“He’s going to be scarred for the rest of his life.” I should not be laughing but for the vodka hidden covertly in a stylish water bottle of hers. It’s pink and sparkly and has miniature unicorns on it.
“You two are actual pieces of shit,” Mike says before getting up for his turn.
“Oh my God, Majesty, we’re feces. How did we not know? Can you smell me? Do I smell like it? Oh God oh God oh God oh—” I thrust my chest in her face, and she squeals and transforms into a ball. But then she sticks her face in my shirt, and I think she’s stuck. Oh God, she’s stuck in there!
“You smell like…like…fuuuuuck. Are you wearing cologne for…her?” She pulls out with a half-lidded lazy smile, thumb pointing not so discreetly toward Beth, who of course pops her head up from her phone and waves at me, batting her fake eyelashes like crazy.
“No, shhh, or she’ll come over and try to—oh, damn! It’s too late. Act natural,” I hush-whisper, but Beth raises an eyebrow and looks pissed off.
“You’re not whispering, just talking really loudly,” she says, and I blush.
“Oh.” That’s embarrassing.
“Anyway, can I get some of what y’all are having?” she asks and sits in the chair next to me. She’s smiling, and I kind of like her smile. She looks more human with her pink sweats and natural black hair. She’s almost constantly wearing tight clothes; I always wonder if she can actually breathe.
“No, this is our stash—get your own, hoe,” Majesty slurs.
“Jesus Christ, Maj.” I rub her arm to soothe her down. She recently got dumped by her on and off again “boo” Brandon. According to him, via her ranting to me for a solid hour, she can be too clingy. But I have no idea what he’s talking about. She mumbles as she clamps around my arm, nuzzling down our pink stash of sweet heaven.
Unlike her, I am not getting trashed in a bowling alley on a Monday night because it’s fun. Although, watching Maj crotch-chop in front of a seven year old whose eyes lit up like a firework display is entertaining.
No, I’m drinking because I’m just fed up with people thinking I am not over a certain someone, that I can’t have fun without her being behind the reason. Why can’t everyone understand that not everything has to correlate with her? Why can’t she just be the past? Why can’t she get the fuck out of my head?
Why is she walking toward us?
I must be seeing things, so I take a large swig of the unicorn-infused drink. But when I look over at her, she’s still there and very real. And she’s standing sort of close to us. I reach a hand out, eyes blurry, head full, and expect to grip nothing but air, but I actually touch her stomach. I yank my hand back and catch a glimpse of my friends tensing up: Mike walks back to his seat with raised brows, Ty glances over his shoulder with a bowling ball in his hands, and Rachel scowls at her. I’ve never seen her so red in the face before…
“What are you doing here?” I spit out and chug some more unicorn-vodka.
Her full mouth is moving, and I can barely focus on her words. “Maj texted saying she got her foot stuck in the bowling thing.” She nods to the machine that spits out the bowling balls.
“And she’d call you instead of the police?” I ask, unbelieving. That makes no sense, but Majesty is also biting my pinky. “Ow!”
“Sorry,” she sighs. “You just taste like him—like Brandon. Oh God, I think I miss him.” She hiccups, which quickly turns into a full-on sob. People stare at us funny, but I just pat the side of her head.
“There, there.” I smile. Her face looks fuzzy when she cries; I wonder if anyone’s ever told her that…
“Enough with the biting already. I’m still suffering from earlier.” Red holds out her pinky with a smile that makes my heart flip like a pancake. Oh, screw pancakes! I could really go for some French toast. She waves a hand in front of my face, and I look into her electric blue eyes and down at her full lips. They’re tugged down by an invisible string. “Hey, you all right?”
“What’s it to you?” I bark like I should. I’m s’pposed to, like, hate her, right? Yeah…yeah! “Don’t you have some other guy you wanna rob then dump?”
Hurt flashes across her face, and she stands up straight. “I didn’t…I only came for Maj, okay? She clearly shouldn’t be out.”
“Screw off, I wanna hold balls, even if they’re not Brandon’s!” Majesty cries, and I nod.
“She should be able to hold balls, Red,” I spit out.
“Why are you my sister and friend?” I hear Ty mutter as he takes a seat in one of the sticky neon orange chairs.
“I think you should leave. You’re clearly upsetting her,” Beth says. She doesn’t care about Majesty, though. She just doesn’t like Red. Or she wants her gone so she can freely touch my thigh; I can feel her small hand pressed against my thigh.
I have way too many girls surrounding me.
I try to sit up, but Beth is stronger than I ever expected. I let her pull me back in the seat and hold my shoulder. She cuts me a warning glare, and I quickly look at the floor. Maybe she’s right; Red needs to leave. She promised she’d stay away. At least I told her to. After all she’s done, she owes me that—staying the hell away.
Red bites her lip. “Maj…?”
“Go away. Please,” is her friend’s low response.
Again, she looks like a hurt puppy, and I desperately want to reach out and hold her in my arms, kiss the problems away. But I remain stapled to my sticky chair, watching her glance at Beth, then at Rachel, back at me…then the floor.
“Fine. Just…please call me when you guys are leaving,” she mutters.
“Red…” I begin to say when Beth smashes her lips on mine. I cringe backward and hear Red gasp before shuffling away. Majesty complains in my ear before stalking off to “get more nachos since Mike’s fat ass ate them all,” leaving me to fend off the girl who wears one too many puffs of fruit perfume.
I finally push her away and stand up quickly. “I did not like that.”
Her gaze is hungry, her smile wicked. “Sorry, I just couldn’t resist.” Her smile drops, and she shrugs, staring at her long pink fingernails. “That and I wanted her to leave. God. I have no idea what you saw in her anyway. Anyone could see what a horrible bitch she is from a mile away.”
I want to shout at her, to defend Red despite all the fucked-up things she did to me. And I don’t understand myself because I am supposed to hate her. I told her to stay away, yet I am rushing out of the bowling alley and panting as I run to her.
“Red!” I scream her name.
She whips around, eyes wide in shock, and her fingers pull away from her mouth. I think I see blood, and I feel drained of my own. What the hell happened? She was gone for like two seconds.
“Red!” I shout again and race across the small parking lot. I almost get hit by a speeding Prius, and when I finally reach her, she’s halfway in her car, trying to escape. But I grab her forearm, and the door shuts.
Up close, I can see the damage: the right side of her lower full lip is busted, and blood is never-ending, like a damn river. It leaves a trail down her chin, and it gets smudged when she closes her mouth to gulp. There is a shade of a bruise under her left eye. My stomach tightens, and it’s hard to breathe.
I’m not supposed to care about her. I’m supposed to…oh, fuck that! The girl just got jumped or quickly fell off a building and scrambled back here. I’m still a human, even after I had my heart broken.
“Who did this to you?” I ask in a low growl. I cup her cheeks, and touching her skin causes a live wire to dance between my veins.
“N-no one,” she stammers then swallows thickly. She’s lying. I can tell just by her eyes looking everywhere but me, the way her tongue is playing with her lip ring.
“Who did this to you, Red?” I ask again. I am not taking any answer that isn’t the truth. I shouldn’t care this much. God. I really shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.
“I…why do you even care? Shouldn’t you be with your whore?” she sn
aps instead of answering the question.
“Red, don’t do that,” I plead softly.
She uses her knee to push me away, and as I kneel over clutching my stomach, she jumps into her car. “You said to stay away, and I’m telling the same thing to you. Go back inside and leave me alone, okay?” she spits out harshly before reversing quickly and speeding out of the parking lot.
I fall to the ground and tear up, not because she hurt me or anything, but because I’m filled with so many emotions, but one that’s leading the others is rage to hurt whoever hurt her.
Chapter Nine
True to her nature, I don’t see Red again, which should have me jumping in joy, but I am stressed because of the emotions tumbling through me. I am confused by myself because of what she did, yet I was holding her face and yearning to just hold her, comfort her. She should be the one on her knees begging me to let her in, not the other way around. She is the one who broke my heart, broke…she broke…fuck—she broke me. Me!
But that doesn’t stop my freaking subconscious to replay the night in the parking lot three days ago. How she was beaten up, literally. I can’t tell you the panic and worry that overtook me as I raced over to her, held her flushed cheeks. She was so warm and so bloody and tearing up. She looked like she’d just dealt with the ghost of her fucked-up past and barely made it out. And I wanted so fucking badly to bring her into my arms and just melt away with her face clean of blood and bruises.
Call me a masochist, I don’t fucking care, I still care about the girl. It’s incredibly hard to not care about her. I loved her. And I mean loved her. And you don’t just get over someone you loved. They’re not an obstacle or something that doesn’t matter when they hurt you or leave you or both. They are—they become a part of you, and when they leave, a part of you just shrivels up and…dies. And that’s what happened when I woke up in that hospital bed.
I felt it before I called her. Heard it before she said it. Saw it before she hung up. The heartbreak and sorrow. They stared at me through this sort of film, and I could see through the one-way mirror. I saw what awaited me, and I was just stuck there, and it was just unavoidable, and I just couldn’t move. I couldn’t—I couldn’t breathe. And all I could possibly do was lay in that bed and sense my other half drive away, out of town, without me.
A tear streams down my face, and I fist my wet cheeks. Why am I crying? I ask myself as I run my palms up and down my flushed face. I can’t cry over her; I’ve done enough of it over the past few months. She doesn’t deserve any more of my tears. So with finality, I back hand the tears off my cheeks and take slow, deep breaths. My chest is aching, and my head feels woozy. I need some fresh air or I will go out of my freaking mind. Well, more than I already have.
I stand up from my desk in my modernized office. There’s a plasma screen and a sitting area with leather couches and even a coffee maker in the corner…it makes me sick. The money spent on my office alone could have bought hundreds of meals for the less fortunate. I make a mental note to stop by a homeless shelter; I haven’t in so long, and I feel bad, almost as bad as not going to church.
While I’m at it, I should wipe out all the liquor in my liquor cabinet back home. Cut my ever-growing hair. Buy new clothes. Start fresh.
At the elevator, I invite the guys out to the barber later today. I have a few things to do before the trip to Saint Martin. I packed just last night for the weekend and am excited to go. It’s been a long while since I last ventured outside of the US, and the island seems to be a good start. Crystal blue water, constant parties in town squares, secluded beaches…it sounds like a paradise world I wanna be a part of.
When the elevator dings and a few people in suits briskly walk out, I enter and hit the very top floor. I would go to the ground floor, maybe get a bagel or something, some coffee…but I think higher altitude will do the trick. I step off the elevator when it slows down and look around before heading to the roof exit. I’m not authorized to come up here, but I get a few perks since my father owns the building.
The air is crisp, and I feel like an idiot for not bringing my jacket. But I should be thankful it’s not December, or else I would have turned into a block of ice right now. I use a brick by the door to prop open the door. It’d be hell to confess to my father that I snuck up here, knowing I’m not allowed, and ask him to save me if the door somehow shut me out.
I walk forward and just let my shoulders and eyes drop. The cold air snakes around my ankles and caresses my cheeks. I let it do its worst and run my hands through my hair.
I don’t know how long I stand here or how long I don’t notice her, but I let my mind fade from consciousness and imagine the pain nestling inside of me doesn’t bother me. I pretend I am in another dimension where money and blood and heartache and pain doesn’t exist. Here, no one knows what hurting feels like. Only love and her.
I would have stood here longer if I hadn’t heard shuffling and heels clicking quickly, hurriedly. Frantically. My eyes fly open and land on a blur of gold and a red coat. I reach out before my mind catches up to what’s going on, and she whirls back into my chest.
Red.
She looks shocked, red lips agape, blue eyes wide. But she doesn’t say anything, just stares into my curious eyes. I scan her face for proof of That Night in the parking lot, but all I come up with is a fading line on the corner of her full bottom lip and a light purple mark under her left eye.
“What are you doing up here?” I ask her firmly.
She gulps before answering in a shaky voice, “I…I wanted some air.”
Fuck you, universe.
“Hmmm…” is all I can say. A million questions are bursting at the seams in my head, but I can’t focus on any of them. I don’t know why, but my body needs to soak in her presence. Until my mind finally catches up and makes me drop her arm.
She staggers back slightly, frowning. “Are you…?” she begins to ask, but her mind seems to catch up to her as well, and instead she says, “I have to get back to work.”
But I step in her way, duck my head, and cup her cheeks. I watch her eyes glance up under her cheeks, a soft breath leaving her plump lips, and I feel my heart squeeze together in a small red box.
I have so many things I want to say to her, to scream, question, plead, but I shoo them all away and focus on the one that matters the most. “Who hurt you at the bowling alley?”
Another pause, slow breathing. “No one. I tripped.”
“Like you fell off your bike?” I lift an eyebrow, and she freezes. I caught her in her obvious lie. “Who is hurting you? Is it a…a boyfriend?” My stomach flips and dips, and it’s hard to breathe. My breathing comes out heavy, and mini-me’s are groaning in anger inside of me. Boyfriend? They cry, Why the hell would you care if she has a boyfriend?
Her brows curve, and her head shakes under my palms. “No,” she says, and I almost huff out in relief. “I told you, I fell,” she pushes, grinding her teeth together. Her jaw rocks under my touch.
“And your busted lip? The bruise under your eye?”
“All none of your business.” She reaches up and pulls my hands down, looks me square in the eyes, and with hard eyes but soft voice says, “We are not a thing anymore. I hurt you, so hate me. Don’t worry about me.” Pausing, she chews on her lip and shakes her head, glancing away from me. “It just hurts us both.”
“Sorry that I care about another human being,” I say defensively.
“But I’m not,” she says, voice weak. “I’m a monster. One that you should be distancing yourself from.”
“You aren’t a—”
“Yes, I am!” she shouts in exasperation. Her breathing increases, and I clamp my mouth shut, watching a battle ensue behind her eyes. She grabs my wrists and yanks my hands away from her face. “I hurt you, Noah. I ripped you to pieces, and I left you! I left! I didn’t look back, either. You’re supposed to hate me. You’re supposed to avoid me at all costs, glare at me if you do look—you’re not supposed to hold
my face or ask if I am okay, because I never will be since I ruined the one good thing that has ever happened to me!” she rants, and her face is red.
I don’t know what to say except, “I know.” And then I turn to the railing surrounding the roof. I lean my elbows on the thick steel and push my palms onto my face. I breathe heavily and raggedly, and I agree with her. I am supposed to hate her with every single fiber in my being. I am not meant to care about her, whether she gets hurt or not. I just want to breathe without thinking I’m doing it wrong.
But I can’t do anything right.
“I know,” I repeat, but she’s already gone. I felt it before I turned my head over my shoulder. Heard it before the door fell to rest against the block again. Sensed it before the cold breeze resumed and standing became just too damn unbearable.
Chapter Ten
Red
Piece. Of. Shit. I am such an utter and complete piece of shit. Of course, I’ve always been this way. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I came out the womb fighting the obstetrician helping me out. My mother always mock-complained about me being too stubborn to come out the traditional way, that I had to be cut out of her womb. Thinking of her makes my mind fog, and I wipe it away and press on the gas pedal.
I was a piece of crap when I bashed my so-called-best-friend’s face in her birthday cake when I was eight because she didn’t invite me to her birthday party when, turns out, the invite just got lost in the mail. I was a piece of crap when I nearly burned down one of my exes’ grandmother’s house because he lied and told me he lived there when he brought us there to fuck once.
And I was a flaming piece of monstrous shit when I stole from my boyfriend, who I quickly learned was the actual love of my life, and skipped town. I didn’t look back, either. Just sat here like I am now and drove past the sign that welcomed you to the town. And I didn’t stop until I counted several similar signs. I didn’t stop when my heart ached and yearned to reconnect with his. I just kept driving and kept on looking forward, never back.
Red: Fiery Finale (Spectrum Series Book 8) Page 6
