Another Little Piece of My Heart

by Tracey Martin

I pull away. “Anything else to drink? I’m thirsty.”

  The movie’s ended, so Zach turns the TV off and the stereo on before heading into the kitchen. I slump into the sofa and gulp down untainted air.

  He returns a minute later with a half-empty bottle of vodka. “Dessert?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He takes a swig and passes it to me. I do the same. The vodka burns my mouth and throat going down, and I swear my head feels fuzzier by the time the warmth leaches outward from my stomach. For good measure, I drink again.

  “Whoa. Bad day?” Zach asks.

  “Bad life.”

  “Sorry about that.” Zach climbs on the couch, hovering over me. His shirt dangles in front of my face, and he looks more appealing by the second. Yay for vodka.

  “Me, too.”

  I tug his shirt up and kiss his chest. His skin’s easier to kiss than his lips. I can breathe when he’s not sucking on my tongue, and his skin smells clean, like soap. I’m proud of myself.

  But once Zach insists on kissing me instead, I have nothing to concentrate on. No distraction. All my pain and depression gnaw at the back of my mind. I try to ignore it, but the feelings grow more persistent.

  Somehow I end up on my back, Zach half lying on top of me. We both have our shirts off, and his hand finds the button on my jeans. He’s saying something to me but I can’t understand him, and I don’t know if that’s his fault for mumbling or mine for drinking too much. I am pretty sure, however, that I don’t want his hand down my pants.

  That thought sobers me up enough to I recall why I’m drinking in the first place, and my depression is emboldened by the alcohol. I tear myself away from Zach and roll off the sofa.

  My hair’s fallen out of my ponytail and it shrouds my face. I’m on my hands and knees, staring at the floor, and the tears I’ve been holding in are pushing through. My emotions have liquefied me, and now everything spills out through my eyes.

  Zach moans, and the sofa springs squeak. “Claire?”

  I blink at the tears, begging them to vanish. “Sorry. Bad life is catching up to me. I can’t, sorry.” I feel blindly around on the sofa for my T-shirt.

  Zach hands it to me. “What happened?”

  “It’s...” I put the shirt on. I don’t want to tell him because he won’t understand, but the alcohol loosens my tongue. “My band’s broken up. They told me yesterday.” It sounds dumb with me resting my back against Zach’s sofa. Childish.

  “That sucks.”

  “What really sucks is that I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. I’m too stupid. I kept thinking that I have this year off before college, and I’ll work hard and try to promote us, and maybe something good will happen, and...” I swallow down the newest threat of tears.

  “Can’t you find new people?”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  He sits behind me and massages my shoulders. I guess it’s supposed to be comforting, but I hate him touching me. Yet I don’t have the energy—or possibly the balance—to move away. My head’s stuffed with vodka, making it hard to think straight.

  “So it’s not easy. So what? You have time. It’s not like you guys would have gotten a big break this year or anything.”

  “We could have.” And then I wouldn’t need to worry about whether I’ll ever be able to pay for college.

  Zach kisses the top of my head. “Yeah, I guess you could have, but let’s face it—probably not. So you’re not missing out. I can’t tell you how many guys I know who keep dreaming of that sort of thing. Jared’s the only person I ever met who got lucky.”

  I grit my teeth at the mention of Jared’s name. “People need dreams. That’s just it—I can’t have that dream anymore.”

  “People also need to be realistic. Seriously, Claire. This isn’t the end of the world for you. It’s only a high school band. If you want to dream, fine, but be realistic. It’s not like a year makes any difference.”

  How would he know? He doesn’t know a thing about me. My jaw’s clenched. I’m too annoyed to speak, partly because Zach’s making some sense and I’m not ready to deal with sense. It’s all well and good for him to be logical. He doesn’t have any hopes tied to my situation. He has other things going on in his life.

  Besides, “only a high school band”? Like we couldn’t possibly be—have been—any good?

  I try to stand and stumble. The room sways. Zach scoops me into his arms before I fall over and pulls me back onto the couch. I catch a glimpse of the vodka bottle as I collide with him. It’s almost gone. How much of it did I drink?

  “You wanted to kick back and forget about this stuff, right?” Zach says. He reaches under my shirt again. “Let me help you.”

  “No.” Can he not see how he pissed me off?

  “Claire, relax.” Zach stretches out on top of me, and I end up crashing onto my back. My vision blurs. I feel as if I’m falling even though I’m pressed into the sofa.

  Oblivious to my dizziness, Zach kisses my stomach, his mouth progressing lower and lower to my waistband. I close my eyes, hold my breath, but it’s not with a good sort of anticipation. I need the room to stop moving. I need space and oxygen. “You shouldn’t be stressing out about this kind of thing,” Zach says in between kisses.

  I try to wiggle out of his grasp, but he has his arms locked around mine. “I am stressing. So stop.”

  He doesn’t respond, just keeps kissing me. My stomach is cold, and the rest of me is starting to follow. I don’t like this. Don’t want this. I thought I did, but I was wrong.

  “Zach, get off.” I struggle a little harder, but the words sound whiney and I can’t move.

  Then from somewhere comes a clicking noise. Whatever it is, it surprises Zach. His grip slackens, and that’s all the opportunity I need.

  “I said get off!” I shove him away and collapse to the floor for the second time. The room seems to do circles around me. A wave of nausea drifts by, and my insides rock like a buoy in a hurricane.

  “What the hell’s going on?”

  Jared’s voice. I freeze, and the floor beneath me dances in and out of view. So that’s what that noise was—the lock clicking.

  “Claire?” And now Hannah’s voice. Great, just freaking great.

  “Nothing’s going on,” Zach says. He sounds annoyed.

  “No,” I add. “Nothing. I’m leaving.”

  The dizziness passes and I struggle to remember where I left my bag. I have a feeling I shouldn’t be driving, but then neither should Zach. And there’s no way I’m asking for a ride. I’ll be fine. That’s tonight’s motto, after all. All is fucking fine.

  I see my bag and sweatshirt, and grab them. Mike, Hannah, and Jared stand by the open door. Where’s Lisa? I wonder, then shove away the thought because I’m having a hard enough time concentrating as it is.

  Mike looks amused, but Jared’s mouth is set in a thin line, and he glares at Zach as if he’s ready to deck him.

  I push past. “You’re letting all the mosquitoes in.”

  The air’s chilly, but I’m a strange mixture of hot and cold from the vodka. I fumble through my bag in search of my keys, which proves to be more difficult than it should be while also walking. Behind me, the apartment door shuts.

  “Claire.”

  It’s Jared, so I up my pace, and my feet slide on the gravel-strewn dirt. Every breath of cool air is sobering me up. I think I’ll be okay to drive.

  “Claire.” He grabs my arm. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

  “No. It’s nothing like that. I’m fine.” I twist away.

  When the heat from Jared’s hand leaves me, I shiver. All at once, the cold fully penetrates every pore. I attempt to put on my sweatshirt and, in doing so, drop my keys. It occurs to me as I pick them up that Jared’s watching me. �
��Go away.”

  Instead of listening, he steps in front of me. “Give me your keys.”

  “What? No.”

  “Claire, give them to me. You shouldn’t be driving.”

  “Cold air’s good for me. I’ll leave the windows down.” Crap. Did my words slur?

  Jared snatches my hand and pries my fingers open. I scream for him to get off, but I’m too uncoordinated to hold on to the keys. He takes them easily.

  I stamp my foot. “I said I’m fine.”

  “Yeah? If you were sober, you’d have elbowed me in the stomach.”

  A weak laugh bursts from my lips. I did elbow him in the stomach once, but our roles were reversed. I’d been trying to take his keys because he shouldn’t have been driving. Although I hadn’t had my license at the time, I was still a safer driver than he’d have been.

  “See,” he says, apparently reading my mind. “You know I’m right. Come on. I’ll drive you home and return your car tomorrow.”

  I hesitate. I don’t want to go with Jared, but he has my keys. Damn. I dig my heel into the dirt, attempting to riddle this out. “I’ll call for a ride.”

  “It’s after midnight. Don’t bother anyone when I can drive you.”

  But I don’t want to go with him. He doesn’t get it. I have a plan—it’s called Avoid Jared. This kind of ruins it. And my head’s starting to hurt. “What about Hannah?”

  “Hannah’s fine. You’re the one...” He makes a face. “Come on.”

  I don’t move.

  “Please?” Jared pulls open the passenger door of his old pickup and gestures me in. I gape at it, thinking I must be hallucinating. Same old dent in the bumper. Same old Calvin and Hobbes sticker in the window and Suburbia Music bumper sticker on the back. What is he doing with the old truck? He must have enough money to buy something nicer.

  More muddled than ever, I climb onto the passenger seat. The coffee stain on the floor mat, courtesy of Jared slamming on the breaks to avoid a deer, and my latte splashing all over my feet, remains. The familiar truck smell surrounds me, too, something homey. It’s reminiscent of many trips between school and Jared’s home, late night drives and hours spent rambling about inane topics in shopping center parking lots long after the stores closed and we had nowhere private to hang out. Also some pretty hot kissing during those times.

  Unlike Zach, Jared never tried to suck my tongue out of my mouth. And sure, he frequently smelled like Peanut M&M’S, but it didn’t bother me the way Zach’s beer smell does.

  The memories flood my mind, and in my emotionally compromised state, they weaken me. The tears I’d repressed earlier rush to the surface, only they’re not caused by yesterday’s band breakup. They’re something older. The result of a different sort of breakup.

  I close my eyes and press my head against the seat, praying they’ll pass.

  Jared turns the ignition. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “My head’s fuzzed is all.”

  “I mean what happened with Zach. If he tried—”

  “No.” I shake my head, which is a mistake because it stirs up my stomach contents and makes me dizzy. “Nothing happened with Zach.” I suppose something might have turned bad if Jared and Mike hadn’t shown up, but I don’t know that. It’s better to give Zach the benefit of the doubt.

  Jared pulls onto the main road and oncoming headlights cause my head to throb. I rest it in my hands. “I can’t believe you have this truck still.”

  Jared shrugs, kind of sheepishly. For some reason it’s totally adorable, which is not what I should be thinking. No more vodka for me. Ever.

  “I love this truck. I worked my ass off for this truck. I’ll drive it until it can’t be patched together anymore.” He bites his lower lip in a mischievous way. “I did buy a bike though.”

  I smile sadly. That doesn’t surprise me. Jared always wanted one. We used to talk about the day when we’d load everything we had into backpacks and drive across country on his nonexistent Harley. I could imagine the wind in my hair, my arms wrapped around him, inhaling the scent of leather. Yeah, wild and free, that would be us. Ha.

  “Your mom must have been thrilled.”

  As a police dispatcher, Jared’s mom has too much experience with motorcycle accidents. I remember her talking about “paste heads.” That’s what she called the bodies, usually of guys, who weren’t wearing helmets or whose helmets didn’t do them any good.

  “You could say she wasn’t the most pleased. But that’s another reason to hold on to the truck. Keeps her less on edge.”

  “So you really keep it for your mom’s sake?”

  I could run with that thought, take it to a place where it could be used to pick a fight, but I don’t have it in me to try. I don’t know if it’s because I’m drunk or because of something worse, but fighting with Jared is losing its appeal. I’m still angry at him, but it’s more an annoyed sort of anger rather than a hit-and-run rage.

  “It’s only one of many reasons,” he says, and his defensive tone suggests he read my mind. “The truck has too many memories to get rid of it.” He pats the dashboard.

  I shut my eyes again. If I can’t see, I can’t attempt to judge whether Jared’s thinking of the same memories that I am.

  We finish the drive in silence, and the last few minutes pass too slowly and too quickly. How is it possible to feel so awkward in a place so familiar? I don’t want to leave the confines of the truck, but I wish I’d never gotten in.

  The tires crunch over the sand along the side of the road as Jared pulls up to the curb. Lights burn inside the house. Yup, someone’s up. I should have called for a ride.

  I yawn. “Thanks.”

  “Claire, wait,” Jared says as I unlatch the door. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said the other week. I didn’t mean it.”

  “The other week?”

  “When we went for ice cream. About us....” He grimaces. “I didn’t mean...you know that’s not true, don’t you?”

  Oh, right. The snide comment about how boring sex with me was. It takes a moment for me to get it, and that has nothing to do with drinking and everything to do with the absurdity of it.

  I mean, that’s what he feels the need to apologize for? After pretending I dumped him for a car, claiming that I thought I was too good for him, never bothering to let me explain why I broke up with him in the first place... That’s what he apologizes for?

  I rub my eyes as I step out. “I get it. You were trying to hurt me. I was trying to hurt you. Whatever. It’s all fair in love and war, or however that goes. Same with the songs you wrote, right? At least you got your snark on in private this time.”

  Jared starts to say something else, but I slam the door and shuffle up the path without looking back. I’m not feeling well enough to deal with this conversation now, and I can’t help but think the time for apologies has long passed. My phone number hasn’t changed. If Jared had wanted to apologize, he had plenty of opportunities to do it when I wasn’t drunk and depressed.

  Fortunately, the front door is unlocked—otherwise my grand exit would be ruined, since Jared has my keys. I glance out the window as I climb the stairs and see his headlights disappear down the street. Only when they’re gone do I wonder if I was the one who ran away this time, and whether I should have heard him out the way I once wished he’d heard me out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I should have had Sunday off, but when the phone rings at eight with Ben asking me if I could cover an extra shift, I say yes. Sure, my head is throbbing and there aren’t enough coffee beans in Colombia to keep me functional, but what’s my alternative? Hang around the house until Jared came by to drop off my car. No thanks. Not after the awkwardness of our last encounter.

  I work Monday and Tuesday, as well, managing three days in a row without crossing hi
s path. Now if only I could manage three days in a row without thinking about him, all would be swell in Claireland.

  By Wednesday morning, I’ve forgotten what to do with a day off it’s been so long since my last. The sky threatens rain. It’s flat and gray as though someone ran a paintbrush over it. When I wander down to breakfast around ten, I discover everyone else already has plans.

  “Outlet shopping?” my aunt asks me. “April and I are going up to Maine.”

  I shake my head since I’m not much of a shopper. “Hannah, what are you up to?”

  Hannah lowers her eyes toward her coffee mug. “Mike’s got his dad’s boat, and I’m going out with him on it.”

  I mull this over, thoroughly confused. What’s Hannah doing hanging out with Mike? She sounds suspiciously apologetic, too, so I turn to Lisa. “Are you going?”

  “No.” Lisa clears her plate. “I’m going into UNH to meet up with some friends.”

  “Your uncle’s going fishing,” my aunt says. “Sure you don’t want to come along?”

  “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” I follow Lisa into the living room. It’s none of my business, but I can’t help but wonder if any of this has something to do with why she’s been a in a bad mood lately. “Not be nosy or anything, but is everything okay with you and Hannah?”

  To my surprise, she laughs. “Yeah, we’re good. Hannah’s just being Hannah. It’s Jared I wonder about.”

  “What?” And I thought I was confused a minute ago.

  “Oh, Hannah flirts with whatever guy shows her the most attention.” Lisa rolls her eyes. “Lately, that’s been Mike. I was mad at her because I knew Mike was interested, and I figured there was no way he could compete with Jared and he was going to get hurt. But I guess I was wrong. Apparently she’s been getting more interested in Mike and less interested in Jared since the camping trip. So now I feel kind of bad for Jared. I doubt he’s used to being dumped, but his ego can probably take it better than Mike’s.”

  Actually, I think, have you ever listened to his songs? Jared’s ego doesn’t handle that sort of thing well at all.