Wreck Me (Nova #4)

by Jessica Sorensen

  About two minutes later, Charissa’s friend Alyssia joins us and I feel like even more of a slob standing by the two of them. But I attempt to be as fun as I can and try not to check my phone every two minutes because I’m worried about Mason and the fever he had when I left tonight. I jump up and down while the band plays and do this awesome vanishing into the crowd act when Frat Boy gets the balls to head in my direction. I decline all drinks aimed my way because it’s a necessity these days. I’m a recovering alcoholic for over two years and plan on making that number increase forever.

  I put on a great show for Charissa, convincing her I’m having a blast, which in a way I do. But only half my mind is at the concert, the other half back at home with the bills and finals and my son. At midnight on the dot, I turn away from the fantasy world I know can never fully be mine and head back to reality.

  “Wait, you’re seriously leaving?!” Charissa hollers at me, fanning her hand in front of her face, her cheeks flushed with sweat.

  I offer her an apologetic look then shrug as I mouth, Sorry, but I have to go.

  She folds her arms, pissed off as she reels back around toward the stage. She’ll get over it, though, by the time we both are at work on Monday.

  I shove my way through the crowd and out the front door, heading for my car at the rear of the parking lot. As the humid summer air soaks my skin, I inhale the freshness while I light up a cigarette. A bad habit of mine, but I do it when I’m really stressed, which is every day.

  “Nice night, right?” A gangly, thin-faced guy asks as I pass by him. He’s leaning against the trunk of a car with his arms crossed, his gaze drinking me in like an alcoholic does with a bottle. Moments later I recognize him as one of Conner’s buddies.

  “Actually, it’s pretty shitty,” I say without missing a step as I fumble for my keys.

  “Hey, wait,” he calls out, striding after me.

  My fingers drift to my pocket, just to make sure I have my mace on me.

  “I know you, don’t I?” he says. “You’re Conner’s chick.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I jog to my car and unlock the door, trying to disregard the nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  “I’m no one’s chick. Never was.” That’s a lie, more directed to myself than the guy. Because it’s hard to accept what I was—what I became.

  He sneers as he slows to a halt just behind me. “Clever, but you get what I mean. You and Conner Wellings, you’re married, right?”

  I jerk open the door then scowl over my shoulder at him. “Isn’t it pretty obvious I don’t want to talk to you?”

  “Hey, I was just being friendly,” he snaps, the friendliness in his tone vanishing. “You don’t need to be so bitchy about it, Avery.”

  The fact that he knows my name bothers me. The last thing I need is for word to get back to Conner that I was hanging around at The Golden Element House because he’ll start assuming things just like he used to do all the damn time while we were married. He just got out of jail for the second time and sooner or later he’s going to show up—always does. I just hope it’s later rather than sooner this time.

  “Yes, I do.” And I don’t even feel bad about being bitchy, not just because he knows Conner, but because chatting to him breaks my number one rule in life:

  No guys.

  Ever.

  And I never break that exception.

  Ever.

  Ever.

  Ever.

  Okay, that’s a lie. I broke the exception once in the past two years since I made the rule. It happened three months ago when my house was being finished up and I met a guy who was helping build it. His name was Tristan.

  I didn’t get to know him well enough to catch his last name. Just like I didn’t do anything except give him a quick kiss on the lips after he kind of saved me from a very heated argument with Conner. It took a lot of balls on Tristan’s part, especially since Conner ended up grazing Tristan’s side with a knife. I haven’t seen Tristan since then, our paths never crossing again, but it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten him. It’s not often I meet a guy who makes me question if not all guys are bad. Plus it seemed like Tristan was supposed to be one of those people who was meant to come into my life, even if it was for a fleeting moment.

  At least that’s the reason I keep giving myself.

  I don’t like to admit it but there was a little more to it than that. That all chivalry aside, I’d also felt a momentary pull with Tristan. Not the same thrilling and terrifying pull that I used to feel with Conner, but in a different way. A way I’m not even sure I can describe other than it was as if that night we came together just so he could help me and in return I could help him. I can’t help wondering if he’s doing okay now. If he’s gotten clean.

  I think about it a lot actually.

  Every day.

  Even though I try not to.

  But I see him.

  In my dreams sometimes.

  And think about him.

  During the day.

  Wonder all the time what he’s doing.

  And if he’s okay.

  “You know, if I were you, I’d be really careful what you say to me,” the guy says in a deep tone, shifting closer and startling me from my thoughts. “Because I could go back and tell Conner I saw you here tonight.” His breath reeks like whiskey and his pungent body odor burns my nostrils. “He’d be really upset to know you’ve been out partying. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s been wanting to know what you’re been up to, considering he was in jail because of you. I know he’s been dying to find out what your life is like.”

  I ball my hands into fists, battling the need to spit out a comeback. Without saying another word, I climb into my rustic red Jeep and drive off. I make my journey home trying not to think about the bills, about my job, school, my five-year-old son, Conner and the threat the guy made in the parking lot, but my problems are all I can think about.

  How the hell did I get here?

  I know the answer. See it every night when I look up at the stars.

  It’s painful to retrace every step that led me to this place, steps that I took myself. But I don’t hate my life, just wish things could be easier. It could have been so much easier if I did everything the right way instead of backwards.

  By the time I pull into my driveway, I’m bawling, nearing hysteria, worried that at any moment, Conner’s going to show up, a concern that’s haunted me for years. I don’t go inside right away. I give myself five minutes to cry my eyes out, alone, in the silence of my vehicle where no one can see me or my problems. Then, when my eyes have dried, I drag my ass out of the car, knowing as soon as I step foot into my house I’m no longer the priority anymore.

  My home is fairly small, but quaint, with plain cream walls and a standard kitchen. I love it because it has a strong roof and walls. I only moved into it just under three months ago and called it the beginning of my new beginning. It was actually built by Habitat for Humanity and I’m going to help build a house starting Monday to repay them for building my home.

  “Hey, you’re home early.” My brother Jax is sprawled across the living room sofa with a thick textbook propped up on his chest. He’s been living with me for over a year now ever since our mother disappeared. No one knows where she went or what happened to her, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she was lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

  I like having Jax here with me, not just for the company but because it means he’s no longer living in that shitty house with my cracked out mother and whatever man she’s hooking up with. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do when he starts moving on with his life, but I’ll figure it out—I always do. And I’m glad Jax is doing things the forward way in life, I just wish I didn’t have to rely on his help so much.

  “Yeah, I got tired.” I drop the keys on the table then plop down in the recliner. “And I was worried about Mason’s fever.”

  “You’re always tired.” Jax sets the book down on the cof
fee table as he sits up. “And I texted you like fifty times telling you Mason was okay.”

  “Yeah, I know… I didn’t sleep very well last night. Must be nerves or something over building a house,” I lie because it’s not that—it was finals, and working more hours at the bar while managing to build a house at the same time. I’ve become a juggler again just like I was at sixteen, only it’s my own responsibilities this time instead of our mother’s.

  “You know, I could help with that,” Jax offers with a yawn. “Either help with the house building thing or get a second job or ask for more hours to help pay bills.”

  He’s such a sweet kid. You’d never think he came out of our mother. But Jax looks a little like me… Well, at least enough that some people can tell we’re related. He has a similar shade of brown hair and hazel eye color, which are traits of our mother. His nose is definitely more prominent than mine because we don’t have the same father, even though my mother was living with my father at the time she had Jax.

  My mother goes through men like she goes through drugs, with casualness and zero regard for the consequences. It got her a total of who knows how many children. She was almost forty when she brought me into the world, and I know for a fact she had more children before me, but only because she rambled about it once when she was high. When I’d asked her where all her kids were, she’d muttered something about being with their fathers. When I’d asked her why my father didn’t take me with him, she’d told me it was because I was unwanted.

  “I don’t want you having to work anymore hours unless it’s put toward college.” My head wobbles back against the recliner, so close to falling asleep.

  “What if I don’t want to go to college? What if I decided I’d rather do something else?”

  “You’re going. There is no other option.”

  “Yes, mother,” he jokes but then we both pause because I’m pretty much like Jax’s mom and have been since I was four years-old when our mother gave birth to him.

  He looks like he wants to say more, maybe about our mother, but then zips his lips, deciding against it. I often wonder if he thinks about her and why she’s missing. One of these days we’ll probably get a phone call from the police saying they found her dead. But we never really talk about it, avoiding the painful truth of why Jax is really here with me.

  “You should go to bed,” I yawn. “Get some sleep before work tomorrow.”

  He nods. “Oh, and just so you know, Mason likes peas now.”

  With a lot of effort, I lift my head up. “Really? How’d you manage that?”

  “I told him they’d help him get strong like all those super heroes he’s obsessed with.” He starts for the hall but then pauses, looking at me. “I’m kind of envious of him and his wild imagination. You’re doing good Avery. Way, way better than what we had.”

  I crack a smile because it means a lot. “Thanks, Jax.”

  He returns my smile. “You’re welcome.” Then he disappears into the hallway, and moments later, I hear his bedroom door shut.

  It takes me at least fifteen minutes before I drag my ass off the couch and kiss Mason goodnight, then I go into my room. I peel off my filthy clothes, slip on a pair of pajamas, and flop down on the bed with my guitar. I thrum the strings quietly and not very well, but learning how to play became part of my new life—the one after my death and Conner.

  I’ve been exhausted all night, and like usual, the moment I set the guitar down and attempt to go to sleep, my eyes won’t shut. It’s been that way since that day a little over two years ago when my entire life—my entire world—changed.

  The day I died.

  The day my life started over.

  The day I got a second chance.

  But what that second chance is, I’m still searching for.

  Finally, I can’t take my restlessness anymore and I end up going into the bathroom to take a half of a sleeping pill. I hate that I have to take it, but know there isn’t really a choice—I need to get some sleep. As soon as I swallow the pill, I hit a state of panic as I wait for it to kick in.

  To calm myself down, I wander into the kitchen and sit cross-legged on the floor, right in front of the sink. Then I open the cupboard and read the note on the inside that’s written by the guy I made the exception for.

  Avery,

  I’m not sure if you’re okay, but I hope so. I know this is probably weird, some guy you met for like two seconds writing on your kitchen cupboard, but I just wanted to say that I hope you find the place where you can breathe, to where your soul can thrive again, to where you can be free, to where you can live again…. I never really did see the rest of the tattoo, so I’m not sure. Maybe you already have. I hope so.

  It was nice meeting you. Hopefully, one day our paths will cross again.

  Tristan.

  a.k.a the Pretty Boy

  The note always makes me smile, because it’s sweet, innocent, with no strings attached. In another life, I would have ended up with a guy just as sweet and who remained sweet even when things went to shit. Reading Tristan’s words always brings me comfort and I’m allowed to grasp onto them because Tristan is untouchable and I’ll never get caught up in dreamland with him.

  As I stare at the note, I end up drifting to sleep on the kitchen floor, feeling content. But that contentment floats away the moment my eyes close.

  Fire. Smoke. I’m burning alive. I can’t breathe.

  Even though it takes a lot of energy, I manage to force my eyelids open from the memories. I’ve been dreaming the same thing since the night before it became a memory. The dream didn’t happen the exact same way but it was similar enough to be a forewarning. Or maybe it wasn’t so much a forewarning but my subconscious understanding that eventually that’s where my life would end up. That I could ignore the truth all I wanted, but in the end, all that rage was only going to end in flames.

  But somehow I survived. A survivor of a lot. I even tattooed it on my forearm along with a cross.

  Survivor.

  But why did I survive?

  Life?

  Conner?

  Myself?

  Always the same questions bouncing around in my head with never a real answer.

  So I look up at the stars that are just outside the window.

  What were you trying to tell me that night? Why did I come back?

  Like always, my only response is the sound of my beating heart, leaving me to interpret what I will with it.

  Chapter 4

  I feel like no one sometimes.

  Tristan

  I’m woken up by the sound of chirping birds, the smell of stale coffee, and a ridiculously cheery song being sung.

  “Good morning sunshine, good-bye asshole,” Nova sings and Quinton laughs, all smiles and happiness as if they’re sniffing roses and skipping on rainbows.

  “If that’s meant for me, it’s not funny.” I throw a pillow over my head to block out the sunlight and their cheery, lovey-dovey talk. It’s bad enough that I have to share a motel room with the two of them, but the sound of them kissing is maddening.

  It’s not that I don’t enjoy their company. I do. And I have nothing against them even with our complicated past. Quinton is actually my cousin who was involved in an accident that killed my sister Ryder, something that my parents blame Quinton for because he was the driver. Me, I don’t like holding on to that kind of anger because it’s draining and too time consuming, nor do I ever want to be like my parents. Plus, it’s not going to bring Ryder back, even though I think my mother might believe otherwise.

  Besides, Quinton’s not a bad guy. He’s had a shitty last few years because of the accident. Years full of drugs, homelessness, and self-destruction. In a lot of ways he’s like me, only he has darker reasons to do drugs, yet he still seems to have an easier time adjusting to life without them. Me, I struggle with my sobriety every damn day. When I’m sober, life is harder than when I’m high. When I’m sober, I feel more alone than when I’m high.

>   When I’m sober, I feel lost.

  Plus, I don’t have a Nova by my side—the most positive person on the planet. I used to believe I was in love her, but I think I might have just been searching for love to see if it existed. I’ve pretty much moved past that now, and the belief that anyone will love me, but it doesn’t mean I like the sound of them making out.

  “Would you two knock that shit off?” I grumble as I throw the pillow at them.

  Nova laughs as she catches the pillow then chucks it back at me. “You should really listen to my lyrics,” she says as the pillow lands on the bed in front of me. Then she plasters on a huge smile, her blue eyes sparkling. “Good morning sunshine, good-bye asshole. It’s your new motto in life.”