That would be a negative.
“Okay, Tommy, I hate to kick you out, but I need to catch some Z’s. Which dorm you at?”
“The building next door. Room 203.”
A new neighbor and friend, and all in the space of a few hours. My senior year may be starting on a different track.
“Can we exchange numbers?” His blue eyes widen, hopeful and eager, like a puppy in a shelter hoping this will be his chance. His tone hints at loneliness and a fear of rejection. And even if I don't want to admit it, the same thing hammers inside my chest.
“Yeah, sure.” I unlock my phone and give it to him. He does the same and hands me his phone.
I have a new friend. And it feels good.
Chapter Five
“Make a wish.”
I stop and look at the dandelion puff Tommy is holding inches away from my face. I can’t help the smile or the flood of memories that come with the simple gesture.
As a kid, I had only one wish. For my father to come and find me. I wished on anything and everything a kid could wish on—dandelions, stars, eyelashes. I even made up a few of my own. Any time I saw the same three numbers lined up in a row, be it on the clock or a license plate, I made a wish. And it finally came true. It’s here. I should have set a time limit. Given the universe a deadline. Fucking universe and its loopholes. My eyes shoot to the sky, and I send out a fuck you, fuck you very much note of thanks.
“Where did you find it?” I look around the concrete sidewalk. Tommy points to a crack on the curb where a dandelion grows.
“Come on, make a wish.” He smiles at me. I have the urge to ruffle his hair and give him a hug. If I had a younger brother, this is what it might have been like. Having a sibling would have eased some of my loneliness growing up, but I'm glad I was an only child. I'd hate to have anyone else live through the hell my life had been until I left for college. Having siblings would have meant leaving them behind, and I don’t know if I would have been able to do that.
“I don’t know what to wish for.” I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.
“Close your eyes and clear your mind. It will come to you.” He nods at me. “Come on. You can do it.”
I do as he says. Close my eyes, breathe in, clear my mind. I wish … and then it comes to me. What I truly have been wishing for all along. I want to be loved. I want someone to know me—all of me—and love me anyway.
I open my eyes, look at the dandelion, and blow. The tiny seeds swirl between us for a few seconds before catching in the breeze and floating away.
Tommy smiles, takes a step closer to the curb and gently puts the dandelion stem next to the plant he picked it from, his lips moving silently as he does so. Most people would probably drop the stem to the ground.
“What did you just do? Did you say something to the dandelion?” I point at the weed growing through the crack on the curb.
His cheeks pink a little. “When I was little, I felt bad for picking dandelions. I thought it would hurt them. I know they’re weeds and a nuisance for most people. But I loved the bright yellow flowers.” He puts his hands in his pockets, and we continue walking.
He speaks again. “My mom used to say that dandelions trade wishes for the chance to fly away and create new life. So when I picked a dandelion, I was helping it fulfill its destiny.”
I have to stop moving to completely absorb what Tommy said. Dandelions trade wishes for the chance to fly away and create new life. “That’s beautiful. I love that. Your mom is a wise woman.”
His smile fades.
He shrugs. “So, to get back to your question, I was saying thank you, for the wishes, and for the trade.”
I look back in the direction we came from. The dandelion puff is long gone in the wind, but I send it a silent thank-you anyway.
We walk without speaking the rest of the way to Pat’s Café where we order two coffees and a doughnut for Tommy. I introduced Tommy to Pat a couple of days ago, and she’s already taken him under her wing. I’m grateful for that. Like always, her gaze stays on me a little too long when I walk in, but she never looks at me with disapproval or judgment or makes me feel bad. I know she wants to say something, but she respects my walls. I'd hate to have to find another place to hang out when I need to feel welcome.
We take a seat. “You’re on your own tonight. I won’t be home.”
Tommy’s hung out with me in my dorm room nearly every night this week, and I’m growing used to having him around. Being with Tommy helps me keep any thoughts of my father at bay. Dad texted a few times, but I have yet to respond. A small, vengeful part of me rejoices in his attempts and my rejection, but the shallow joy is short-lived. Part of growing up and being in control of my life is also having the courage to confront the things I don’t want to.
“You’re going to a party?” He takes a huge bite of his doughnut.
“Kind of. It's my friend River’s twenty-first birthday, we’re having a girls’ night out.”
“Sounds fun. Where are you going?”
I hesitate. “We’re going to Skins.”
He stops mid-bite. “Isn’t that a strip club?”
“Yes. They’re having a Magic Mike night. And no, I don't make a habit of frequenting strip clubs, but tonight they’re hosting an all-male show, and I thought it would be something different to do.” I got tickets for River and her sister, but River said Skye is on an actual date with a hot cop. Good for her. Skye could use a little spice in her life.
He grins. “I have a few dollar bills if you want to borrow some money.”
I ball up my napkin and throw it at him. He ducks and laughs.
I catch Pat looking at me. I know she notices my hair. I'll need to touch up my roots soon since the honey-blond roots are showing. I’ve been dyeing it darker since I was sixteen. Even if it’s a temporary color, the brown makes me feel less like myself, and the less I am me, the better I feel.
I walk into Skins, and my stomach rolls. The stink of stale beer and cigarette smoke mingles with the scent of whatever cleaner they use on the floors, and it suffocates me. It smells like broken dreams and hopelessness, forcing old memories to come to mind and creating a time machine of misery I have to remind myself I’m no longer that girl at the mercy of a drunk man who always smelled of alcohol and cigarettes. My chest tightens. I should have known better than to come to a seedy place like this.
I'll need a drink if I'm to stay here for another couple of hours.
I make my way to the bar and get a shot of José Cuervo. José is an old friend that I was first introduced to at the tender age of twelve by one of my mother’s many boyfriends. I lift the glass and silently toast the now-dead loser my mother brought home to live with us. One of many, but the worst by far. I hope he’s rotting in hell.
River finds me as I finish downing my first shot. I slam the glass down.
She raises an eyebrow. “Starting early?”
“Never too early for José.” I smile big and slip into my well-crafted happy-girl persona. I wear it like a shield. No one questions happy people. River sits on the stool next to mine. Her eyes linger on me, and I know she has more to say.
“Happy birthday, best friend. Welcome to the age of legal drinking!” I hug River, and whatever she was about to say is lost in the moment. I don’t give her a chance to try again. “Let’s find the girls.” I grab her hand and pull her along behind me until we find the table I reserved for tonight where two of our friends are already sitting.
Our tiny table, not meant for holding more than a few drinks, is front and center, acting as a poor barrier between us and the stage. River takes a seat, and I follow, sitting across from Sabrina and Juliana. They're a couple, but it's not widely known. They surprised me by wanting to come along when I mentioned my plans for River's birthday. They said they liked dick, just not the men attached to it.
That cracked me up. I can totally understand what they mean even if we don't play for the same team.
A waitress arri
ves right after we’re settled with the pitcher of sangria I ordered at the bar.
River uses the wooden spoon and plucks out an apple chunk. “Yummy, but I'm not drinking tonight. I have to drive. I’m adulting.” She shouts to be heard over the music pumping through dozens of speakers and the voices of a hundred other excited women.
River rolls her shoulders as if trying to shake something off. She looks around the semi-darkened room. I follow her gaze. She’s spotting all the EXIT signs. She seems as uncomfortable as I feel. I want to escape too, already regretting tonight's choice of entertainment.
I'm about to suggest we go somewhere else when the lights blink and dim even more. The women around us whoop and scream louder. A single spotlight illuminates the stage, revealing a guy wearing very low-cut jeans and no shirt. He's huge and muscular. My stomach clenches, but not in the way one might expect when faced with such a beautifully sculpted body. All I see when I look at him is someone who could easily overpower me. I see his face. Theodore. My mother’s boyfriend. The thought of him sends pangs of revulsion through me. One of my legs begins bouncing incessantly. I gnash my teeth, breathing in and choking on the heavy air. I close my eyes and grip my knees. Squeeze until my fingernails bite into my skin through my jeans’ fabric. The small pain grounds me, gives me something else to focus on.
The guy on the stage is still talking. Listing all the rules of what we can and can't do. No worries there. I have no intention of getting any closer to these guys. This Magic Mike thing looked way more fun in the movies.
I want another shot, but I won’t. I need to keep my wits about me. I reach for the sangria pitcher and fill my glass with mostly fruit. It looks full, but it's probably less than a third of actual liquid. I sip and try to look like I'm enjoying myself. River looks at me and reaches out to squeeze my hand. The lights go out completely, and the music grows louder. The sound of Pony by Ginuwine reverberates off the walls and thumps inside my chest.
The screams, the excitement, the loud music, the smells, the lights—it's all too much. I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow down the bile rising in my throat. My heart runs miles inside my chest as if it could replace my feet and escape on its own. Too late now.
The room is closing in on me. I find a spot on the floor and try to concentrate on it, blocking everything else out. It’s not working.
I can’t do this. I have to get out of here. This was a stupid idea. I'll excuse myself and hide in the bathroom until it’s over. Like old times. Like when I locked myself in the bathroom and hid from him.
But I don’t have a chance to escape.
Eight men fill the stage. Eight huge men. They’re all dressed in very low-hanging jeans and white T-shirts. Muscles bulging everywhere. Skin glistening under the spotlights. I swallow again. Take a deep breath, but instead of clean, calming air, all I get is a stronger dose of the cigarettes, sweat, and alcohol, even more nauseating as it mingles with the perfume and heat of over a hundred overly excited women.
The men continue to dance in a choreography of simulated sex. In sync, they rip all their shirts off and fall to the ground. Their movements pick up with the beat of the song. The screams get louder. The pants go next. Easily ripped and dropped to the ground. Golden strips of fabric barely cover their groins. A nervous twitch breaks through my panicked, frozen state. I try to distract myself by thinking about those pants and what are they made of that they can so easily be ripped away. My face heats up, and sweat breaks out on my brow. I probably look like all the other desperate, lonely, and under-sexed women in here.
I'm having a panic attack and on the verge of hysteria—run, run, run, hide, hide, hide—the words play on repeat in my mind like a mantra. But I’m frozen in place. I can’t move a muscle except for the small gasps of air I force myself to suck in through my mouth.
Amid all the excitement, no one can tell. No one but River, that is. Her brows furrow, and she reaches out to me, a tentative hand on my shoulder. I squeeze my eyes shut to hold in the tears. Force more air into my lungs. Hold my breath. Count to ten. Release. Do it again. And again. I open my eyes, and River is watching me, not the men dancing a few yards away. The men who begin to jump off the stage and walk up to the screaming women who grab at them eagerly.
Dizziness overcomes me. I'm so sickened by the entire thing that I don’t notice when one of them approaches me until I feel the presence of a body inches away from me. The smell of sweat and weed slaps me in the face.
I flashback to a scene I'd give anything to erase from my mind—the hot breath on my face, the stink of cigarettes and cheap alcohol. His weight pressing down on me, stealing my childhood—my entire body shudders in rejection of the memory, streaming across my mind like a reel of film. My stomach rebels and turns inside out. The nausea and bile can no longer be contained. It rises up my throat, ready to purge the memories along with the contents of my stomach. I bend forward, into the gyrating hips of the dancer in front of me, and I puke all over him.
He jumps back with a curse and steps away from me, disappearing into the dark hall next to the stage. I stay in place, paralyzed under the weight of the past and what just happened. My face burns, sweat beads on my hairline. River grabs me by the shoulders and gently pulls me up. We step around the mess, and she walks me toward the back where the bathrooms are located. The dimmed lights hide our exit. If Sabrina and Juliana noticed anything wrong, they don't say. I don’t dare look at them.
We walk into the bathroom and I blink at the too bright lights. My heartbeat is steadier now that we left the noise and men behind. River's holding me still. She stops halfway into the bathroom. “Stall or sink?”
“Sink. I think I'm done puking.”
We veer right, and she turns the faucet and holds my long hair back so it doesn’t get wet.
I cup my hands under the water and rinse my mouth until the taste of regret fades away.
River hands me a few paper towels.
“How much did you have to drink?”
“Five shots,” I lie. The falsehood easily slips out. Lies and secrets have been my companions for far too long. They're second nature now.
She narrows her eyes at me, arms crossed over her chest, and I notice a purple silk scarf I’ve never seen her wear before. It must be new. My mind locks on that minor detail. It's a trick I learned long ago. Pay attention to something else, focus your entire being on it. For a few seconds or even minutes. However long it takes me to ground myself again.
River is about to say something else when the bathroom door opens, and a woman walks in and into a stall. We're no longer alone, and the silence between us is like a thick fog as we wait and stare at each other.
The woman leaves the bathroom without washing her hands. Nasty.
River opens her clutch and out comes a package of Tic-Tacs. The cinnamon kind. I empty half of them into my palm and put them all in my mouth. There’s an explosion of flavor as it burns my tongue.
“I'm sorry. I fucked up your birthday.”
She dismisses my apology with a headshake. “I worry about you, Becca. What's going on?”
“Boy trouble,” I lie again. There are no boys. My mind flashes to Tommy, but he's no trouble. Tommy is a little spot of sunshine in my life. He's kind and uncomplicated. And unlike every other guy, he's not trying to use me or get anything from me. Other than my salt and vinegar potato chips.
Her shoulders drop, and she uncrosses her arms. I know her well enough to know this is River letting go of the inquisition she wants to unleash on me. For now, at least.
“What do you want to do?” Her voice is low, even though we’re alone now.
“I don't want to go back out there again,” I gesture at the door. “You can go back. But I'm going home.”
She scoffs at me. “As if.”
River does her best imitation of Cher in Clueless. We watched the movie a few nights ago. I laugh. A genuine laugh this time.
“Leave your car here. I'll drive you and tuck you in.”
“Yes, Mom.” I try for sarcasm, but my voice cracks a little when I say Mom.
River squeezes my arm. “I love you, you know that, right? And I don't know what's going on with you, but whatever it is, I'd never judge you because of it. You can tell me anything.”
She has been more insistent with her questions lately.
“It's a two-way street, River. Feel free to open up about what's eating at you any time.”
That shuts her up.
Chapter Six
“I don’t know why you put up with me. I’m not a good friend.” I squeeze the phone between my ear and shoulder and grab a rag to clean the already clean bar top.
“This again? Yes, you are. I don’t need someone to hold my hand, Becca. I need someone who gives me space but is always there when I need them. That’s you.”
I sigh. River is a much better friend than I’ll ever be. “I’m sorry about ruining your birthday.”
“Pfffff. That was ages ago. And you didn’t ruin it. I’m still here. Still twenty-one, and we can go out again any time we want.”
“It was three days ago, and instead of celebrating your birthday, you dragged my ass to my dorm and watched over me all night. So no, that was not a good birthday celebration at all. I owe you a proper celebration.”
“It’s my turn to do laundry at home. Come over and do the laundry, and we’ll call it even.” She chuckles. River is not really the domestic type.
“In your dreams. Hold on.” I put the phone down and take an order before grabbing the phone again.
“Sorry. Had a customer.”
“You’re at work? Sorry. You should have said something. I won’t bother you.”
“No bother. The place is dead. There’s like five people here. It’s never busy on Tuesday nights.”
“So … what’s going on with your new boy-toy? You’ve been together for what? Ten days now? Is this one going to stick?”
Because of Dylan: A forbidden student teacher slow burn romance (Riggins U Book 3) Page 3
