by Elena Monroe
I never understood that concept: how coffee could soothe a drunk. It wasn’t a magic elixir.
I was wasting time and distracting myself until she arrived. I don’t know why I wasn’t using this time to think about what I’d say.
I didn’t want to sound rehearsed or ingenuine—even if that meant not knowing what I’d say when I was face to face with her.
My friends arrived before she did. I was losing hope she’d show her face at all. They were dressed up uncomfortably, with their expressions stretched into boredom, and sneaking alcohol when no one was looking.
Maddison’s parents were close to mine, emulating the same lifestyle, just in specifically different ways.
We were from Massachusetts, while she was originally from Connecticut. My family was dominated by men, while she had two older sisters. They summered in the Hamptons, while we always found ourselves somewhere dripping in fresh air and nature.
My dad used to be a hiking instructor before my mom competed with him on his own group hike back in college as the guide. She turned most of her life into a competition. Needless to say, my dad didn’t instruct anymore, he now worked in the financial district of Boston, which I always presumed was a part of her plan to win whatever competition she was in, like life, being a women of equal accomplishments, whatever imaginary gold star she was after…
I guess I inherited it from her: the need to win even when you’re wrong.
I was wrong. I was the villain, yet I still needed to win her—her forgiveness.
Her scent was lingering around the library, like I was having a bad trip: coconut, floral, and cinnamon—unmistakable.
Scanning the entrance, I found her standing so straight it made me want to make her smile to loosen up her posture. I sauntered over to my parents, who were still stapled in front of the doorway greeting each and every person. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and she noticed, squirming like it would disrupt my gaze. It didn’t. She wore a dark purple floor length dress with flowers printed at the bottom and petals falling upward on the fabric—falling, just not for me.
Her creamy hazelnut skin shined brighter than anything in the room. She put her hand out firmly in front of me. “Aspen, good to see you.”
I could see the strain in her face as she choked out the words. She wanted to say, “Fuck off!” or, “I hate you!” instead.
I took her hand, turning it over in my palm and bending down to kiss the top of her hand lightly. I could feel her analyzing my actions intensely, as she took her hand back.
Our parents knew we had a connection in the past, but I didn’t bother to outline the details for them. It was obvious to everyone what went wrong once they showed up at the hospital to the both of us banged up, with her way worse off than I was.
I would have traded places.
I still couldn’t peel my eyes off of her. “Why don’t we go get a drink, while our parents talk about donations?”
I could tell she didn’t want to say yes, but the four pairs of eyes manipulated her own opinion into a yes. I didn’t try to take her hand again. I kept looking over my shoulder, hoping she was still following me.
“Do you want a soda or… something?”
She snapped her head up from the floor, staring at me with intent to kill. “I don’t drink anymore.”
I stepped to the side, out of the way of the coffee bar. “I meant coffee or soda. I’m not an asshole, Maddison. Maybe if you let me explain, make this up to you, anything for your forgiveness.”
She scoffed so loudly I thought the whole room would turn to me and tell us be quiet it’s a library. I didn’t shift my eyes to absorb the reactions. I could feel the eyes glued to us.
“Do you think I’m stupid, Aspen? I know you aren’t sober. Nothing about your life changed, and mine will never be the same.”
I watched her eyes well up and her arms shake with anger at the same time. I was one tear away from defeated.
I leaned in trying to whisper between us, “Nothing changed for me? That’s rich. My whole life was turned upside down that night.”
I took her hand, dragging her behind me, probably against her will, deeper into the bowels of the library. This wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have in a room full of people ready to donate to our campus and looking at us as examples to determine how much.
She stood in the aisle of books with a permanent furrow to her brow, as she waited for me to speak.
I looked around at the rows of spines, reading classic names and looking up at the flag marking the aisle “Classical Romance”. That wasn’t even planned. I wish I was that smooth.
I pushed my body into hers, space no longer existence, as I whispered a few inches from her. I wanted her to feel my warm breath against her cold skin. “You’re right. I’m not sober. It’s kind of hard to be when shit like that happens.”
She wasn’t impressed, and my proximity to her body didn’t soften her up any. “I went to rehab right after the hospital, Maddison, and you never came back. After that, I was practically on house arrest with all kinds of probation. I tried to visit you so many times…”
My voice petered out at the end, and my mind drug me back to all the times I tried to visit her and was denied. “Tried” rarely worked for any girl let alone someone like Maddison.
I should have stayed there, outside her room, or shouted her name until they let me inside the extra wide door to her room.
I could hear her voice catch and could see her tongue swept over her lips. I couldn’t tell if it was my confession or being this close to her that was breaking her reserve. I leaned in further, testing her bounds. “I’ve drowned myself in alcohol, waiting for this moment—the moment I could say sorry for everything.”
Her lips parted ever so slightly. I knew the reaction was the negative space between us, as in not existing anymore. We’d done more than this is the past, her on top, me on top, and any other position she didn’t deem too adventurous.
She was what Caden would call vanilla. I didn’t mind. Sex was sex, no matter how you did it.
Her hand reached up, touching my forearm. I had it stretched past her propping me up at this angle. Her warm hands felt like forgiveness. It wasn’t good enough, and I wasn’t stopping until the words came from her mouth.
She couldn’t look at me directly anymore, letting her head roll to one side with a pensive look. No doubt debating if I was worthy of forgiveness at all.
I took the opportunity to smooth my hands down her dress finding her hips, as my mouth left kisses along her exposed neck. A faint pant escaped her lips, motivating me to push up her dress, without letting my lips leave her skin. My hands forgot how perfect her cocoa skin was, after I exposed more of it. She was perfect, even covered in scars from her hips down, from the twisted metal of my car, the surgeries, and new metal fusing with her bones.
My hands landed on the back of her thighs and lifted her up after pushing her dress up too far. Engulfed in her scent, with her legs around me, I finally heard her small voice whisper against my lips, “I forgive you, Aspen.”
For a second, I thought she forgave me just so I wouldn’t go any further. Another part of me saw how much she craved this, just as much as I did.
I didn’t care either way. I was victorious in gaining her forgiveness, and now I just had her to win over.
Forgiving someone doesn’t mean you relinquish every feeling; it just means you don’t hold them accountable anymore for what you’re forgiving.
Penance, not a get out of jail free card.
In that moment, I thought of Hunter for split second and all he had done and the lack of desire to be sorry. His lack of persistence really inflated my ego. I was bad enough to do wrong, but at least good enough to be sorry.
I pulled the thin fabric of her panties to the side letting my fingers explore, while her lips found mine. She moaned into my mouth when she pulled away to gasp, and I bit her bottom lip gently, tugging. I watched Maddison feel good because of me, and my now wet fi
ngers felt like the ultimate forgiveness.
The fundraiser couldn’t have been more boring. Just leaving wasn’t an option with Richard there too. Leaving dropped into the category of embarrassment. There was always a high price to pay when he felt embarrassed. I should know, I was the one single embarrassment of his entire life. I’m sure, when that happened, the adoption card was played—a reason for my rude personality and lack of manners. It was a solid excuse, even though I was adopted as an infant. He could still blame my genetic make-up not being his.
I was constantly aware of how much I was never his.
I felt slightly more relaxed with Layla by my side. Even her worried eyes spotted the tension instantly. She held my hand tighter and leaned up to whisper into me, “You know if you make that face long enough it might stick.”
I didn’t know I was making a face until her observation.
Finally taking my eyes off of him, I glanced at her, holding onto my arm and trying to distract me, and said, “It’s not easy pretending he’s not in the room.”
I could have gotten lost in her eyes—always changing with her mood, deepening with each emotion. It was what drew me to her in the first place: those eyes.
Blue and hints of green created this depth that sucked me into her.
“I know, but maybe you guys can talk and work things out?”
Her suggestion was noted, but would never happen. He was a piece of shit who didn’t participate in raising me, took pleasure in my mistakes as a toddler, and wasn’t afraid to make sure I knew I wasn’t welcome. A better person would forgive him; clearly, I was not that person.
Just as I opened my mouth to speak, Aspen’s mom stood in front of me, introducing the enemy I vowed to destroy: Hunter.
What was he even doing here? This wasn’t a public event; it was invitation only.
“Have you met the new transfer student? This is Hunter. He made a very lovely donation when he transferred.”
Aspen’s mom’s eyes were wide, and she signaled me to be nice. She chose the wrong one of us to introduce him to if that was her goal.
The whole room was easily swayed by this asshole in a suit. Every other time I saw him, he was in combat boots with white laces, a flannel around his waist, and a jean jacket. His hair was always a mess of blonde, highlighted from his home state, and unruly, just like him. This was a far cry in his button up shirt, vest, and dress pants. He looked out of place with his hair in a low bun, still disheveled, like he lived near a beach and just finished swimming in the ocean.
He was a long way from home.
I didn’t plan on answering the question as I pulled Layla closer, with my arm hanging over her shoulders, claiming her as mine.
Layla spoke up, “We went to high school together, Mrs. Stratford.”
I wish she didn’t answer. It felt unintentionally betraying.
I waited for someone else to beckon Aspen’s mom before I showed my true colors. I was an asshole, and my way of concealing it was simply being quiet.
“What the fuck are you doing here? Invite only.”
The small smile spread across his face proved me wrong, without him speaking, as he pulled the invitation from inside his vest. “Weird, I have one of those. If you donate enough money, I guess you get invited. Don’t worry… I’ll try not to fuck your mom. Clearly, the blonde bombshell, right?”
He crossed a line—one even I wouldn’t have, one that acted like in a snap in getting me angry enough to act reckless.
I took my arm back from being lazily slung over Layla’s shoulders, making it easier to grasp his shirt in my hands. I yanked him close, as I snarled out the words: “Don’t ever bring up my mom again.”
Layla’s hands pleaded with me, tugging at me to stop. I was too far gone, deeply buried in the bitch known as vengeance. He crossed a line, and I stepped over it.
Hunter laughed, menacingly. “I can’t be the only one who’s ever wanted to fuck her…”
I cocked back one fist, ready to give him my worst, when the familiar cologne wafted in my face: Richard. His hand didn’t even have to push us apart with any effort to separate us. His eyes were dark, embarrassment taking over the room, and he barked one command. “Both of you, come with me, now.”
I looked around the room for any familiar eyes, for anyone who could save me, who’d understand what I was about to walk in to.
Everyone’s eyes were filled with disbelief, disappointment or whatever else word starts with dis and ends in capturing failure.
Layla’s fingers slid against my palm, as I walked by her, our hands brushing together like a sad goodbye. I made sure to stop, letting Hunter follow him first. I placed a delicate kiss on her forehead. “Find me in 10 minutes. This will be ugly.”
That was an understatement.
That was long enough to be scolded and alone with two enemies.
Unwillingly, I let her hand drop from mine, as I walked away. It hit me like a ton of bricks: the urge to be numb and not have to feel. It was a whisper in the back of my head, as I watched Richard disown me in a room full of important people. His desire to punish me for protecting all of us from Hunter turned it into a yell.
The voice wanted to be numb; the urge was so loud I couldn’t ignore it anymore.
I walked into a private room, watching Hunter smirk, like we were five and got caught arguing, so now we were sentenced to separate corners. Only we we’re adults, and my father wasn’t a fan of corners; he liked a stiffer hand.
That stiffer hand always liked my pale skin. He was always satisfied when it’s turned a bright pink under his hand and my cries sounded like screams. It wasn’t until I forced myself to stop crying he feigned as much interest.
I perched my ass on the desk, waiting for him to be done with Hunter, before I got my real punishment, alone.
Nothing bad would happen with him there.
I smirked right back at him; he had no idea about my father, Richard. He was about to learn.
Richard had his hands on his hips, while he tried to shove down the anger in front of this stranger. “Do either of you realize you are here as examples of this institute? You are here to smile, make conversation, and inspire donations, because of how well you come off. Do you think fighting is how that’s accomplished?”
I tried not to laugh at whatever nicer version of my evil dad this was. I tried and failed, letting the chuckling escape my mouth anyways. His eyes suddenly moved to me, and just like that, the version I knew was back.
His face was tight, tense even. “What’s so funny, Oliver? Do you think continuing to embarrass me is entertaining?”
I was hoping to keep that he was my dad close to the vest, but Hunter needed to be just as caught off guard as I was by him.
“No, Dad, I don’t find it entertaining. Who invited this piece of shit rapist?”
I knew they were both equally as wrong, both equally confused by that night, and labeling him a rapist would probably follow him forever. I didn’t care. I liked how it sounded to connect his name with the vulgar word. I liked how he squirmed every time he heard it.
My dad squinted his eyes, clearly confused by my allegation. He only muttered a quieter, “Excuse me, Oliver?”
Hunter shook his head defiantly, already defending himself, and no one even looked at him.
“He raped Layla back in Florida.”
I was matter of fact, but that didn’t matter when I didn’t have the best track record. While at the worst of my high, I continued to lie about almost everything, spiraling into one lie to cover another. Eventually, Richard stopped believing me altogether.
I couldn’t blame him. I blamed his timing; he hadn’t believe me since my mother brought me into his home.
My dad stared at Hunter, moving closer to intimidate him into honesty. “Is that true?”
Hunter wasn’t some amateur, who was easily pushed or prodded. “With all due respect, your son is a suffering drug addict. We can’t always believe what he claims…”
&nbs
p; I watched Hunter put on a show, standing up straighter and utilizing proper English, like he knew this world—the world of manners, dinner parties, and best behaviors. The itch of anger crept up my spine. Layla should have told us more about him.
You can’t hurt the enemy you don’t know.
Richard’s hard exterior turned soft. He loosened up, and his hand slapped Hunter’s shoulder like he agreed with him. The itch turned into a gnawing annoyance now. I was losing, even in an arena I shouldn’t be.
“Oliver, do you want to apologize for your outburst and offending a generous donator?”
Yep, lost.
I slid off the desk, standing, too angry to sit. “No, I’m not apologizing. I’m not sorry. He knows it’s true. Just ask Layla.”
Richard dismissed Hunter with a kind, “Please excuse us, Hunter. Go join the fundraiser.” He walked him to the door and even waited to close it behind him. I even spotted a smile—one never afforded to me.
I was looking down, contemplating how all my truths were ripped from me because of my past. No one ever believed me, only Layla, and that made her important—important enough to keep him from hunting her.
Richard’s swift hand found my cheek so hard it that forced my face eye level with his. He yanked me from my own thoughts of Layla. She couldn’t save me now.
I let my tongue massage the inside of my cheek, as my mouth collapsed open—my jaw twisting, like I needed to shake it off. I forced myself to not react or move in any way that made him feel victorious.
The words that sprung from his lips were venomous, poisoning my fresh wound: “Do you know what that was for, Oliver?”
I let a pissed off “no” slither from my tight lips.
“You now want to insult one of our biggest donors? Your constant drama is nothing but a burden to me and your mother. Stop embarrassing yourself. It’s my last name you carry around.”
He walked away, without any care for my comebacks or insults. I didn’t bother. I was still mentally licking my own wounds. He stopped before closing the door behind him. “A warning? You don’t want me to find out you aren’t clean anymore.”
