Auctioned to Him 4: His Addiction

by Charlotte Byrd

  The woman doesn’t keep her hand on his knee for long. It was just a pat, a tap, but it’s enough to send me into a tailspin.

  I’m lost. I don’t know what I’m doing here. But I can’t move. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I want to get up and leave. But I don’t.

  In a moment, the place gets so crowded, I can barely see over all the people who are congregating around the bar.

  “Where are you going?” Juliet asks as I grab my purse and phone.

  “Home.”

  “No, you can’t go home! We didn’t see anything yet.”

  “Juliet, I can’t do this anymore. He’s going to do what he’s going to do. I don’t have to torture myself and watch.”

  Her eyes search my face for answers. But I don’t have a better answer than that. It’s not that I don’t want to know. I just can’t be in this place any longer. The walls feel like they’re closing in on me. I fear that if I stay, I’m going to scream.

  I make my way around the perimeter of the place. I’m not trying to avoid Tristan anymore – in fact, I don’t care if he sees me. But the bar is so crowded, I couldn’t even make my way over there if I tried.

  “Alice,” Juliet whispers somewhere behind me. “Alice!”

  When I turn around, I see that Juliet is staring at something to her right. My eyes follow her gaze. And I see them.

  Tristan and the woman are laughing and they’re so close to each other, their faces are barely touching. A moment later, she leans over and kisses him on the lips.

  Everything suddenly feels like it’s happening in third person. Not to me, but to someone who looks a lot like me on the screen. I’m suddenly outside without my coat. The chill of January hits me like a pile of bricks. I look around. I have to find a cab. I have to text Uber. My mind wanders in circles. I can’t make a decision. All I’m decided about is that I can’t go back in for my coat.

  “Alice! Alice, wait up!” Juliet runs out after me. She hands me my coat.

  “He pulled away from her. He stopped her,” she says.

  “What?” I ask wrapping the scarf around my neck. I don’t understand a word of what she’s saying.

  “She kissed him. And he stopped her. He pulled right away. You just didn’t see it,” she says.

  I pull my coat shut – the zipper is too complicated to operate at this moment.

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask.

  Juliet shrugs. “Well, yes, actually,” she says.

  I guess. I guess that’s something. Except that it doesn’t really feel like a victory. I feel like I lost a long time ago. It feels like it’s all a little too late.

  Juliet and I take a cab home in silence. She tries to talk to me, but I cut her off. I can’t. Talking just makes my thoughts cloudier and incomprehensible. Finally, we walk into our room. I climb into bed and hide under the covers. I just want the whole world to disappear. I’m still awake when I hear Tristan come back. I look at the time. It’s about half an hour later. I want to talk to him. But I don’t have the energy. When he peeks into my room, I pretend to be asleep.

  Chapter 8

  The following day, I have another speech in public speaking class. I was planning on getting up early and practicing it before class, but I end up sleeping until lunch. I want to stay in bed all day. But I can’t skip it; it’s a huge portion of my grade. When my hands start to shake looking down at the paper with my script, I go to the kitchen and force myself to down two beers. They taste disgusting first thing in the morning. This worked last time. It has to work this time.

  Walking over to class, I hope that I don’t run into Tristan. He has class in this area and I just can’t see him now. Not before I get this speech over with. When Professor Milner asks for volunteers, I raise my hand.

  Walking to the front of the class, I feel like I’m going to throw up. But not because of my nerves, but the alcohol. I take a deep breath. You can do this, I say to myself. Thirty sets of bored eyes look up at the podium. They don’t care what you have to say. Don’t think. Just start talking. I unfold my speech. This speech is about gratefulness. We’re supposed to thank someone for helping us do something important.

  “Thank you for having me,” I start. “I want to take a moment to thank my mother and father for…”

  I stare at the paper. The words are there in black and white. All I have to do is say them out loud. But for some reason, I can’t. They don’t make any sense. I have an overwhelming urge to thank someone else.

  “No, actually, I don’t want to thank my mother and father. I’d like to take this time to thank my boyfriend, Tristan. Thank you, Tristan, for never being there for me. Thank you for wasting two years of my life in high school and then breaking up with me a couple of weeks before college. Thank you for ‘accidentally’ becoming my roommate and confusing me with all of your crap last semester and tricking me into thinking that you’ve changed. And most of all, thank you for this semester. Thank you for promising to help me with my speeches and leaving me high and dry. And thank you for pretending that you have a lot of important work to do when in reality you’re just hanging out with that girl that looks a lot like Kate Middleton, from your office. And, of course, thank you for mentioning how hot she actually is before I show up at the bar to spy on you. That was really the cherry on top. That made me feel a lot better watching you two making out. But most of all, thank you for doing all of that now, before I wasted even more of my life on you. You fucking asshole!”

  Shit. What did I just say?

  I look up at the class. Thirty pairs of hands start to clap and cheer. Oh my God! I nod, hang my head, and make my way back to my chair.

  At least I didn’t freeze. No, the words just came out. I couldn’t make them stop. But I definitely shouldn’t have cursed!

  After class ends, I try to make my way outside, past the professor, without him noticing. No such luck.

  “Alice Summers. May I talk to you, please?” he asks.

  “I really have to go,” I say.

  “It will just take a moment.”

  I take a deep breath and turn to face him.

  “I’m assuming that was not the speech that you had prepared earlier,” he says. I nod. “And I’m assuming that you know that it’s illegal to come to class drunk?” he says.

  “I’m not drunk.”

  “Intoxicated, then. Either way, you can get expelled for this.”

  “Expelled?”

  My head starts to buzz. My eyes come in and out of focus. Oh my God. What did I just do?

  “I’m so sorry, Professor Milner. It will never happen again. I was just having a really bad night.”

  “Yes, I know that,” he says with a little smile. “I heard all about it in your speech.”

  He’s mocking me. I shake my head. Look down at the floor. I don’t know what to do.

  “I’m going to have to fail you on this assignment,” he says.

  I’m going to get kicked out of school. What am I going to do?

  “But,” he says, giving me hope. I look up at him. “But I won’t report this incident to the Dean of Students if you promise to go to see an alcohol and drug abuse counselor.”

  “But I don’t have an alcohol problem. I hardly ever drink,” I say.

  “You’re drunk in my classroom. That’s enough for me to know that something is wrong.”

  “Okay,” I say, dropping my shoulders.

  “You have to see this counselor every week for the rest of the semester. Starting this week,” he says. “If you miss a meeting, I’ll have no choice but report your behavior to the Dean of Students.”

  “The rest of the semester?”

  Professor Milner ignores me. He writes something on a piece of paper and hands it to me.

  “The counselor’s name is Dr. Greyson. She’s very nice. Here’s her office number. I’ll let her know to expect your call.”

  The buzz from the alcohol starts to wear off by the time I get home. Instead, it’s replaced wi
th a blistering headache. And, as if the day wasn’t completely shitty already, it also starts to rain. And I get completely soaked walking back to the dorm.

  I put on a fresh pot of coffee as soon as I get in. After I change out of my wet clothes, I go back out to the kitchen and see Tristan pouring himself a cup.

  “That’s my coffee,” I say.

  “I think there’s enough for two,” he says with a smile.

  “I don’t care. I’m going to drink two cups myself. You have to make your own.”

  “Okay, jeez, what’s wrong with you?” he says, pushing the cup toward me.

  I shake my head. The Advil hasn’t kicked in yet. It hurts to talk.

  “I saw you,” I say after I finish one cup of coffee. And start on another.

  He stares at me as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

  “Yesterday, at the Martini.”

  “What…what were you doing there?” he asks.

  I look him straight in the eyes. They twinkle in the light. Look as beautiful as always. But I hate them now.

  “I was talking to Juliet about how I don’t see you anymore and she suggested that we go spy on you,” I say. “Who is she?”

  “Nobody,” he shrugs.

  “Didn’t look like nobody. You two looked really cozy together.”

  “Alice, she’s nobody. Just Kathryn. I told you about her. She works with me.”

  “I thought you all go there together? As a group.”

  “Well, yesterday, everyone suddenly cancelled,” he says.

  “How convenient,” I say sarcastically.

  “Listen, nothing happened,” Tristan says. He puts his arm on my shoulder. I shrug him off.

  “Don’t touch me,” I say. “And how can you say nothing happened. You two were laughing the whole time. She put her hand on your leg. And then you kissed. I saw you.”

  He shakes his head.

  “And I pushed her away. Immediately. I don’t like her that way. I love you.”

  “Doesn’t feel like it,” I say.

  “I know that she likes me. But she’s my colleague. I want to be nice. But she also knows about you.”

  I shake my head. This conversation isn’t really going as I had planned.

  “I just hate being this way with you, Tristan. I hate that you’re gone all the time and now I’m becoming some sort of jealous, crazy girlfriend. This isn’t who I am.”

  “I know.” He nods. “I know that I work too long. And I should not go out with everyone so much. But there’s this whole party atmosphere there. It’s hard to explain.”

  I shrug. I understand. But I don’t really hear an apology. At least, not one that I believe. Just a lot of excuses.

  Chapter 9

  Neither of us says anything for a while. I want to tell him that I don’t know how to deal with this. I know he wasn’t cheating – I don’t think he would, no matter what Juliet says. And that even the flirting and the interrupted kiss is as far as it will go, but I still feel shitty about this. The main thing I want to tell him is to just stop. Take a break. Have a little fun. I feel like we’re some sort of old married couple that are like two ships passing in the night due to their hectic work schedules. Mainly his schedule, actually. But I don’t say any of these things. Instead, I sit across from him and pout.

  “I’m sorry, Alice,” Tristan finally says. He takes his hands in mine. He stares at me – I feel his gaze burning a hole in my face – until I look up. I see my reflection in his eyes. I also see someone who is at a loss as to what to do. The despondent look in his eyes frightens me.

  “I don’t know, Tristan.” I shrug. “You really hurt me, you know. I just felt like a total idiot sitting there, watching you flirt with Kathryn.”

  “I wasn’t flirting. We were just laughing over what someone said back in the office.”

  “It looked like flirting,” I say. “And then when you kissed…”

  Shivers run up my spine. I can’t even handle saying the word.

  “We didn’t kiss, Alice. She kissed me. And I didn’t see it coming. And when it happened, I pulled away right away. And I told her that I have a girlfriend and it’s going to stay that way. That I love you.”

  “I guess,” I say, sighing.

  “But I understand how you feel.” He finally says something I want to hear. Something I’m yearning to hear. “I understand that it was awful for you. Just as it would be for me if you ever…”

  Tristan lets his voice drift off. I can see that the thought of it is painful to him too.

  He comes closer to me. Takes me into his arms. This time I don’t push him away. I want him close. I want to get over this. Whatever it is. I want to find a way to forgive. He lifts up my head. Slowly, Tristan presses his lips to my cheek. He gives me soft, tiny kisses as if his lips were wings of a butterfly. Cradling my face, he buries his fingers in my hair and brings his lips to mine. I close my eyes and part my lips.

  Tristan’s lips are soft. Effervescent. His tongue inside my mouth feels like home. Like finally, we’re somewhere where we belong. He drops his head and tilts mine. I feel his lips run down my neck. His kisses are so soft, the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  Somehow we end up in my bedroom. I have no idea where Juliet is, but I also don’t particularly care. I just hope that she doesn’t come home any time soon.

  We fall into bed together. Our legs intertwine. His hands caress my shoulders and run down both sides of my body. As we grind against each other, we shed our clothes. My legs open and his intertwine with me.

  “Wait, I have to get my wallet,” he mumbles. I nod. He needs to get a condom. We never had unprotected sex. I’ve been meaning to go on the pill, but that requires going to the gynecologist. And I hate doctors, let alone gynecologists. So I’ve been putting it off.

  When Tristan’s ready, he plops back next to me.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he says, brushing hair out of my face.

  “So you are you,” I say, smiling.

  I pull him on top of me and kiss him. His hair falls into my eyes. He comes into me. Slowly, our bodies start to move in sync. His hands slide up and down my body. And I bury my fingernails into his back. I start to moan with pleasure. Our bodies rise and fall with each movement.

  “Oh shit!” Tristan says and pulls out of me. “Oh my God, no, no, no.”

  I look down. The condom is broken.

  “What does this mean?” he asks. “What are we going to do?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “Oh my God, you can’t get pregnant.”

  “I know! Stop freaking out,” I say. “It’s going to be fine. You didn’t…finish yet. So, the likelihood is probably really small.”

  “But there’s still a likelihood,” he says.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug.

  We sit in bed for a few moments, staring at each other. We both know that the night is over. And there was no way to recover it now. Eventually, I grab my clothes and hand Tristan his.

  Later that evening, I meet up with Tristan again in the living room. He’s watching TV, but not really watching. Just flipping through the channels, looking for something to watch.

  “There’s nothing good on,” he says.

  “Yeah, I know,” I say.

  Tristan turns off the TV and grabs a Red Bull out of the refrigerator.

  “Isn’t it a little late for Red Bull?” I ask.

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “I have a lot of Macroeconomics to do. I think I’m going to fail that class.”

  “I’m sure you won’t.”

  “Can I tell you something, Alice?” he asks and continues without waiting for my answer. “I just feel a lot of pressure. I’m working these crazy hours. And I don’t have time for anything. Not for my classes. Not for you. Not even for work. You know, I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do there? I mean, I look at those charts and figures and they just intimidate me. But I pretend that I know what’s going on. And t
hat’s exhausting.”

  “I can imagine,” I sympathize.

  “And as for going out afterwards. I often don’t want to go. Really. I just want to come home and be with you. And study, though I don’t really want to study.”

  “So why don’t you?” I ask.

  “Because I hear the way they all talk about other interns who didn’t come along. And how all the full-time people mock them for skipping out. And all those people who didn’t go out with them – well, they’re not working there after graduation. Tim told me that many of them are still struggling to find work six months after finishing college.”

  I nod. I want to sympathize. I want to say something that will make him feel better. But nothing comes to mind.

  “Tristan, it’s your freshman year of college. You shouldn’t be working so hard. You should have some fun.”

  “Alice, I’m talking to you about something serious that I’m going through and you…you just act like it’s nothing. Like what I do doesn’t matter. Don’t you know how that makes me feel?”

  I shrug. “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t want to…”

  “I know. You never mean it. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve said it.”

  I don’t know what’s happening here. How did all of this suddenly become my fault?

  “I know you’re working hard. But maybe the internship is just too much. I mean you’re going to an Ivy League school. And it’s your freshman year. You should be able to have some fun, sometime. You’re practically entitled to it.”

  “And what makes me entitled to it, exactly?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. The fact that you’re 18 years old. If you’re not going to have fun now, when are you going to?”

  He shrugs. Drops his shoulders. I run over the conversation in my head. I didn’t mean to get into another fight. Or maybe this is just the continuation of the last one. I don’t know anymore.

  I turn around to head back to my room. Everything is still completely unresolved, but I don’t think anything will improve today. It seems to be one of those things that you have to sleep on in order to get a fresh perspective.