Explicit

by Ava Harrison

  Ring.

  Lindsey: Answer your phone

  On the next ring, I answer.

  “Are you okay?”

  In my drunken state, her voice is calm, reassuring.

  “I’m so—”

  I’m about to say drunk when everything in my stomach comes up. Lack of food and too much vodka, it all comes back.

  “Did you just throw up?”

  I don’t answer the driver, who’s screaming obscenities in my ear.

  “Get out. Get out.”

  The driver is pulling me out of the cab. Still clutching my phone in one hand, I hear Lindsey screaming.

  “Where are you? Pierce!” she screams through the phone to get my attention.

  “Don’t know.”

  “Look for a street sign.”

  “I’m just going to rest here,” I say as I get to the corner of the street.

  “Pierce. Stay with me. Where are you?”

  “Street. Corner.”

  “If you’re on the corner, look up. Tell me what it says.”

  “Sixty-seventh, third.”

  “Okay, I’m coming for you.”

  “Close my eyes.”

  “No. Stay awake. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Okay,” I mutter out as I close my eyes. Sleep wants to take over, but the world around me spins, forcing me to reopen them. No matter how hard I try they won’t stay open. They flutter back shut.

  Open.

  Close.

  Open.

  Close.

  I’m a mess. An emotional mess.

  Hearing Pierce has sent me into a downward spiral of feelings I don’t understand. Concern, anger, nervousness, anxiousness. All the feelings are colliding against each other inside me and wreaking havoc to my nerve endings. I’ve never left my apartment so quickly. Well, at least not since the accident. Even my moves are faster than normal. The need to get to him, take care of him, rescue him, is fierce.

  I’m no stranger to drunken binges, and he needs me. No one ever needs me, and no matter what my feelings are for him, I know I have to be there.

  I’m in a cab before I can second-guess my decision.

  Lucky for me, there was one right outside my building. I don’t need to go far, only three avenues and a few blocks, but with my leg, my limp, my pain, it would take too long, and the way Pierce hung up . . .

  Who knows what kind of trouble he can get into in that time?

  So here I am nervously drumming my fingers on my legs as we hit every single red light in our path. Audible sighs pass through my lips, but nothing can make these minutes pass. It feels like a fucking eternity, even if it’s only been five minutes.

  My mind wanders as I wait for the light to change. How will I find him? Did he pass out? How will I bring him home?

  Shit.

  That thought cripples me right there on the spot.

  The car starts to drive across the street, and in the far-left corner, I see a man sitting on the ground. Head down. Disheveled hair. His hands are in the dark locks and his body shudders.

  Pierce.

  That’s got to be Pierce.

  “If I throw in another twenty, on top of the ten-dollar fare to drive back to my apartment, will you wait?”

  “You throw in a twenty and I’ll help you get him into the car.” His accent is thick, but the words still make me laugh.

  “You got a deal.”

  The cab stops and he throws the hazards on. I hop out the back and together we both walk up to Pierce. His head is down still. He might be sleeping.

  “Pierce.”

  His face slowly rises. His green eyes, normally crystal clear, are hazed over and won’t focus.

  “Pierce, we’re going to put you in the cab. Can you get up?”

  He mumbles something incoherent and lifts an arm but doesn’t stand.

  “Okay, we’re going to have to lift him.”

  The driver looks at me, and I notice him looking down at my leg. Was I limping? How did he know? He gives me a tight smile. “I got it, miss.”

  It feels as if a serrated knife tears through my flesh at the notion that even this man knows I’m damaged. Broken.

  I nod, not being able to speak from the vulnerability coursing through me. He takes Pierce to the cab, and I follow behind. His head drapes down and I’m sure he’s sleeping now. Soft snores come out of his nose.

  I pay the fare and the extra twenty when we arrive back. The driver basically drags Pierce’s lifeless body to my doorman before my doorman can escort us up to the apartment.

  “Right over there is fine, Robert,” I say, pointing to the couch in the living room.

  He guides him to the couch.

  “Will you be needing any more help, miss?”

  “No, I’m fine. You can leave.”

  He lifts an eyebrow, and I smile, inclining my head down in a gesture saying yes, I’m fine. We will be fine. With one last backward glance, he leaves.

  Heading into the kitchen, I grab a bottle of water and sit next to Pierce on the couch. He must feel me sit because he snuggles closer until his head is resting on my lap.

  “Lindsey,” he mutters.

  My fingers start to stroke his hair, lightly massaging the unruly strands. “I’m here. I got you,” I coo.

  “You’re here?”

  “I am.”

  “Noooo,” he drawls out on a whisper. “You’re not here. All a dream.” His words are low, not clear at all, but I can still hear them, and they take my breath away.

  I can’t speak. I don’t dare. I just continue to lightly touch him, through his hair, across his brow. He shudders at the sensation.

  “All a dream. Lindsey wouldn’t be here. Not with me. She’s too perfect.”

  The word perfect makes me wince. If he only knew the truth. Like a phantom pain, my leg aches. But the throbbing in my scars doesn’t stop my heart from beating faster in my chest.

  Is he really saying this?

  Is this real?

  Or am I the one dreaming?

  “She’s everything,” he whispers to himself. “Everything I’m not. Strong. Beautiful. Brave.” He coughs, and I feel it will wake him from his haze and he’ll stop speaking. But then he mutters, and I move my ear closer to his lips, so close his breath tickles my skin. “Not enough. She wouldn’t be here,” he mutters again to himself, and this time I feel the need to speak.

  “I’m here.”

  “You’re not here. You’ll never be here.” His voice holds so much pain.

  Something inside me breaks. It’s like a dam bursts. Every feeling I’ve ever felt in my own life of not being good enough floats to the surface. Every time I never felt enough beats down on me. My insecurities. My pain. It’s all there, floating above me. The feelings he feels are tangible because I’ve lived them, I’ve breathed them, I am them. In this moment the wind is knocked out of my lungs, because right now with this beautiful broken man lying in my lap, I realize there’s so much about Pierce he holds back, and although I can’t condone his actions, his behavior, I understand it.

  That understanding scares the hell out of me.

  My legs ache, the muscles in my back even more. I lift my arms above my head to stretch and it’s as if every single muscle has contracted and then snaps like a rubber band.

  Light trickles in through my lids and they flutter open.

  The couch.

  We slept on the couch. Pierce’s head is still in my lap from last night. Anger. Pure, unadulterated anger filters through every single molecule in my body.

  He was drunk.

  Probably high.

  And now what?

  There was a moment last night where I understood his desire to get wasted, but now, in the light of day, knowing that in a few hours he needs to be with children, I’m fuming.

  “Wake up.” I shake him.

  He shuffles and lifts off me. “What am I—” He rubs his hands over his face, confused.

  “Doing here? What are you d
oing here?” I stand up and glare down at him still sitting on the couch. “Hmm, let’s see. You got drunk. You accidentally called me. Yeah, I’m not Linc. And then, if that wasn’t bad enough, from what I could hear through your cell, you vomited and got yourself thrown out of a cab.” I start to pace all while shooting him daggers with my eyes. “I’m telling you right here and right now, this shit ends now. Man the fuck up. You aren’t a kid.” He looks visibly wounded by my words, but I don’t let that stop me. Instead, I stop my pacing and place my hand on my hip. “You’re a fucking adult. Enough. You’re not a bad guy, Pierce. No matter what you think. I know there’s more, but I refuse to be a part of this self-destruction. I won’t be your friend. Hell, keep this up, and I won’t even acknowledge I know you. Do you understand?”

  “Crystal.”

  “Good. ’Cause I’m tired, and believe it or not, I have a job and I didn’t sleep, so if you can please see yourself out that’d be great ’cause I need to get ready to be a mentor to these kids.”

  He nods like a lost little boy, and a part of me wants to reach my hand out and comfort him, but I hold strong.

  It’s official . . .

  I’m a piece of shit.

  If there was any doubt before, waking up with my head on Lindsey’s lap and smelling like a urinal, officially answers the question. I’m despicable. My whole life I’ve let people down, and I’ve actually come to terms with it.

  If it’s already broken, why fix it? That’s always been my motto, and in this case, I’m not talking about normal indiscretions. I’m talking about myself. I’m all types of fucked-up, and there’s no reason to fix me. That’s how I’ve always lived my life.

  Until last night.

  Well, actually this morning.

  The look of disgust . . . Hell, I’ve never hated myself more than when I saw how pathetic I was reflected in Lindsey’s eyes. Today, as the early morning sun beats down on me, causing a sweat to break out across my brow, I know that something has got to give. And that something is me.

  With not much time to get home, shower, and get my shit together, I pick up my pace. The city is empty at this time of day. Only a soft hum from a few passing cars can be heard. It’s quite peaceful.

  With a fast clip, I weave my way through the streets, the avenues, the blocks until I make it to my building. I don’t stop to talk to Adam, the doorman of the building I live in. I’ve been here long enough that he knows the deal. I crashed with a girl. Except this time the norm doesn’t stand. This time, I’m not basking in post-fuck bliss. Instead, I’m seething. Not at her. At me.

  How was I so weak last night?

  One comment.

  That’s all it took.

  One small comment.

  Today when she threw me out, she said I was better than this. And when she said it, for the first time I believed it. Maybe it was her voice. Maybe it was the sincerity there, but I believed that maybe, just maybe, I could be like her and get my shit together. Because honestly, the Lindsey I’ve grown to know in the last few weeks isn’t pre-accident Lindsey, and that shows that anything is possible, even for a fuckup like me.

  Within seconds of being in my apartment, I throw my clothes off and head into the shower, washing away the shit and grime—fuck, washing away the past. Maybe not all of it, but the part I can change.

  I’m done.

  There might not be something going on with Lindsey and me, but in the last few days, I’ve seen a glimmer of the chance that maybe one day we can be friends and I’m not willing to throw that away. So I shower and wash that shit off.

  An hour later, I’m at Polaris. Two Advils and a bottle of electrolytes can fix any hangover that might kick in.

  Each step brings me in one direction to seek her out. I don’t know why, but I do, and when I find her standing in the hallway, my breath leaves my body, and all the words I want to say, all the apologies, die on my tongue.

  She looks gorgeous. She doesn’t look like a girl who slept sitting up on her couch because she was babysitting an asshole.

  “Hey,” I say.

  She looks up and a scowl is present on her face.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m still mad at you,” she hisses back. The fire in her voice makes me tense.

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t. And I’m too tired to get into this now. I’m happy to see you’re here, but I have to go.” She turns on her heel and walks away.

  Damn, that stung.

  What did you expect? You were a complete douche.

  She could have given you a chance to explain.

  Explain what? She owes you nothing. Just because five minutes ago you chose to try to change, to grow the fuck up, doesn’t mean she knows that.

  My shoulders rise as a sigh leaves my mouth, and then I turn and head in the opposite direction, toward the gym. At least I can run off this energy.

  Sweat out the pain.

  When the door flings open, I’m happy to find that no one is there. The kids don’t show up for a few hours, but usually another volunteer is here. Today it’s quiet, and I welcome it. I start to run laps. Letting my mind clear. Running is almost as good as painting. Not quite, but almost.

  All the pain drains away as the endorphins release and in this moment, like when I hold a paintbrush in my hand, I let it all slip away because in this moment, like when I paint . . .

  Anything is possible.

  The next day I barely make it to the center on time. The lack of sleep the night before, and the concern and caring for Xavier, is slowly eating away at me. I’m in no mood for team building exercises, which is exactly what this day will consist of. But I put on my happy face and walk in, standing tall. I’m the last to arrive, and all eyes look at me as the door bangs open.

  “Nice of you to join us, Lindsey,” Carson jests from the front of the room.

  I’m never late. In fact, I’m punctual to a fault. The way my hair is disheveled and with the dark circles under my eyes, I’m sure everyone in the room has one thousand and one guesses as to what I could have gotten into last night.

  “All right, guys, let’s get this day started. We have a fun day full of activities.”

  Everyone around the room groans, not loving the idea any more than I do.

  “I’ve paired you all up with your partners for the day. They’re posted on the door with the first station for each pair. Go ahead and get started. We’ll meet back here for lunch.” He claps his hands, and everyone is off and running.

  I stay seated, figuring whoever my partner is will find me soon enough. A couple of minutes later, Pierce is standing in front of me. I look up at him and frown. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I deadpan. “Does Carson hate me this much?” I drop my head to my arms on the desk.

  Pierce chuckles. “Apparently, he hates me just as much. The last thing I want to do today is have daggers thrown at my back.”

  I smirk. “I’d rather set you on fire than throw daggers.” We both laugh, the ridiculousness of this conversation entertaining us both. “What’s the first station?” I ask, not really caring.

  “Ten questions, which I assume is a spinoff of twenty questions.”

  Yep, Carson hates us.

  We make our way to the station, dragging our feet. The last thing I want to do is play ten questions with Pierce Lancaster, yet the universe is against us, so here we sit. Reading the directions out loud, I say, “Flip the dice. The person with the highest number asks the questions first.”

  Without another word, Pierce picks up the dice and rolls, getting a four. He hands it over to me and I shake it in my palm a couple of times and let it roll across the desk. I roll a three. Fabulous.

  “Ask away,” I mumble.

  He comes out swinging with his first question. “Why do you hate me?”

  I laser a glare in his direction. “Do we really need to start with that?”

  “My questions. Just answer.”

  “I hate you because you represent all t
he things of my past I’d rather forget.”

  “Question number two,” he spouts off. “What is one thing about your past I represent that you hate?”

  I groan. “The party lifestyle.” It’s all I offer.

  “Why do I remind you of the party lifestyle?”

  “Isn’t that obvious, Pierce? You were the life of the party. Pierce Lancaster is synonymous with having a good time. Case in point, a few nights ago . . . ” He seems to ignore my rant and just cocks his head and scrunches his nose as he thinks of another question to fire off. When a sinful smirk spreads across his face, I know I’m in trouble.

  “Did you want to date me back then?”

  I throw my head back. “I’m not answering that.”

  “These are my ten questions. I get to ask whatever I want and you have to answer. Now would be a good time.”

  “Yes,” I say a little too loudly. “Back then I did very much want to date you.”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “Because I’m older, and I thought it might be strange because you’re constantly surrounded by girls. I figured you wouldn’t be interested.”

  “What about now?”

  “What about now?” I say, frustrated by his line of questioning.

  “Do you still like me?”

  “I would think with all the sarcasm and insults I throw your way, it would be a good indicator the answer is no.”

  “What if I told you I’m done with it all? What if I said I think I could change? Would you give me a chance? I know you might not believe me after the other night, and I know it’s no excuse, but hearing you talk to Carson, well, I was weak. But the thing is, I don’t want to lose your friendship. I know I need to stop, that I need to change. Can’t you give me a chance? Let me prove that I can?”

  I consider him for a while. I’ve changed, so why couldn’t Pierce? Am I interested in dating him? No. But could I give him a chance to be friends again?

  “If you’ve changed, and I mean seriously changed, I could try to be your friend. But only friends, Pierce.”

  “Would you go to dinner with me so I can prove I’m different?”

  “Are you asking me on a date? Because the answer is no.”

  “You said friends, Lindsey. I’m asking you as a friend to go to dinner so I can show you I’ve changed.”