by Beth Michele
“All right,” he says, once he unlocks the door, “make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the shot glasses.” He stops midway to the kitchen, swerving around. “This must be bad because you don’t really drink that much.”
I fall back on to the couch, kicking off my heels, reclining my head against the soft cushions. “Yeah, well, I may just make up for that tonight.”
“Okay.” He raises up the bottle when he comes back out. “I’ve got Yankees shot glasses and a bottle of Patron.”
“Perfect,” I reply, eager to take the edge off my emotions. “I’d forgotten how nice your place was, Ryder. It’s really homey in here,” I add, looking around the room but not really seeing anything except my own anguish.
He sets the alcohol on the table before copping a seat next to me. “Are we going to continue to talk about my decorating abilities or are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”
“Are you going to pour me some comfort or what?”
“Tiger,” he mumbles under his breath as he pours us each a shot. Raising his glass, he clinks it against mine. “To the truth.”
“Yeah, what’s that saying?” I knock back the entire shot, followed by one more, before waving it in the air. “The truth shall set you free. In my case it should be, the truth will make you feel like absolute shit.” I hold out the tumbler. “Another, please.”
“You’ll get another after you start talking.” He holds the bottle tight against his chest. “Well….”
“Fine,” I huff. “I don’t even know where to start.” Warmth fills my belly, sending me on my way to the numbness I crave. “I made dinner for Rex because it’s his birthday today and he freaked out on me and said some pretty awful things, the worst one being that we’re just fuck buddies and that’s it.” I put a hand to my head, attempting to rub the memory from my brain. “It hurt. A lot.”
“Because….” Ryder sets the bottle on the table. “Because you care about him.”
“Cared. Past tense,” I insist, although the words don’t sound very convincing.
He cocks his head to the side, shadows of disbelief covering his face. “You need to talk to him. Because I can tell you this. The look on his face when he walked into the bar was not the look of a guy who was desperate to talk to his,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “fuck buddy.”
I wave the shot glass in front of him. “I talked, so pay up,” I say, determined to make Rex Grayson a distant memory.
The third and fourth ones go down smooth and I like the way I’m starting to feel. Edging closer to Ryder, I lean my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. He tips his head against mine.
“Tomorrow you’ll feel better. I think you’ll see things a lot more clearly in the morning.”
“I don’t want to see things more clearly. I want to keep drinking.” I pout, collapsing onto my back.
“Well, I’m not going to let you do that.” He takes my hands and pulls me up from the couch. “I’m putting you to bed.”
I shuffle my feet, stumbling beside him on the way to his room. “I like the sound of that.” I giggle, and he chuckles.
“You see, you’ve already had too much to drink. You’ve lost control of your faculties.”
“That was my goal but you wouldn’t play along,” I slur, nearly falling over.
“Sit,” he commands, sliding off my shoes then pushing me back on the mattress. “Sleep.” There’s a blanket at the foot of the bed and he covers me from head to toe. “I’ll be on the couch if you need me.”
“Hey, Ryder,” I mumble, my head already making a dent in the pillow. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Now get some rest.”
The room goes dark, yet my eyes won’t close. Particles of light streaming in from the partially open curtains form shapes of nothingness—a little too familiar for my liking. My mind is racing along with my heart, body tossing and turning, not allowing sleep to rescue me. The image of Rex’s face when he walked into the apartment haunts me, then again when he entered the bar. I wonder now what he was going to say. What made him act so crazy?
How could I have been so wrong in thinking there was something a bit more between us? I felt it. I feel it even now. Even after everything he said to me, I still want him. But I’m not that type of a girl—the forgiving kind. When I hurt, I hurt deeply within my core and I have a hard time letting go.
In eighth grade, when my best friend, Sherri Zuckerman, told me my boyfriend, Corey Thompson, was a dirtbag and he would only hurt me, I believed her. That is, until I found her sucking face with him in the janitor’s closet. She was my closest friend and I trusted her. After that, we were done. I never spoke to her again.
I change sides, fluffing up the pillow under my head as if that will make a difference. A muffled sound perks my ears up and I realize it’s my phone but can’t see a thing in the blackness. The cool sheets get pushed aside as I sit up on the bed, feeling around for the lamp switch before flipping it on and spotting my purse on the chair. I plod clumsily over to it and pluck my cell from the bag, jumping back on the bed and scrolling through my messages.
There are four voicemails from Rex, which I refuse to listen to, and I can’t even count the number of texts.
I’m sorry; Please forgive me; I need to talk to you, I really am sorry; You can’t ignore me forever; Call me, you have to talk to me.
No, I don’t.
The phone chimes in my hand and I startle, seeing yet another text from Rex.
I’m so sorry. Please call me, I need to hear your voice, to know that you’re okay.
That one goes straight through me to a place that’s raw, an open wound around my heart. He went from saying we were fucking to needing to hear my voice? I’m sorry, I’m just not buying it. Tonight certainly proved my theory, though.
Love definitely sucks.
I shut my phone off, tossing it onto the carpet, then bury my head under the pillow and pray for relief from a sleep that never comes.
Hunter opens the door, rubbing the aggravation at the late hour mixed with sleep from his eyes. “Hey, Rex,” he groans, his voice gravelly, “Happy Birthday.”
“Yes. Happy fucking birthday to me.” I stumble through the door, plopping down on the nearest sofa.
“You reek of alcohol and you don’t drink hard liquor.” He scratches his head, closing the door behind him.
“You’re very observant, bro,” I chastise, my voice growing louder. “You’re right on both counts. But I’m making an exception tonight.” Actually I made an exception last week too, but I won’t tell him about that.
“Hey, keep it down please. Olivia is in the other room sleeping and she’s exhausted.”
“Oh. Sorry,” I speak in a hushed tone, “wouldn’t want to wake sleeping beauty.”
“Listen. I know it’s your birthday, and I’m completely understanding of that, but is this why you came here? To throw your bitter attitude in my direction?” He glares at me, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because if that’s the case, you can go. It’s three in the fucking morning, Rex.”
“Okay, okay.” Anxiety filters through my system over having this conversation, and I run my hands down the front of my jeans, wiping the sweat from my palms. “Why did you go and fucking tell Vanessa about my birthday?”
Hunter blows out a breath, taking a seat in the chair across from me. “Oh shit. It was an accident. It just slipped out, Rex. Tell me what happened.”
“I came home to find her in my apartment, preparing a celebration.” I scrub a hand over my face. “I didn’t even know how she knew it was my fucking birthday. But you know how I feel about it.”
He raises his head, an apology in his eyes. “I really am sorry. I didn’t intend to tell her. But I’m sure whatever happened can be fixed.”
I slap an arm over my head, gritting my teeth. “I’m not so sure.”
He sits up, crossing an ankle over his knee. “Why? What did you do?”
I glance toward the kitchen, m
y lips suddenly dry. “Do you have anything to drink first?”
“Not for you. Keep talking, little brother,” he says with a heavy stare.
“I freaked out, pushed her away, said some pretty rotten things, told her all we were doing was fucking, nothing more.” I expel the words fast, anxious to be rid of them. The sooner I can forget about this night, the better.
“Jesus, Rex.” He exhales an exasperated sigh. “Maybe I spoke too soon. It’s going to take an act of God to fix it. Olivia says she doesn’t forgive that easily. But you better get off your ass and figure something out, though.”
“I know.” I cover my face with my arm, trying to shut out the world. “She won’t answer any of my calls or my texts.”
“Of course she won’t. My advice,” he offers, “start taking responsibility for what comes out of your mouth. Go find her and tell her the truth.” He starts to walk away, but turns back. “I’m sorry about what happened. Listen, stay the night. Take one of the guest rooms. You’ll feel better after you get some sleep.”
There’s only one thing that will make me feel better. And that one thing wants nothing to do with me.
Three hours later, I’m still awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how I got here. It’s not much of a mystery. My thoughts taunt me as the consistent pattern of my life emerges. The shit I’ve muddled in for so long has become familiar to me, so much so that I don’t even recognize I’m wallowing in it. I’ve become too comfortable in my own misery.
Until now.
Last night was a wake-up call. The one person that finally comes along, giving me a glimmer of hope, the possibility of climbing out of this pit of despair I’ve become entrenched in—I cast aside like she was nothing.
I rub my eyes, gritty from lack of sleep, attempting to rid myself of the image of Vanessa in my apartment. Hurt rippling from her eyes and cheeks, the slant of her mouth. I squeeze my lids shut, regret hardening my stomach.
The sound of Olivia and Hunter’s laughter catapults me back into reality. The clock reads 6:15 and that means Hunter is getting ready to take off for work. I decide to wait until they’re gone before I get up. I’m assuming by now that Hunter told Olivia what happened last night and I don’t feel like hearing her shit, too.
I reach around to the end table, sliding my cell phone over. Immediately unlocking it, I search through texts and voicemails, holding in a breath as I check for any sign from Vanessa. Of course there isn’t one.
The moment the door closes, I climb off the bed and head straight for the bathroom. After taking a piss, I find myself in front of the mirror. I grasp the ledge of the counter, taking a closer look at the face staring back at me. Dark circles drag my eyes down, remorse lining the outer corners. My reflection teases me, another reminder of who I’m not, more so than who I am.
With a heavy hand, I twist the faucet to cold, splashing some water over my face. I’m actually shocked that I don’t have a hangover. I’d readily welcome that kind of suffering though. The kind I can control as opposed to the jagged blade that’s slicing me open, pain spilling out from every crevice of my body.
I dry my face with a towel, blowing out a breath, mulling over what to do. I already know what I want to do—I want to go see Vanessa. She typically doesn’t go into work until later in the morning, so I can probably catch her if I hurry.
Fuck it.
The knowledge that she wants nothing to do with me doesn’t deter me. My footsteps bear down on the pavement, moving quickly toward their destination. When I reach the subway, I traipse down the stairs and push through the crowd at the turnstile, unaffected by the dirty looks thrown my way. Little do they know I could give two shits. I’ve dealt with a lot worse.
There’s a man delivering boxes when I arrive at Vanessa’s apartment building, delaying my entrance, allowing more time for the sweat to find its way down my skin. By the time I can get through the glass door and step on the elevator, I’m bouncing from foot to foot, attempting to form a script in my head. I want to make sure I say the right thing. At this point, I’m not even sure what that is—I guess like Hunter said, the truth would be nice.
The car finally stops on her floor, and I steel myself with a meaty breath before walking out. I’m just about to knock on the door when it opens suddenly. Vanessa falters, stumbling back in surprise, her purse dropping to the ground.
“What are you doing here, Rex?” she asks flatly as I bend down to help her pick up her belongings. “I’ve got it,” she snarls, waving me away, unwilling to meet my eyes.
The chill in the air sends a shiver up my neck and I can’t stand that I’ve done this to her. Even with that, it takes me a second to respond, so fucking happy just to be in her presence that I’m tongue-tied.
I push back up to my feet. “You didn’t leave me any choice. You wouldn’t respond to my calls or my texts and we need to talk.”
She slings her bag over her shoulder, intent on pushing her way past me. “There’s nothing left to say, Rex. I’m pretty sure we covered everything last night.”
My body blocks her, but I make sure to keep my hands to myself. “Can you just give me five minutes?”
There’s a release of breath as she raises her eyes to the ceiling before finally allowing them to find mine. “Fine. Five minutes, Rex. I have to get to work.” She stands aside, letting me walk in. Relief floods my chest at having made it this far.
“Can I sit?” I ask, motioning toward the couch. She looks at me with a bored expression, as if she has better things to do. Little does she know, I can see right through the tough-girl act she’s trying to dish out.
“Be my guest.” She sets her bag and briefcase down but continues to stand, glancing at her watch.
“I’m sorry, Blon—I’m sorry for the way I acted yesterday. I was out of line in so many ways and I honestly regret it. I reacted to something that had nothing to do with you.” I pause, gesturing toward the sofa with my hand. “Will you please sit your ass down? You’re making me nervous and I’m already fucking nervous as it is.”
Her lips begin a slow curl toward a smile, but then shift direction, as if they’ve changed their mind. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, Rex,” she says, and I certainly don’t miss the sarcasm dripping from her words.
She takes a seat at the other end of the couch, as far away from me as possible, fiddling with her fingers in her lap. An excruciating breath forces its way from my lungs as I try to push the words out before they get caught in my throat.
“The man that raised me. The man that I loved who I thought was my father… was not my father.”
“I don’t understand.”
I scrape a hand through my hair before continuing. “My father is a drug dealing, lowlife piece of shit who’s rotting away in prison right now. One of the many men my mother decided to screw along the way.”
“I’m sorry.” Those beautiful eyes of hers fill with sympathy, or pity, I’m not sure which one. But I know I can’t continue to look at them.
I stare at a spot on the wall, hoping that will make this easier. “I didn’t find out until I was nineteen but ever since then, I can’t tolerate acknowledging my birthday. I feel like my whole childhood was a lie. Hunter is my half-brother, as was Tyler, and my mother is a liar.”
I know I’m rambling but I can’t stop myself. “Every year when my birthday rolls around, my way of coping is to ignore it. So yesterday just reminded me of everything bad in my life… the absolute shit that I come from, and when I walked in, it hit me, and I freaked out and acted like an asshole. I know I hurt you and I’m sorry. I’d do anything to take it back,” I plead, my eyes trailing back to her face. “Anything.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, I accept your apology,” she says, and I breathe out a sigh of relief, moving closer to her. But she backs away.
“This doesn’t change anything for me, though.” She kneads her hands together, her shoulders rising and falling on an exhale
of breath. “You hurt me and… I don’t know if I can get past it right now. I understand that you’ve had a shitty past, Rex, and I’m truly sorry for everything you’ve been through. But you know what? We all have stuff we have to come to terms with, and you can’t go around using it as a warrant to hurt people. It’s time to grow up. Get therapy or do whatever you have to do so it doesn’t happen again.”
Ouch. But I definitely deserve that.
“What does that mean for us?” I ask, unsure as to whether I really want the answer to my question.
She stands up, snagging her purse from the carpet. “There is no us, Rex. Not now.”
Her words punch me in the gut, but I should know better than anyone how one mistake can cause irreparable damage.
“Not now, or not ever?” The question leaves my mouth and I’m completely aware of my teeth clenching as I wait for her reply.
There’s a long stretch of silence before she responds, instilling a seed of hope in my subconscious. “I don’t know.”
“Well, we’re still friends, right?” That’s the last thing I want, but at this point I’ll take whatever scraps I can get.
“Friends, Rex?” She tugs on the strap of her bag as though it’s her lifeline. “We’re a bit beyond that, don’t you think?”
“So what now, then?”
“Rex,” she huffs, taking yet another glimpse of her watch. “I can’t do this with you right now. I have to get to work.”
I get up off the sofa, following her out the door. “Then when?”
“Rex.”
“Yes, Blondie?” I try to coax a smile out of her, but right now it’s like getting blood from a stone. She won’t even give an inch. She’s so damn stubborn and so fucking beautiful at the same time. It’s driving me insane that I can’t reach out and touch her.
