“Yeah, I’ve been busy. What are you doing next weekend?”
“Nothing yet. What do you have in mind?”
“I’ll be over Friday night. Wear the purple one I like.” I hang up, trying to ignore the fact that even though Vicky looks fucking hot in that lavender bra, panty, and garter number, she looks nowhere near as amazing as Carmyn did when she was soaked from the rain that day of our bike ride.
But Carmyn made her choice last night.
And it sure as shit wasn’t me.
“Hearts will never be practical until they are made unbreakable.”
—Wizard of Oz
TODAY is the day a hangover from hell visits me and won’t let me go from its grasp no matter what I do. I sleep most of the day. Finally around nine in the evening, I feel well enough to get up and shower.
After I blow-dry my hair, I give Dallas another call. I have to fix this. Despite how much I had to drink, I still couldn’t follow through with James.
I love Dallas. Doesn’t matter if I didn’t plan it—here I am. No more denying it. No more pushing him away. And no more hurting him unnecessarily by denying him his feelings because I’m too scared to face mine.
He doesn’t answer, and I don’t leave a message because he deserves to hear it over something more than a message. I lie down on the bed, waiting for him to call back.
I fall asleep and the next thing I know, it’s Sunday morning. I check my phone, but there’s no missed calls, Dallas or otherwise. I text him to call me, but after an hour, I still don’t hear from him. Might as well go to the library to get some work done. That should help me from obsessively checking my phone, or blowing up his.
This international accounting class is a lot more difficult than I figured it would be. We have to know the accounting rules and regulations for financial statement reporting in a ton of different countries. I have to learn all of those little nuances for the test on Wednesday.
I’m walking down one of the aisles, looking for a reference book I need when I hear someone talking about Dallas.
I freeze and bend low.
“Guess who called me last night?” It’s a girl’s voice. Is that Vicky? In the library?
Holy shit, I think it is.
“Who?” Another feminine voice.
“Dallas.” Vicky’s voice is giddy.
What the hell? Why is he calling her?
My heart trips and beats double time.
“What about him and that Carmyn girl?”
“They must be done with. Whatever, I don’t know and I don’t care. But I knew it wouldn’t go anywhere. She’s too uptight to give him what he needs.” She laughs. “Which is exactly why he’s calling me again.”
Both girls snicker.
I take a few deep breaths. I’m going to be sick.
This hurts much worse than when I actually walked in on Becker having sex with someone else. Which stuns me. I imagined myself walking down the aisle with Becker.
This is bad.
I spin around and gather my things, not caring enough to bookmark my pages or put the caps on my pens. I shove everything in my bag and dash out of the library, passing the few people not sleeping off their hangovers.
I reach the quad and come face to face with Dallas.
His face molds from one of anger to concern. He wraps his hand around my arm, stopping me. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Yes. No.” I step out of his reach. He can apparently see I am not okay. “I don’t feel well.”
“Oh, well, can I come by later and check on you?”
The idea is preposterous. “No, just stick with Vicky because she’s obviously doing it for you.”
He adjusts his weight, surprised, and his face turns angry again. “Well, I guess if I see James, I’ll ask him to come look in on you, then.”
I step back. I didn’t even sleep with James. It was barely an almost, and he’s going to try to act like we’re even now?
Bullshit.
I turn away from him and run to my floor, making a beeline to the bathroom to puke my guts out.
So much for falling in love with campus’s most notorious bad boy.
Idiot, Carmyn! Fucking idiot!
“A fucking broken heart is what it is.”
—Dallas Brown
DAYS go by. I cancel with Vicky because I’m pissed at her. How’d Carmyn hear about our plans? Vicky must’ve run her big mouth, that’s how.
I’m also pissed at Carmyn. For being so damn beautiful. For making me fall for her, and then not loving me back. For letting me love her. Doesn’t matter she didn’t face her feelings for me—if she had any—she still let it happen. She had to know I was in love with her. No guy creates a statue from the beauty of a woman unless he needs her. No man changes up his baby—car or motorcycle—for a woman unless she’s the one for him. After everything I did, doesn’t matter if I was able to say it or not, my feelings had to be evident to her.
And she goes and fucks James.
A wicked thing to do if you ask me.
I’m also pissed at myself. For letting anger get the best of me and pushing Carmyn away in the first place. She mattered to me, and I fucked it up.
I spend all my free time at the shop. I have a new commission I need to finish in a couple of months, but the damn thing isn’t coming together how I want it. And I don’t even know where I’m off, either. It’s like my whole creative mojo is fucked up.
I blame Carmyn. I was fine before she came around.
I glance over at Belle Muhler. It only frustrates me further. I grab a painting tarp and throw it over her. I could sell the damn thing for a lot of money, but I know I’d regret it. Still, I don’t want to see her right now. At all.
I storm into the office for the large dolly and line it up with the statue. Once loaded, I strap Belle Muhler tight and move her to the shop’s very back corner of it. There’s a stack of tires piled up against the corner, so I put the dolly upright. I move the tires out of the corner one and two at a time. The rough, split rubber tears the shit out of my hands but I’m on a mission.
When I’m satisfied with the empty corner, I go back to Belle Muhler and wheel her into the spot I moved the tires from. I take her off the dolly, but leave the tarp covering her, then stack the tires up around her one by one, taking care they won’t fall backwards and harm her. Once she’s fully hidden, I step back and appraise my work.
I can’t see her, but I know she’s there.
Which is about as much as I can handle.
I stroll back over to my table, pull on my welding helmet and gloves, and light up my welder. Time to immerse myself as much as I can into my first love.
FOR Thanksgiving break, I go home to Mom’s. I fill myself on turkey and ham and potatoes and stuffing, and then play Xbox the rest of the time. Every other break I call my buddy Andy to hang out at the bar, but not this time. Seems like a lot of work and no fun.
I think I’m depressed.
And it’s fucking depressing.
If things would’ve kept going like they were with Carmyn, I bet I would’ve brought her home this Thanksgiving.
Which makes it all so much worse.
Why’d she have to sleep with James? James is no better than me. We both fuck a lot, but the difference between us is that he leads women on. I never do. I’m always up front with them about what I’m looking for. Except for with Carmyn, but I really did only want the one time until the one time happened. If I weren’t so depressed, I’d chuckle at the irony of how the tables have turned.
She probably thought James was better for her because his hair’s short and he’s clean-cut. And he drives a Volkswagen.
I fucking love her. How could she not even feel a fraction for me what I feel for her?
The only woman who’s ever been worth anything to me, and I let it go to shit.
I considered multiple times before break going to the dorms to talk with her. But what is there to say? If she loved me, she’d have told me. Shit, she�
�d have let me tell her.
On the last day before break ends, I try calling her cell, but she doesn’t answer. I don’t leave a message. She never calls back, either.
I guess it really is over.
“The best things in life are not planned but lived.
And now that I realize this, it’s too late.”
—Carmyn Rafferty
I MOURN what I had with Dallas in ways that I never mourned my relationship, not even my plan, with Becker. I wake up from nightmares about Dallas sleeping with other women. I’ll walk in on him, and he’ll look over his shoulder at me and smirk, continuing his pumping without even a pause. I have nightmares of him telling me about his sexual escapades with other women. It’s terrible.
Ava tries to cheer me up but realizes it’s a lost cause when she sees me crying. She’s never seen me cry before. “Carmyn? You didn’t even cry over Becker. Why Dallas?”
I look up at her, lip trembling. “Because I love Dallas. I really love him. Not the idea of him. Him.”
She says no more and holds me while I cry in her lap. She pets my hair and runs a brush through the tangles until I fall asleep.
I’m tortured day and night without him. One of the worst ways is being in the same class with him. Smelling him when he walks past to go up to the back row where he sits now. To feel his eyes on my back, only to turn around and be wrong. To hear every growl of a motorcycle and be reminded of sitting on the back of Dallas’s, my arms wrapped around his middle, the wind blowing through my hair. But the absolute worst, the part in all this that hurts me the most, is when we make eye contact and he doesn’t smile at me.
That fucking kills me.
Every time.
And I can’t help but imagine that one of these days when he passes me in class, he’ll stop, hold out his hand, meet my eyes, and say, “Nobody puts Baby in the corner.”
I’ll take his hand and follow him to the back row where everything is right again. I can’t stop myself from hoping for something like this to happen. No matter how bad it pains me every time it doesn’t.
I don’t know how to process my feelings for Dallas and the hole he left other than to cry and to dance. I’m at the studio working on a lyrical-contemporary piece that helps me let out some of the pain. The music I’ve chosen is by Boyce Avenue. Somehow the emotion in the lyrics and his voice resonates with the hurt in my soul.
The song starts slow, my movements exaggerated and whimsical. An expression of what Dallas and I used to have. How I felt when we were together. The happy times, the smiles he gave me, the way he made me strong where I didn’t even know I was weak.
The beat picks up and so does the emotion in the singer’s voice, so I move quicker, harsher, and jump higher. The fights we had, the misunderstandings that weren’t necessary but somehow overpowered everything else.
As the song builds, so does the dance. I let it all out. How bad I need him, how torn up I am that I can’t have him anymore, that the scruff on his chin will never give under my fingernails again. I move my body in a way that only a broken heart can lead it, a true broken heart. A heart so filled with love that once it’s gone, the pieces shatter and no matter how hard you try to glue it back together, it just won’t stick.
The crescendo hits and I push the hurt out through the tips of my toes and fingers. Tears fill my eyes and I let them come, the pain seeping out of me because it’s too much for me to contain.
The tempo eases at the end, and my movement matches. Once the last line is sung, I drop to the floor and sob.
The song is Find Me, which is exactly what Dallas did. But somehow we’ve become lost to each other. I want nothing more than for him to find me again.
Please, Dallas, find me.
AFTER taking my last midterm, and still not feeling any real ease over losing Dallas, I call the only person I know who’s gone through such intense pain.
My dad.
“Hey, biscuit. How are classes?”
“Good.” My voice is sad.
“What’s the matter, then?”
“How did you get over Mom?”
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re still missing Becker. He’s not worth it, angel.”
“Um, no. Not Becker. I was sort of dating someone else. Someone I really started to like. A lot. Well, I fell in love with him, Dad. And it didn’t work out. I miss him so bad, it hurts.” My throat tightens.
“What happened? Why didn’t it work out? If he’s too stupid to see what he had in front of him, he’s not worth it, either.”
“No, it wasn’t him, Dad. It was me. I’m the stupid one. He knew what he had all along. I was just too frightened to see what I had in front of me. And now that I do, I can’t have it, and it’s killing me. I don’t know what to do with myself. I cry all the time—”
“You cry? Biscuit, I am so sorry. If he’s as good of a fellow as you say he is, give him a call. I’m sure he’ll let you make things right.”
“It’s not that simple. He’s kind of already … moved on.” Saying it makes it strangely more real. That the way my skin comes alive every time he touches me, how my lips mold to his perfectly, how my insides melt when his eyes pierce me will be lost to me forever.
“You listen to me, Carmyn Marie, and you listen good. A heart is not worth breaking if the one it’s crumbling for isn’t breaking over you. That is the best advice I can give you. I’m not sure when or even how I got over your mother, but the more I believed in those words, the easier it got and the more my heart started to piece itself back together.”
“But what if I already broke his as much as it can be broken?” Because I’m sure that’s what I did to him. I don’t blame him for hating me, for not smiling at me anymore.
“The strange thing about a broken heart,” Dad says, “is sometimes, the person will let you try to fix it for them. Not always. But sometimes.”
“Thanks, Dad.” That’s all I say because I don’t think this is one of those times. We’ve gone too far beyond fixing this.
We’re ruined.
I’m ruined.
“I shouldn’t have made you pay for it for the rest of your life.”
—Dallas Brown
MY phone rings as I’m climbing the stairs to my apartment. I pull it out of my pocket, eager with the small hope that it might be Carmyn calling me back. But it’s not her number, or one I recognize. I answer it anyway because she could be calling from her dad’s house. “Hello?”
I unlock the front door as the caller replies. “Dallas?” It’s a man’s voice, but it sounds cracked and melancholy.
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“Denton.”
I freeze on the inside of the door as it closes the rest of the way by itself.
“Don’t hang up. I have something you need to hear.”
My lips thin into a tight line, but something about his tone keeps me on the phone. “And what is that?”
“Dad was in an accident. He was rushed to the hospital … he died before they got there.”
I’m in shock.
“He’s gone, Dallas.”
“Yeah,” is all I say because it’s like I have a hundred questions warring with a complete loss of words inside of me.
“I thought you should hear it from me instead of some random person mentioning that Professor Brown died.” Denton’s voice cracks again, and it spurs my own words to come tumbling out.
“When? How?”
“Day before yesterday. A Mack truck took a curve too fast and overcorrected. The load landed on Dad’s car and crushed him.”
Anger overrides my shock. “And you’re just telling me now when it happened two days ago?”
“I’ve been dealing with a lot over here. Give me a break. I called you as soon as I could. The funeral is Wednesday at Miller Mortuary at noon, followed by the burial service. This is my number if you need anything.”
“Got it,” I say and hang up. I latch the door closed and walk over to the leather couch. The outer cushion
is warm from the sun’s rays streaming in through the window. I stare at the blank TV screen.
When I finally blink, it’s dark outside and the clock on the entertainment center says it’s after ten. I have class tomorrow, so I go into my room and undress before falling into bed.
The next day, I’m numb through my classes, feeling again only when I’m at the shop. I eat up the rest of the afternoon working on the new piece. Whatever was missing before, I’ve found it.
My dad died, but I’m realizing how little my life changes because of it. I’ve done such a good job ostracizing him that his death has left few, if any, reverberations.
I’m nervous for Keating’s class tomorrow, though, because Carmyn will probably want to talk. I’m sure it’ll be about my dad. I’m just not certain what I’ll say to her about it.
First thing in the morning, I get a text from Denton. There’s a memorial service for Dad on campus today. Same time as Keating’s class. I consider going, but decide against it. A memorial service is supposed to be for those people celebrating the life of the one who died. I didn’t do that when Dad was alive, so I’m not sure I should attempt to do so now. Especially in public where no one knows who I was to him or who he was to me.
The rumor mill is churning when I get to campus. People are saying Dad died from a drunk driver, or from someone texting and driving, and one person even said he was run over by the truck. I don’t do anything to correct them. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s still dead.
When I wander into Keating’s class five minutes late, I see a lot of people aren’t here today. I bet some of them are using the service as an excuse to miss class. Strange how people do that when someone dies.
Carmyn’s not here, either, but that could be because she’s hoping she would find me there. Or because she’s there with Denton. If she cares enough about him to push me about being his brother, she has to care about him enough to be there when his dad dies. Which is fine because he was more Denton’s dad than he was mine anyway.
Keating lets us out early and I head toward Lot C where I parked my bike. My phone vibrates in my pocket before I make it there. I pull it out to find it’s another unknown number.
Wicked Thing Page 16
