by KV Rose
“I’ve got to go,” she tells me abruptly. I don’t know where Dad is, or what she’s doing, what room she’s in. I know why she hasn’t left though. She gave up everything for him. Her career, her home state, her family. Her life. She moved and gave up everything and now they have money and they have prestige and where would she go? And if she leaves, a divorced man can’t lead the church.
More than that, she doesn’t want to adjust her lifestyle. Even if it’s just getting manicures and popping pills and being talked about around town. It’s her life now.
“I’ve got to go, but I’ll talk to you soon, okay? Come see us when you can.” I can hear that faint hint of excitement in her words that don’t mesh with what she’s saying. And I know she’s given in again. I know as soon as she ends this call, she’ll be tossing back a handful of pills.
I know it, but there’s nothing I can do.
Dad can’t lead a megachurch if his wife is in rehab either, so they give each other their vices and no one says shit about it, until it comes to a head and they fight. They fight and they scream and in the end, they stay together because no one else would want them.
I look up at Zara’s window again.
“Okay, Mom.”
“I love you, Alex.”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. “I love you too, Mom.”
Sunday night, after spending most of Saturday in bed, I’m outside on the back deck when Eli walks outside with a beer in his hand.
He slides the door closed behind him, sits down on the couch across from me. The sun is set, the tiki torches lit, the underwater lights glowing in the calm surface of the pool.
I turn to glance at him. He’s watching the water, a Caven U wrestling hoodie on over his gym shorts. The circles under his eyes are pretty bad, and I wonder if he’s actually more freaked out about Rihanna’s death than he’s let on.
Either that, or something else must really be eating at him.
“You see her parents today?” I ask him, breaking the silence.
He’d told me he was stopping by Rihanna’s parents’ house to offer more condolences, see if they needed anything. I’m sure he didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart, but then again, maybe it’s finally sinking in that yesterday, he helped bury a girl who sucked his dick. They never dated, but they fucked around on and off the past few months. I’m not sure if they were actually friends or anything, but I guess you get used to someone’s lips being around your cock.
He doesn’t look at me. He’s got his elbows on his knees, and he takes a drink from his beer and then shrugs. “Yeah.” He doesn’t offer anything else.
I nod, looking back at the water. I’ve got one arm around the back of the couch, my feet flat on the deck. I don’t look at him when I ask, “Anything you wanna talk about?”
Silence rings out, and I wonder if he’s going to answer me. I don’t usually ask questions like that, but he’s just seemed even more quiet than usual. I wonder if he’s shook about the whole Zara thing.
I know it wasn’t his fault. She’s just…like that.
“Not really,” he finally answers me. “You?”
I curl my fingers around the fabric of the couch, squeezing. There’s a lot I want to talk about. I want to talk about my mom. I want to talk about Zara. I want to talk about what happened last weekend, at the party. Both with Rihanna and Zara. I want to talk about last fall, too. I want him to tell me that I’m not a bad person. That I just fucked up.
Instead I just say, “Nah. I’ve got an exam tomorrow I should probably study for.” But I don’t get up.
“What class?” he asks, but his voice is just so detached. I know he doesn’t really care. I don’t know if Eli cares about anything.
I glance at him, see his side profile as he stares at the pool. See the clock and skull on his hand, the roses and filigree that trail up his arm, underneath his wrestling hoodie. I think about the controlled way he wrestles, no emotion or outbursts or slipups. When he circles his opponent, he waits until the right time to make a move, and when he strikes, it’s always for a takedown. Our schedules conflict sometimes, with wrestling and football, but I’ve seen a couple of his matches, and I’ve seen videos of the others.
He’s good.
He wrestles like he lives, quietly, with control. I wonder what it would be like for that control to slip.
It almost did last fall.
And then last weekend, I stopped him.
“Just a sociology course, it’ll be easy enough.”
He turns to look at me and arches a brow. “Sociology, huh?”
I nod, flex my fingers and rest them on my thigh.
“You applied to law schools yet?” he asks me.
I bite the inside of my cheek, turn to stare at the pool. “No.”
“Deadline is probably soon for some of them?”
I nod once, scrub a hand over my jaw. “Yep.”
“Having second thoughts?” he presses with a hint of amusement.
I still don’t look at him when I shrug, bouncing my fist on my thigh. “I don’t know. Not really, because what else would I do?” I’m good at sports, but I’m not professional football-level good. I can admit that. Besides that, I don’t really want to play for a league. I’ve thought about opening up a gym, but that seems like a waste of a business, pre-law major. And if I go to law school, my parents will be proud, Dad won’t ride my ass about going into fucking ministry, and hell, maybe I can do some good in the world.
Probably not. But maybe.
I see Eli shake his head out of the corner of my eye. Tip his beer up, then bring it back down, resting it on his knee. “There’s a lot you can do.”
“Why are you even here, anyway?” I ask him, suddenly angry as I turn to glare at him. His father owns the biggest law firm in the state. He’s got family money. What the fuck he’s doing at Caven when he doesn’t want to do shit but work on cars is beyond me. During the summer, he helps his uncle out at his auto body shop, and the only thing I’ve ever seen him act the slightest bit excited about is when he swaps out his car for a new one, which happens like every six months. “Why not just start working?”
He doesn’t look at all affronted by my questions. He cocks his head, as if he’s thinking. “Why not be here?” he finally counters.
I roll my eyes, but I grudgingly see his point, I guess. He likes to wrestle; he did it in high school. He got a free ride here, so it’s not touching any of his family money. The first night we spent in a dorm together, after we were assigned to be roommates, we got high and he told me he wanted the whole college experience so that when he got older, he wouldn’t feel like he missed out on anything.
He wanted to be as bad as he could be, he told me. He wanted to fuck everything up. And when he graduated, he’d put everything back together again.
He also told me, that same night, that his mom was a bitch and he never wanted to have kids. If you didn’t have any, he said, you couldn’t hurt them.
I figured out his mother left him and his father when he was younger. We’ve never discussed it since.
Catching me off guard, he asks, “What’s up with you and Zara?”
My limbs feel heavy with his words because I don’t know the answer to his question. And I wish I did. I know I should let her go. I know she fucked me over. I know she cheated on me, and humiliated me, and I know I should hate her for it.
But I don’t.
I just don’t.
Just like as much as I want my mother to be free of my dad, I also know it’s probably best if she doesn’t leave. Because if she does, who will be there for her? Who will make sure she doesn’t OD? Who will take care of her?
I can’t stop picturing Zara’s blue-green eyes. Her arms around me when I picked her up at Jax’s. You are so beautiful. How her hair feels in my hands. That coffee-and-flower scent that she wafts around her wherever she goes. How my sheets still smell like her, and I kind of hope they never stop.
I know she hurt me
.
I know I need to cut her off.
I can’t.
“I don’t know,” I finally answer Eli, looking down at my hands. “Honestly, I just don’t know.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “You need to stay away from her, man.”
I tense, clenching my fists, but I don’t look up. I know he’s just being my friend. He’s just saying what’s best for me.
“Girls fucking line up to suck your dick. Forget Zara.”
I can’t help but laugh, even though I’m definitely not in a playful mood. “I don’t know, after Rihanna, they might all be scared of her.”
I look up and meet his dark gaze. He furrows his brow. “You think she had something to do with Rihanna?”
I shake my head, stare up at the stars above us. “Nah, I’m just fucking around. Guess it’s not funny.”
He laughs. “Not yet. Maybe a few more days.” Then he asks, “I’m not trying to start anything, but why are you still fucking with her? After what she did?” And it’s amazing, because he really doesn’t sound like he’s trying to start anything. He’s just asking. Clinically. Curiously. He wants to know.
I keep looking up at the stars. “You really wanna know, man?”
“That’s why I’m asking.”
“She’s addicting,” I tell him. I dip my head down and he turns to look at me, his dark green eyes locked on mine. “All of her fuck ups, and even the way she gets a little out of control, she’s just addicting.”
“Do you love her?” It’s a fast question, straightforward. It surprises me, coming from Eli. He doesn’t really talk about girls, and we definitely don’t talk about love.
“Yeah, I think so.”
He nods, as if he expected I’d say as much. He gestures toward me with his beer. “You know she’s not okay. You know she’s still using. And you can’t breathe for her too. She’ll pull you down in that grave and bury you with her.” He takes another pull from his beer. “She’ll fuck you up, Alex. You won’t save her. She’ll just destroy you.”
16
Zara
One in the morning on Monday, and I can’t sleep. Sunday, I did fuck-all. Ended up chugging cough syrup in the middle of the day, and now I’m reaping the consequences.
I turn on my side to grab my phone from my nightstand.
I still haven’t confronted Eli about his bullshit. Alex and I have texted since he dropped me off here Saturday, and I told him again I was sorry, but I’m not that sorry.
I’m fucking pissed.
I know Eli is probably sleeping, although I’m not sure he does sleep, but I can’t help it. I’ve been thinking about his bullshit nonstop, just waiting for him to tell Alex. Or to blackmail me to meet him or some shit.
But he’s just ignored me.
Me: What the fuck is wrong with you?
I send off the message, not really expecting a reply. I lay on my back, holding my phone over my head under the covers.
I wish Alex was here.
I wish I could be honest with him.
I wish I could tell him Eli is fucked up.
Instead, I just scroll through some pictures of us. My legs wrapped around him at the beach, his mom behind the camera. I have the biggest smile on my face, and I wasn’t even high that day. He’s pretending to bite my cheek, his hands under my ass. He looks happy too. I can see that dimple in his cheek, even with his teeth bared against my skin.
There’s another picture of me, coming up out of the water at his parents’ pool that night they were away. I’m naked, but he took the photo carefully, so you can’t tell.
If only he’d been that careful last fucking weekend.
Before I can thumb through the next picture, I get a text from Eli. My heart flutters in my chest, my stomach in knots. I take a breath before I open it.
Eli: Miss me, baby girl?
This asshole.
Before I can compose myself, I just let my fingers fly over my screen.
Me: Why would you do that? Why would you fucking lie like that?
This time, I don’t go back to pictures of Alex. I just wait, because almost immediately, I see Eli is typing.
Him: He’s not good for you.
And then, a second later, before I can think of what to say, he adds: Take a picture of your scars. I want to see them.
I roll my eyes, squeezing said thighs together before I reply.
Me: Fuck you.
I bite my cheek as I wait for his response. I don’t have to wait long.
Him: How’s your roomie, Zara?
I frown at my screen, brow furrowed. My arms are getting tired of holding my phone up so I shift onto my side, still perplexed. I don’t know if he even knows Kylie, and she is asleep in her room. I saw her when I came out for an apple earlier in the day.
Before I can ask him what the fuck he’s talking about he says, You know her and Alex are close?
I laugh out loud. That’s hilarious. Alex has been over a lot, and him and Kylie barely exchange three words to each other. They are definitely not close. Besides, I think about all those questions Kylie asked me about Alex. How she always said he was a dick.
Me: Yeah. Funny. Fool me once…
Eli’s reply is almost instant.
Him: I lied to him. I’m not going to lie to you.
I bite my lip, frowning. He’s obviously full of shit. Dude is crazy. He’s just insane. He tried to start shit between me and Alex by making up some shit about me flashing him, so there’s no way this is true. Kylie isn’t Alex’s type. Alex is definitely not Kylie’s type.
How close? I ask, giving in. If he wants to talk shit, I’ll see how far he can go.
He starts typing, then stops, then starts and stops all over again. My heart is pounding in my chest and I pull down my covers, glancing at my closed bedroom door. Kylie would not go there. Alex wouldn’t either. Between the two of us, I’m the cheater.
Alex is arrogant, and a dick, but he’s not a cheater.
I snatch my phone back up when I see Eli’s text finally come through.
Eli: How does it feel being with someone who wants to control the fuck out of you?
I roll my eyes in the dark.
Me: That’s not an answer, Eli Addison.
Despite how annoyed I am, I can’t help smiling as I type out his first and last name. Don’t be stupid, Zara. But fuck, I can’t seem to stop.
Eli: Oh, I like when you say my name.
I slam my phone down on my mattress, biting my lip to stifle my laughter. He is so weird. I pick my phone back up to ask him about Kylie and Alex again, but he’s already texted me again.
Eli: What’s your middle name?
I’m momentarily distracted from the Kylie bullshit.
Me: You’re my number one stalker. Shouldn’t you know? And then, because I’m clearly stupid, I add, What’s yours?
He replies instantly.
Him: Adonis.
And right after that.
Him: You’re cute, you know that, Zara Rose?
I place a hand over my heart, willing it to chill out.
Me: How did you know that?
I find myself holding my breath while I wait for his response. There are a lot of red flags here. Eli is not a good guy. Not just that, but he lives with Alex. For all I know, they both could be fucking me over right now.
Even if they’re not, this won’t end well for me. They’ll probably get over me, go back to being bros. But they’ll forget all about me, and I’ll be alone, and I can’t do that. I can’t fucking do it.
The internet has everything, he responds.
Yeah, maybe so, but even still, whether he’s a real stalker or just good at searching online, I know what I need to say next.
Me: We shouldn’t do this.
I send it before I can psyche myself out of it, but I’m still staring at my phone, waiting for those three little dots to let me know he’s replying. Maybe to tell me he agrees or to say we’ll put this behind us. Or even to
tell me he’s sorry for fucking me over.
But he doesn’t say any of that. Instead, he replies with, Do you want to stop?
My heart is hammering so hard in my chest I feel like I might have a heart attack. Do I want to stop? I don’t know.
Before I can answer, another text comes in, and it makes my stomach flip, every nerve in my body tingling.
Him: I don’t like it when he hurts you.
My hand is sweaty on my phone, one hand flat against the mattress. I don’t know what to say. I just keep staring at it until the screen dims and then goes black.
I don’t like it when he hurts you.
I close my eyes, but then the screen lights back up and I see it beyond my lids. Taking a deep breath, I force my eyes open and read the next message.
Him: I know you hurt him too. Do you think you’ll always be like that? What if you found the right person?
I should put my phone away. Every text I send is just more damning than the last, and Alex might’ve forgiven me for the bullshit Eli lied about, but if he were to see these texts, he definitely wouldn’t.
Then again, Eli would be fucking himself, too. He can’t lie about this.
I don’t know, I reply. I just want to experience everything, I admit.
Me: And then…then I’ll be good.
He doesn’t start typing for so long, I think he’s gone to sleep. I think I should probably do that too considering I have class in the morning, but just as I’m about to plug my phone back into charge, he sends me another text.
Him: You already are so good, baby girl.
17
Zara
“How was class?” Kylie asks me on Monday, tucking a lock of dark hair behind her ear and bringing the straw from her mango smoothie to her lips. “You look worried,” she adds before she takes a drink.
I throw my green backpack into the booth at Oasis, one of the little on-campus cafes. The walls are all painted Caven orange, and the place smells faintly of mildew, so it’s not my favorite, but Kylie wanted to meet for lunch today.
