem warns. He’s so protective, Jules really is lucky to have him.
“I got it,” Vance growls, turning our backs to them, we start walking away again.
With each step toward the car, my legs get weaker, my knees knocking together. Exhaustion seeps into my pores. Unable to stop myself, I lean into Vance more and more until my head is leaning against his shoulder.
This feels right, perfect even.
When we finally get to the car, he opens the door for me and helps me inside. I’m so tired and woozy that I can barely keep my eyes open. My eyes fall closed, and I tell myself I’m just going to doze off for a few minutes, but the next time I open my eyes, we’re already parked in the driveway at the house.
Vance opens the passenger side door and holds out his hand toward me. I blink, looking up at him wide-eyed. Why is he helping me? He doesn’t care about me, so why?
“What…?” I tilt my head to the side, inspecting him.
“Either take my hand and let me help you or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you inside. It’s your choice, and don’t take long to decide or I’ll choose for you.” His voice is unusually soft, and dare I say calm. It’s so unlike him to be gentle, and kind that I’m almost worried this is a dream. A dream I kinda don’t want to wake up from.
“Am I asleep?” I whisper, placing my hand in his. His hand is warm, and I shiver at the contact.
Laughing softly, he says, “No, you’re not sleeping. Why would you even ask that?”
He helps me out of the car and onto my wobbly legs before closing the door.
“Because you’re being nice to me, and you’re never nice to me. You’d rather stab yourself in the eye with a fork then befriend me. Admit it, you would.”
Quietly, he whispers, “I’m thinking maybe I was wrong about you.”
Wrong about me? Of course he’s wrong about me. He’s been blaming me for some mysterious thing since I got here, cutting me down with his words, and giving me serious whiplash with his hot and cold attitude. He thinks he knows, knows what I went through to get here, but he doesn’t have a clue, so yeah, he’s wrong. Very wrong.
