So I didn’t like surprises. I liked to know what I was getting myself into and what my night was going to look like. Sue me.
Kayla: You and your frickin surprises. No fun, Merrick!
Me: Just tell me where the hell we’re going, please!
Kayla: Whoa! Breaking out the manners.
I rolled my eyes. She acted like I was some Neanderthal caveman.
Me: Whatever.
Kayla: Geez Louise! Painting class. It’s a couples painting class. Before you freak- there’s food and wine there.
I shook my head, rubbed my face, and exhaled in complete and utter defeat. Was she out of her fucking mind? Who the hell would pick a painting class for something fun to do? And me? Did she not fucking know who the fuck I was?
Me: Not happening. Good fucking try.
I threw my phone down on the counter then hopped into the shower. I wouldn’t ditch Nova tonight, but there was no fucking way that I was going to do a damn painting class … that served wine, no less. I didn’t drink wine. Wine was for pansies. I didn’t even serve it at my bar. It was annoying. Girls turned up the bitch-o-meter at least by ten when they got a glass of wine in their hand. That was mine and Kayla’s rule when hanging out—we always drank beer or something hard, none of that wine shit … Save that for the Miles Blackwell crowd.
I heard my phone buzzing out of control while I was in the shower. I laughed. The girl was probably going buck wild and if I knew her like I knew her, she probably was huffing and puffing, slipping on her shoes and calling downstairs for a driver to bring her to my apartment. She might even be banging on my door right now. She knew me for the stubborn fuck that I was and if I didn’t want to do something, I wasn’t going to do it. Even her persistence failed sometimes. That was the glory of being single and on my own; I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.
Seconds later, and right on cue, I heard the door to my apartment slam shut and the sweet sound of Kayla’s voice.
“Where the hell are you?” she yelled just as I was pulling on my briefs.
I laughed. “In here, darling!” I called in an obnoxious falsetto.
No more than a second later, the bathroom door swung open, slamming the wall behind it, allowing me to be greeted by Kayla’s stunningly evil glare. She was truly a charmer.
“Hello, beautiful,” I said with an amused grin.
“Seriously?!”
“Calm down, killer. Take a few deep breaths,” I advised her calmly, unable to hide my smirk.
She wasn’t having it. “You’re going, Merrick!” she shouted, ignoring my words of wisdom.
I rolled my eyes, annoyed, before turning towards the mirror and picking up my can of shaving cream, completely ignoring her.
“You need to go,” she continued, but not as bitchtastically (and yes, I just made up that word).
I looked at her with a raised brow, half my face covered with cream.
“Come on! We never do anything together.”
Without looking at her, focusing instead on what I was doing so I didn’t gash myself, I answered, “I believe we just hung out the other day.”
She sighed before jumping up on the counter and sitting next to the sink. “You know what I mean.” She handed me the washcloth she knew I was looking for.
I knew the voice. I knew she was upset, and I knew she was being serious. I met her eyes, this time with a more genuine, not mocking, gaze. “I’ve got no issues with the guy. We’re good. I’ve told you this.”
“You say a whole four words when you see him,” she whined.
“Three, actually,” I said proudly.
She started counting on her fingers.
“The ‘what’ and ‘is’ are put together, not separate,” I explained.
“They’re two words, just put together …” she tried to justify her way of thinking, but then rolled her eyes, annoyed. “Whatever. ‘What’s up, man?’?! Really? That does not make you guys best friends.”
I gave her the look. No matter what the hell happened, I would never in a bazillion and one years be best friends with Miles Blackwell. I don’t even know where she got that hair-brained idea from. We did cordial, we did not do friendship.
“Or even friends … acquaintances. People that don’t even know each other converse more than you guys do.”
I exhaled, exhausted with this topic. I knew she wouldn’t budge, and I knew how much Miles and I having some kind of a relationship meant to her. I didn’t understand it, but it meant a lot to her, so I caved. Per usual.
“Fine! But don’t ever say that I don’t do anything for you!”
Her lips immediately curled up, stretching the length of her face before pouncing, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Never!” she said in an appreciative tone, making me smile. Kayla was like a little sister to me. Making her happy and hearing the cheerful tone in her voice was enough to make this guy melt.
“It better be a good fucking restaurant we’re going to first, though!”
She stepped back with a weary glance, making me pause and give her an irritated look.
“You were fucking baiting me with food?” I demanded.
She scrunched her face and raised her shoulders, guilty. “Maybe,” she said like a scared child, backing further away until she was almost to the door. “But they will have finger foods at the art studio.”
I exhaled again, flexing my hands into and out of fists. “You fucking owe me.” I pointed at her.
She smiled, sneaking out the door and rushing down the hall. “I know!” she called.
“And we better not spend the whole time painting happy fucking trees and shit like that PBS guy!”
“I hope you know that I suck at painting,” I told Nova as we approached the building that this shingdig was apparently happening at.
She giggled. “You and me both.”
The room was already filled when we got there, so we had to sit in the back row, which was just fine with me. A server immediately showed up behind us, handing us four aprons and a wine list. I rolled my eyes.
“Please,” Kayla whispered next to me, knowing exactly what I was thinking.
Fucking wine!
I handed the list to Nova, letting her decide; I didn’t like wine anyway, so I might as well put her in charge.
“Mmm, champagne,” she said like it was the best night ever.
Fucking A.
“Two glasses of champagne it is,” I ordered in my most pleasant voice.
“Oh, God,” Kayla murmured for my ears only.
“What?” I asked her, acting genuinely confused but adding the sarcastic grin that she knew very well. “It sounds delicious!”
She snorted, shaking her head before leaning into Miles on her other side to look at the wine list with him. How did she expect me to react? She knew this wasn’t my scene.
Miles, Kayla and Nova started to put on their aprons while they waited for the woman to return with our drinks. I didn’t move … no fucking way was I wearing a damn apron—being here was pathetic enough. I could feel the place sucking the testosterone from my balls.
Kayla didn’t even bother saying anything about it. She knew damn well that I’d create a scene on that one, and Nova, well, Nova was too shy with me to ask or even notice.
Nova and I were talking about I don’t know what when the instructor clapped us to attention. My body froze, my heartbeat sky rocketed, and the world around me stopped as I slowly and apprehensively glanced up. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t do anything as her eyes caught with mine. As her voice faded to silence, the whole room turned to face the person she couldn’t look away from.
She looked exactly how I remembered, pictured, and dreamt about. It was like no time had passed. My heart was wearing through my chest at the sight of her. Every emotion, every breath, every little feeling that I felt for Amelia was alive and showing just as it did that weekend and every day since.
I swallowed, feeling my throat dry up, and that’s when it
started—the panic. I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t be there with her. I couldn’t pretend that nothing ever happened between us. I couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t the only girl that ever made me feel, made me want more, made me … love.
I stood, my eyes finding the door. Don’t be a pussy. Don’t be a pussy.
“Merrick!” I could barely hear Kayla say from beside me, but I didn’t budge or even glance in her direction. My legs were already moving, taking long strides towards the exit.
I knew it wouldn’t be long before Kayla was running from the building, as well, and my strides quickly turned into a jog, running, escaping … getting away as far as I could.
I didn’t remember how I got there, but it felt like only seconds later that I was opening the door to my apartment, slamming it shut behind me before flinging open the fridge to grab a beer from it. I paced my living room as I twisted the cap from the bottle and took a long swig, emptying half of it into my mouth.
“All right, talk,” Kayla said from behind me.
I stopped in my tracks and turned, wondering when she got there. I didn’t remember hearing the door open or shut.
She was panting with a confused, exhausted look on her face. I looked past her, making sure no one was with her. She had no clue what was going on because she’d never met Amelia. She didn’t know what she looked like or how her voice sounded. Not like me. She was away at her friend’s wedding the weekend Amelia and I met. She only knew of her, nothing more than that.
I knocked back the rest of the beer in my hand before placing it on the coffee table. “That was her,” I said, hating the pussy-whipped tone in my voice.
Her expression didn’t waver. After seeing my reaction and the way everything went down at the studio, she’d probably already figured it out anyway. There was only one person that would ever make me react the way that I did. There was only one person that affected me the way Amelia did. I guess there wasn’t much to figure out … at least for someone that knew me.
She didn’t speak. She had no response. She just waited for me to continue.
“I couldn’t stay.” I began to pace again. “I couldn’t sit there and pay attention or try and have fun with her at the front of the room.” I put my hands on my hips, still looking at the ground. “I couldn’t breathe.”
There were a few minutes of silence before Kayla spoke.
“You need to talk to her.”
I shook my head. “No,” I responded, but mostly to myself. “No … I can’t.” I looked up at her. “She left. She didn’t feel it like I did.” I covered my face with my hands. “I can’t hear her say it.”
After I woke up that day with the bed empty beside me, I called her. When she wouldn’t answer my calls or texts, I contemplating searching for her. I knew she raced, I knew she only lived a few blocks from me. If I really wanted to, I could find her, and I did—I wanted to find her. I wanted to ask her every question running through my brain; I wanted to ask her why, but I didn’t. I was too hurt. Too broken. There was a reason she left. There was a reason she didn’t contact me. There was a reason that she apparently wanted nothing to do with me. There was reason that I was too much of a pussy to find out.
The truth was hard to grasp.
I could feel the space between Kayla and I close, but I didn’t look up.
“She felt it,” she said softly, making me open my eyes, noticing her now standing right in front of me, only a foot or two between us.
I looked at her, confused. She had no clue what Amelia felt that weekend. She wasn’t there. She didn’t see what went down or how she acted towards me. It was only Amelia and I that weekend. There was no one but us around after the bar.
She picked up on my confusion, explaining herself further. “I saw how she looked at you tonight. The pain. The emotion.” She sighed. “She felt it, Merrick.”
I stared at her blankly. I was so fucking lost that I didn’t even know what to think.
“I don’t know what happened, Merrick, but there’s more. I could see it. She feels the same way, but something happened. I think there’s more to her that you don’t know and that’s why you need to talk to her.”
I tilted my hand back, staring at the ceiling, trying to find clarity for a minute before looking back at Kayla. “How? I can’t just waltz back into the studio and demand to talk to her.”
“Find a way, Merrick. You love her, and I don’t doubt that she loves you. Find a way.”
I paced my living room for the remainder of the night, tossing back beer after beer after beer. I couldn’t figure it out. I couldn’t think of a way to talk to her. When it came down to it, I knew very little about Amelia. I only knew the obvious things, really: she lived in New York, she raced dirt bikes, and she worked at an art studio, but that was it. We didn’t talk about our lives much that weekend. We didn’t really talk about anything important at all, we just hung out, enjoying our time together doing absolutely nothing. We walked around Chinatown, ate here and there, and … made love. I sighed at the last part, putting my head in hands. That was the worst to remember. It tore through my heart and drained my body. It took everything that made me and scraped me down to nothing, because when Amelia and I made love, I felt everything.
It was after ten in the morning when I woke up on the couch, empty beer in hand. I looked around, but couldn’t lift my head much—it was pounding. I was hungover as fuck. I rested my head back down into the ancient throw pillow on the couch. My mind was as empty as my beer. I was a 28-year-old pussy, staring at the ceiling thinking and feeling nothing. I was drained, I felt like shit, and once again, I was depressed, worthless, and done. I didn’t want to get up. I didn’t want to move. I just wanted to rot. Right there. On my couch.
Seeing her killed me all over again. I had no more clarity than I did the night before, than the week before. I wasn’t any closer than I was before I passed out. If anything, I was further away. Seeing her put me back in the shit hole she left me in. I was done. Finished. I didn’t have the energy to get back up this time. Amelia got me for the last time.
I looked over to the refrigerator, scrunching my forehead at the pain movement caused, but something on the counter caught my eye, making me forget about the pain, causing me to sit up then stand. I rushed to the kitchen, not believing what I was seeing. I slowed as I got closer, examining it, trying to make sure that this was really happening, that I was seeing it correctly.
There was a cactus sitting in the middle of the counter. All by itself … a fucking cactus. I picked it up, searching anxiously for a note or something, but there was nothing, just a small cactus in an orange pot. My breathing accelerated as I turned and glanced around my apartment.
Was she here?
With the cactus still in hand, I practically ran to my room, somewhere in the back of my mind hoping that she was in there. Finding nothing but a torn apart bed from the previous night, I checked the bathroom, but there was still nothing—everything was just how I left it. Failing at finding any signs of Amelia, I walked back out to the living room, continuing to the door this time. It was locked. I unlocked it and opened it up, checking to see if there was a note or something on the outside of it, but still … nothing.
I scratched my head with my free hand, my hangover surprisingly nowhere to be found. Adrenaline was pushing through my veins more than I had ever felt it. No race, no caffeine, nothing could provide me with a rush like the one humming through me at that moment. No one could make me feel intenseness like this … only Amelia. And she cared. Kayla was fucking right … she cared. What we had was like a cactus. No matter what happened, no matter how much time it spent alone for no one to care for it, it would survive. We would survive.
I had to find Amelia. I had to find out why she left, why she wouldn’t explain. I needed to know what stood between us. There was more. There was more to Amelia that I needed to find out. I wanted to know everything about her. I needed her. I needed Amelia in the worst possible way.
I s
miled. Staring at the cactus in my hand before placing back on the counter, I smiled the biggest, goddamn pussy grin ever. I was going to get my girl. I was going to find her. I was going to find out what the hell happened and I was going to make her mine again. I didn’t care what it fucking took, Amelia Driscoll was mine and I would make damn sure that nothing ever changed that or stood in my way.
I took the quickest, most refreshing shower I’d taken in weeks, clarity now overwhelming me. Only one thing was holding me back: Nova. She deserved an explanation, and I had to tell her what happened last night. What happened between Amelia and I and what was consuming everything in me. Nova deserved to know that it wasn’t her fault. I knew how it felt to be left, to feel unwanted. I wouldn’t do that to Nova.
She answered on the third ring, right before it went to voicemail. I wouldn’t have blamed her if that was where I went, but she answered and I was relieved for that.
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